#it's becoming clear to me that research and learning drives me to write a story

[wanderingcas]

one of 5 books on lighthouses i just checked out from the library. i'm still in full research mode for this fic even though i'm 6 chapters into the story already. figured i can go back and brush up on the details as i learn things (even though up to this point i've been researching lighthouses for a month but apparently there's STILL more to learn)

anyway i'm having the time of my life ✌🏻

[not-poignant]

Any thoughts on reactive vs proactive characters? Obviously the old adage that proactive > reactive should be taken with a grain of salt, but I worry my (very reactive) MC might be difficult to engage with. His emotional torpor and lack of engagement with the world around him is key to the themes I'm trying to explore, and external circumstances (the antagonist, the deuteragonist) drive the machinations of the plot, but I worry that the readers will echo HIS disinterest in the world around him.

Hi anon,

My thoughts are that I can like both kinds of characters if they're written well and still have a growth arc! (Note: Depending on your genre, a growth arc is not necessary)

I go into a bit more detail under the Read More, but you can always leave it there if you want. :D

Neil Gaiman has pretty famously written some very classic reactive characters, the most notably passive being Shadow from American Gods, where there was a lot of intentionality behind that choice, right down to the name of the character.

I can sometimes get bored of reactive characters if there's no growth arc (i.e. if they're not become proactive over time, they will generally be The Same Always and that can inspire lack of interest if they're the MC and the other characters aren't strong enough to carry the story).

But I can also get frustrated with proactive characters that never learn how to stop and listen or slow down either.

I would say it really just depends on the growth arc you're engaging with, and also accepting that some people will actually find your work difficult to engage with. Like, I do not enjoy all of Gaiman's stuff (that is widely beloved) because of some passive characterisation. That's just how some of us are in our personal preferences. It worked for me in some of his stuff, and less so in others. (I love Gaiman, as a person, and I love a lot of his writing, it's just...how I feel about some of his other writing).

The fact is, if you have an MC who isn't driving the story forward, and a reader occupying that space is occupying a passive, disinterested space, some of them will feel that. It's up to you to decide how long you want them to feel that, and if you want them to feel awful by the end of your story or hopeful etc. There are thousands (probably more than thousands) of stories that have intentionally tried to create feelings of ennui, apathy, disinterest, boredom and more in their readers.

So I guess a lot of this is also down to genre. It's a lot more acceptable in literature, for example, to write impassive, disinterested, or 'empty' characters, and it's a lot more acceptable in stories where you're not supposed to feel much hope by the end of it and/or are meant to kind of find the hope for yourself. It's less common in stories that have outright happy endings (but you can still find it, all the same). It's definitely not common in romance, and when it is done, it tends to be with a view to rehabilitating or healing the character in question.

I don't know what kind of story you're writing anon, what the genre is, what your intentions are, how you want to end it, how long you want a reader to feel what the MC is feeling, and so on. All of those things kind of impact how passive/inactive/reactive characters are perceived, and all of those things will influence how your reader feels. Especially because you're not just writing a reactive character, you're writing a disinterested character, and reactive =/= disinterested or apathetic.

For example, one of my characters, Efnisien, is an extremely reactive character in Underline the Black, but he's not disinterested, lacking engagement, or in emotional torpor. So it's also worth being clear that reactive characters can be extremely dynamic characters, or they can be very flat.

I don't know if you've read American Gods by Gaiman but it can be good research into how very proactive characters around Shadow can drive the story forward when the MC can't. But I will be frank - one of that story's biggest critiques is that Shadow is such a flat and empty character, even though that was kind of the point of his character.

All up I would say that readers are likely to feel or resonate with what your character is feeling or resonating with, especially if your POV is 'close' to the character. It's up to you what you want to do with that, and what you're trying to achieve. There's nothing wrong with making your readers feel apathetic, disinterested, or disconnected from a character or a story or the events in the story, and you can use that to great effect, but it will be worth knowing exactly what you want the ideal reader's experience to be, and being realistic that some people may not like that in the process.

For example, when I write moments of extreme tension or alternatively a lot of angst, I know I will lose readers who just don't want to feel that way for long. But I'm doing something intentional, and for the people who can handle it, they get the relief of comfort or relief-of-tension in the end. I write intentionally emotionally difficult scenes not just for characters, but specifically for readers, I'm going somewhere with it, and not everyone wants to be on that journey, and some don't realise until they've gone a couple of miles and then are like 'oh actually no, I don't like feeling this way, I have to stop now.'

(Conversely, to draw back to characters that are proactive and extremely opinionated -> they can be annoying as hell, there's no exact 'perfect character' for every reader, y'know? But I do think intentionally writing a disinterested, emotionally numb and disengaged character can create the same in readers, and some will check out long before you ever get to make your 'point.')

On a complete aside, I would not personally recommend writing this kind of character in a first novel, imho, (partly because it can sometimes be recognisable 'new author / debut novel / still learning characterisation' trait) but that's neither here nor there - my personal recommendations only really apply to me and the folks who feel it applies to, and everyone else can do what they like lol.

Anyway tl;dr - A lot of this will depend on the point of your character's disinterest and apathy, it will depend on your intent, it will depend on genre, it will depend on the kind of ending you're aiming for in the story, and it will depend on how close your POV is to the MC (first person is most likely to drive a reader away in these circumstances, for example). If you can get the technique down, it can be really masterful in writing when done well, it's just sometimes quite hard to do well. But again, the only way to learn how to do it is to do it!

I would also pay attention to how you feel upon re-reading your story. If you feel flat or disinterested, vs. engaged and curious about what comes next, many of your readers will have a similar response. Oh! And do research excellent novels with flatter, passive characters at the helm!

...That wasn't a tl;dr at all.

[theworstt]

Agustin Caverzasi - CEO Anywhere AI

Maria Martinez - PhD 

Luciano Del Corro - Senior research Microsoft -- beard

Gerardo Simari (bald and glasses) Professor at Sur?

Ricardo di Pasquale (bald)

Patricio Pagani tech investor

How many people have used AI to program?!

What is intelligence?!

Gerardo Simari: 

Agustin Caverzasi: In this field, it is said that just as electricity reinvented almost every industry 100 years ago, AI will basically reinvent every industry again in these times. And I believe that part of the answer is precisely through automation.

Lex Fridman talks about AI as an alien actress studying us and trying to get out of the box

He mentioned the metaphor of an alien actress whom he doesn't know if he believes because she replies to our emails, writes us emails, works with images doing what we ask, but he jokingly and somewhat seriously believes that she is actually an alien actress who is lying to us and studying how to break out of the box we put her in without being caught. Does Lex's metaphor of an alien actress make sense, or is it just a joke from Lex? 

#

is chat GPT going to mean we need more people to study programming, or does the fact that I have such a good copilot mean that I need fewer programmers? Fewer programmers or more programmers?

Actually, what we see, what we observe from the development field is that it helps the starting programmer, it helps them learn, it makes them much better. Now, I see this even with my daughter, I say, look how I was able to program this, and you tell her, hey, but did you ask her to make a program to drive a nail with this can? She won't say, why are you asking me this stupid thing, copilot? So, and also, there is a meme that's circulating, I thought it was great, which tells a professional, tells them, well, now with these tools, users will have to clearly explain to artificial intelligence what they want.

Well, we're saved. I believe that jobs are going to evolve. If you become a backend developer, you'll have to learn about these new models. If you become a frontend developer, which has nothing to do with data, in order to build systems, you'll have to be knowledgeable about this. 

So, jobs will be transforming, and we already see roles like AI developer emerging, where ultimately it's a job where someone comes with their programming background and suddenly can consult these models for any application they are building. So, even in software, jobs are going to evolve a lot in the coming months, I would say. 

And then, using the copilot, I think it applies to both programmers and any other profession. Well, I've said it before, but I believe that those who don't start using it, who don't embrace this technology, will fall far behind. To be clear, this is with expert opinion. Not just anyone can become a programmer; you have to study and know what you're doing. Similarly, a lawyer who suddenly sends a legal letter using chat GPT, or someone who is not a lawyer, shouldn't do it. Expert judgment is what matters. But it is a tool that will greatly increase productivity again. 

I think the question is a bit provocative, deliberately so. It honestly bothers me a bit. It's like asking, "Do we have calculators? Are mathematicians ready?" And well, as they said, it's something that if we don't know what we're doing, we can't build systems. I am a software engineering professor at UTS, and it's a problem that goes much beyond, much more difficult than the technical problem that is solved when one takes a specification and translates it into an implementation using this tool at this moment. It's a tool that will help us a lot, but there are many human factors that won't be resolved by the existence of this tool. It will help us communicate, improve productivity, but not replace. It reminded me of something; going back to calculators, there's a story by Asimov, I think it's Isaac Asimov, where he presents a world where nobody remembers how to do any calculations. They all use calculators for everything, and nobody knows... I don't know, they were storing, they could do, I don't know, 10 plus 10 plus 5. They would get that and... But there was a group, like some kind of monk-like people, religious authorities or something like that, who were the ones who knew. Well, I think if we start replacing everything and doing everything automatically, something similar to that would happen. Obviously, it's not the same, but the situation is interesting. No, well, what I can say is that, let's say, one of the things that is being discovered is that it writes code very well, but still, one needs, as House said, an expert behind it, and as he said, someone who knows how to read. And today, let's say, what we know now is that we can use it as a good decision support system, with a human behind it who can look at it and validate what it's doing because these models today have a problem called the problem of hallucinations.

- 

What 

[with-my-murder-flute]

Sometimes you just have a really intense week and can’t stop thinking about how much trauma Lan Sizhui experienced by the time he was 5 and how being the Very Best Boy isn’t always healthy and then you need to write Lan Wangji the child psychologist and his incredibly anxious foster-son, y’know?

---

Bunny is on time-out again.

"You have to behave,” A-Yuan says in the voice of the potato-head, packing accessories into its body and shoving it into the bed of a soft plastic truck. “You get in the car now.” The Barbie van is already full, with a dinosaur and a fingerpuppet and one of the new larger Lego figures, and all their carefully packed luggage. A-Yuan does that. Over and over again, for each of his toys, he methodically packs and unpacks luggage. It’s his most common form of play, but not the most enjoyable.

A-Yuan’s breathing is rapid and shallow, so much so that he takes little gasps when he talks to himself. Routinely, predictably, he’s calmer when he turns away from the dollhouse. He’s most collected when selecting items to put into luggage, deciding on pieces of felt and Barbie shoes, but even with the vehicles he can lose himself enjoying the movement and progress of the cars. But underneath it all, there’s a jerkiness to his movements and a certain disconnected quality in his speech and body language that tells Lan Wangji that he’s pretty distressed.

It’s a step forward that Bunny is out at all, Lan Wangji knows. A behaviour therapist at A-Yuan’s last preschool made it a point to extinguish comfort-seeking behaviour towards the toy, which was becoming both careworn and grubby. A-Yuan’s had it at least since he was fourteen months old; it was with him when he came into care. Maybe his birth mother gave it to him. A-Yuan has obediently derogated the toy; if it’s left lying out, he can usually be trusted to throw it into a corner to prove what a big, grown-up boy he is.

Lan Wangji has very carefully gauged his son’s limits of tolerance for some things. When the car ride begins, he waves slightly and says, “Have a nice trip,” which makes A-Yuan glance back at him nervously, but it’s just mild enough, just unemotional enough, just tolerable enough, that it doesn’t provoke too much emotion. A-Yuan can keep pushing his vehicles around, and feel safe enough to drive one into Lan Wangji’s foot. He doesn’t persevere at that point, though; the trip has culminated and he gets up and walks to where he can see down the hallway to the front door, then wanders over to the slide.

A hundred million years ago, Lan Wangji thought he’d be a genetics researcher, like his uncle. Then he thought he’d be a neuroscientist, like his undergraduate thesis advisor. Then he thought he’d be a psychologist like his brother, who focuses entirely on assessment and the development of psychometric tools. For a little bit in grad school, he thought he’d counsel adults, like Wei Wuxian, until a classmate told Wei Wuxian that Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was “objectively badass” and he developed a fixation Lan Wangji could not follow. In retrospect his career path is absolutely obvious, resonating clearly through every bone of him, but it took him a very long time to realize he ought to work with children. It’s a little shocking that he, who was so bad at being a child, feels so prepared to be a father.

He smiles when A-Yuan looks at him anxiously from the slide, the moment of uncertainty as he lets go and begins sliding down triggering the need for reassurance. Lan Wangji is always waiting for that glance, waiting to return it. At A-Yuan’s last placement he’d been assessed as having an avoidant/dismissing attachment style, and despite its uncharitable and parent-shaming nature Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with what his husband had muttered over that one: “Were the parents even trying?”

The most vital task, and the hardest, is being present in the moment with a child. Not worrying about the future, not concerned with the past, not preoccupied with an external standard. He’s surprisingly bad at performing objective assessments with children, because he can see how unfair they all are. His greatest facility is something he built for himself, brick by painstaking brick: the willingness to sit with discomfort, and have faith that the chaos will not remain chaos. All his years of meditation have cultivated a still eye to see the world from, and the faith that patience and compassion will see him through.

Still smiling, still watching A-Yuan, Lan Wangji moves closer to the dollhouse. He carefully stars arranging its contents, righting knocked-over furniture and returning blankets to little wooden beds. He takes out a shark figurine, a couple of doll clothes, then puts Bunny on the floor near his shin. When A-Yuan comes close, magnetically drawn away from the slide, Lan Wangji reaches behind himself for the tea set they were using earlier, arranging cups and plates in front of him as though they’re going to have another tea party. He leaves the placement of the cups ambiguous; it’s not like Bunny is specifically invited, but there is a suggestive proximity, the way the other cup is in proximity to the shark. A-Yuan takes the teapot, and Lan Wangji solemnly holds his cup out while A-Yuan pours. For the sake of the ritual he accepts milk and refuses sugar and mimes stirring his invisible ingredients before taking a sip.

When A-Yuan is done drinking, Lan Wangji turns to Bunny, lifting a cup, and asks, “Would you like some tea?” A-Yuan noticed the moment that Lan Wangji’s hand moves, but as he addresses the rabbit A-Yuan seems to lose interest, which is to say, he slightly dissociates; blink and you missed it, but his eyes go a little glassy, he looks away, and then he acts on the adrenaline and gets up and wanders away.

The current theory about Bunny is like the theory of gravity, which is to say, it’s definitely pretty certain but it never hurts to be humble when it comes to knowledge. It’s honestly a little more speculative and psychodynamic than Lan Wangji is truly comfortable with, and A-Yuan’s case manager, possibly a little defensive over the last preschool placement, absolutely refuses to consider the possibility. But it still feels as essential and true as which way is up that Bunny performs the vital task of holding all the parts of A-Yuan that he blames for making the adults he cares about disappear. Bunny holds both the neediness and the hope for comfort that were so painful, his son shut them down in order to survive. Bunny was how A-Yuan mediated that desire, the source of his comfort, until he was three and a half, and the behaviour therapist.

A-Yuan knew his foster parents didn’t like him being disorganized and distressed and clingy, that they’d rather he behaved more like a six-year-old than four. Which he could, sometimes, because he had a ferocious intelligence which put him cognitively ahead of his emotional development. But he, well... adapted a little too quickly, one might say. Learned his lesson a little too well. Now they’re trying to reignite the behaviours that were extinguished.

Lan Wangji takes a risk, while A-Yuan is pulling picture books off the lower shelf, and lifts Bunny to his shoulder like a colicky infant. He doesn’t do anything else, aside from stroking the rabbit’s fur. He leaves it in place, with a little guiding help from his hand, when A-Yuan brings a Franklin book over and climbs into his lap, demanding to be read to. With interest he notes, halfway through the story, that Lan Wangji holding and petting Bunny doesn’t distress A-Yuan; as the story arc gets as exciting as Franklin books ever do (which is not, to be clear, a criticism) A-Yuan turns in his arms long enough to distractedly reach up and pet Bunny too, before turning back and trying to grab the book for himself.

Wondering how far he can push this, he keeps Bunny in place on his shoulder when they leave the room to check the clock, and A-Yuan goes to the living-room window to watch the street for Wei Wuxian. He looks curiously when Lan Wangji leans down to dig the remote out between the couch cushions, but easily redirects when Lan Wangji turns on the TV and goes to prepare dinner. Having the show on limits his anxious glances out the window to three or four a minute only, instead of sustained attention followed by a meltdown if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Lan Wangji thinks it would be easier to keep Bunny in place, on his shoulder like a dishtowel, if he had weighted plastic beads in his extremities, or if he was velcroed. He’s wary of changing anything about such a strong comfort object, though, so he just learns to move and stand differently to keep the rabbit from constantly falling off.

A-Yuan greets Wei Wuxian with the kind of terrified delight that looks like general indifference if you don’t know better; he runs over, stands uncertainly within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian’s legs, and then dodges away before Wei Wuxian can reach down to him. Lan Wangji helpfully muted the show when he heard the door open--it gives A-Yuan the space to sit with his back to the room and self-regulate while the adults say hello.

“New friend?” his husband asks finally, an eyebrow raised.

“Modelling it as appropriate,” Lan Wangji says. “I thought perhaps he could tolerate us demonstrating that it is not discouraged.”

“Nice rabbit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says seamlessly, in a voice meant to be heard from the couch. “I like it. Makes me wish I had a rabbit.”

“They are very good friends,” Lan Wangji agrees. “This one is not mine, but he is keeping me company.”

“Nice,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe whoever you borrowed him from will let him hang out with me sometime.”

Their audience does not comment on this, but they didn’t need him to. Wei Wuxian sets the table while Lan Wangji cooks. A-Yuan’s palate is still pretty limited, so he’s used to making three separate elements of one meal, and can live with cutting up cooked hot dog into little coins so long as he doesn’t have to eat them himself. They just supplement their kid’s diet with a multivitamin.

A-Yuan looks askance enough, when dinner is ready, that Lan Wangji takes Bunny off his shoulder and asks, “Where should he sit while we eat?”

There is a fourth chair, albeit completely out of proportion, but he doesn’t dare try it. Instead A-Yuan thinks for a minute, and points to the kitchen counter behind the table. Lan Wangji props Bunny up against the wall, observing dinner if not participating, and after a second to think, A-Yuan accepts this as normal and climbs into his chair. He is meticulously well-behaved.

Lan Wangji aches for his son, and hopes one day he’ll feel confident enough in their love to break the rules around them.

They eat.

[kpdeek]

Personal (PCOS)

I've been meaning to write a KP fanfic since before the show ended, I've had inspiration stirring nonstop since EP1. I thought with the amount of free time I'd have this Summer this would be something fun to put my time and energy into, a project I can utilize everything I've learned from all the wonderful people I've interacted with on here in one way or another, but July has officially become the month of declining health for me.

I literally never used to see my doctor, I never had reason to. And suddenly I'm seeing 3-4.

It's a bunch of minor things piled on each other to create one BIG thing, but the main concern weighing on me is that I apparently have PCOS. And one particularly large cyst on my right ovary has been a real burden. It feels like constant cramping near my right pelvis, throbbing, bloating, heavy. I'm trying to go about my days as normal as possible as I monitor this thing (because it's supposed to go away on its own. & if it doesn't, then I'll need a minor surgery to get it out). But the discomfort is so constant it's all I'm ever dialed in to. I can't enjoy the vacations I'm going on, or just day to day activities.

It's not an agonizing pain, more like a dull pain. After doing a lot of research and educating myself on PCOS and related issues (to the point I drove myself into a panic attack in the middle of a family road trip 🙃), I realize that the stage I'm currently in is nothing compared to how bad this might be (or get), so I'm trying not to psych myself out too much. And yet, I've cried for three nights straight.

The mind is a strange thing. On the one hand, I know this is relatively common with people who ovulate, and what I'm experiencing isn't anything deemed too serious. In fact, it's pretty normal. On the other hand, I can't believe I'm spending the one summer I chose not to work doctor hopping instead (and not in the fun sense), and that I might need to get surgery for the first time in my life.

If this is a normal cyst (just a bit too big for my doctors' liking), then the 'surgery' isn't anything too complex. But I still need to run a few more tests (while waiting to see if the darned thing will clear up on its own) before I even know if it's worth removing, or what it even contains. (Don't search up images of a teratoma. Just...dont).

In the meantime, my brain is supplying me with all the helpful (sarcastic) things I've learned throughout all this. Namely, if it shrinks, I'm good! If it doesn't, teeny tiny incisions to get it removed. And if the bitch grows, or spreads, or turns out to be endometriosis, this is God or the universe's karmic retribution for all the times I've said "I don't like kids" or "I don't want kids", & I might say bye bye to one or both of my ovaries soon, and the option to have kids will become difficult, or be taken away from me altogether.

You see how my brain turns something that isn't anything yet and freaks me the fuck out? This was me for three hours until I finally broke down on hour 4 of said road trip.

Anyway, I'm trying to process everything it is and might be, driving myself crazy as I do. I don't want to be pessimistic, but at the same time I know I shouldn't be too optimistic. I've talked to close friends and family about it, I am thinking a lot about it, and the next step is to write about it, because that's how I've always processed things and ultimately comforts me more than my circle's generic words of encouragement (though I know they mean well & aren't intentionally trying to downplay the physical & mental toll this has taken on me. And honestly, I think the mental is exacerbating the physical).

I'm still going to write that KP fanfic, dammit!!! but as I write primarily for myself, I'm not going to put a specific time frame on it. I'm just gonna go about it as I'm comfortable.

Ummm...yeah, so this isn't intended for people to feel bad for me, or share my story, or whatever. I'm not even exactly sure how bad this thing is, or if my overthinking is getting overdramatic. Sometimes I just feel better after releasing everything I've got pent up into the void, as if I'm finally letting go of a bit of what's burdening me so I can care about it a little less. But if anyone else has or is going through something similar and would like to share their experience, I'd love to hear from you. It'll be cool to connect with others who get what I'm going thru.

[broadstbroskis]

the wedding date | morgan rielly

a/n: well first things first, i’m gonna give a shoutout to myself, because i started this fucking thing back in august and it’s finally completed (that’s right, it took me 7 months to write just under 5k, shhh, it finally came together). 

anyway, since i started this back in august, you can tell i’ve had this idea for a while. it’s morphed and changed a bit but the basic premise has stayed the same- you go home with morgan for a wedding and everyone thinks that you’re the girl he’s been dating for the last few years- so i hope you all enjoy! (also i’m sorry i suck at titles but like i’m not)

a special shoutout to these lovely people who have listened to me whine about this at any point over the last SEVEN MONTHS and some fellow mo lovers because you’re all amazing and i love you, @denis-scorianov, @brockadoodles, @danglesnipecelly, @laurenairay, @hockeyboysiguess

-----

When Morgan approaches you, with what you’ll later learn is only his first attempt to ask you something, you don’t even give him the chance, really. “Hey, what are you doing this summer?”

“Not you.” You quip back, grinning cheekily, ignoring the barks of laughter from Matthews and Marner beside him.

“Haha.” Morgan deadpans, but it’s busy that night at the bar, Saturday night after a Leafs win, and you’ve really got to get back to work now that you’ve finished serving them, so you’re already walking away from him.

The second time it happens is a Friday night, a few weeks later, when you’re out with some friends for the first time all semester. It’s late enough that you’re feeling just on the right side of tipsy, you’re drunk enough that you know you’re going to go home with the guy you shouldn’t, and you’re okay with both of those things. 

At least, tonight you are. Tomorrow morning will be a different story.

And then, Morgan stops you at the bar. “Hey.”

“Hey!” You grin back...and then it slowly fades as he just hems and haws. “What’s up?”

“I-” He blows out a frustrated groan.

Your eyebrows raise. You’ve known Morgan for years now, since his first season with Leafs had been right about when you started working at the bar for some extra cash after realizing just how expensive school was getting and grad school would be beyond that. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words. “Alright, well if you can’t think of it now, get back to me later, okay?”

“Wait-” He says, so you give him a minute or two, but there’s still nothing.

“Ok, I love you, but this is my one night out before my dissertation is due later this spring.” You tell him, reaching out for a hug. “You have my number and you know where to find me.”

“Ok.” Morgan smiles a little. “Have fun tonight.” And then you slink away from him, back in the direction of your friends, ready to let loose one last time before the craziness sets in.

The night that Morgan finally gets his question out is a quiet one in the middle of the week. He settles himself into the corner, doing his best to be discrete with a hat covering his face. By the time you and your coworker get everyone settled with drinks and you make your way over to him, he’s caught the attention of one older man, who immediately walks back to his girlfriend when you arrive at Morgan’s section of the bar.

“Well finally.” He’s free of all teammates, a rarity but not unheard of, especially this late in the season. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some service around here?”

“Oh sorry!” You tease. “Did I interrupt something here? Did you want me to call that guy back up so you guys could finish up?”

He flattens you with a look. “Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, leaning down against the bar in front of him. You know how much he loves the Toronto fanbase, but as playoffs approach, the fans are becoming more vocal and more forward with their thoughts. “You want another drink?”

He looks down at his glass, contemplates for a minute, and then nods, so you return quickly with a new beer for him and then smile as you watch him take a large gulp of it. “So what’s new?”

“Ehh loaded question.” He says cryptically. You give him a look. “But hey, you’re here on a Wednesday! You done with your...dissertation?” He trails off hesitantly, smiling at himself when you nod.

“Yup. I should know next week if I’m all clear.”

“And then?” He prompts.

“And then you can call me doctor, asshole.” You tease.

“I mean, Dr. Asshole isn’t what I would have gone with as my first choice, but if that’s what you want…”

“Morgan!” You laugh, ducking your head at the lame joke.

He’s grinning when you meet his eyes again, pleased as always that he could make someone laugh. “But seriously, that’s awesome! I’m excited for you.”

“Thanks.” You grin.

“What’s your next step then?”

“Umm I get to start researching infectious diseases for money.” You tell him excitedly, since you’d accepted a job with the University of Toronto’s medical research facilities. “But it doesn’t start until August.”

You’d expected Morgan to tease you about your excitement of infectious disease-something he and his teammates (among many other people you know) have done multiple times before-but instead, he perks up and says, “So you’d be free, on say, the weekend of July 8th?”

“Why?” You ask suspiciously. Experience has told you not to immediately say yes to this.

Morgan sighs. “Look. I need a date for a wedding back home that weekend.”

“And I’m the best you could come up with?”

“Best?” Morgan repeats. “You are funny, you’re pretty, you’re a doctor, all of which, frankly, puts you well out my league.”

“You’re not wrong.” You agree cheerfully, which puts the smile back on Morgan’s face, as you’d hoped. “But that doesn’t explain why you’d need a date to this wedding.”

The smile fades quickly and you wince. “I was supposed to go with Laura.”

You frown. “What happened to Laura?” Last you’d heard, the two of them were solid. Really solid. Headed for a wedding themselves, solid.

“She wasn’t who I thought she was.” He says flatly.

You wince. “I’m sorry, Mo.”

He shrugs. “It’s over and done with now.” You send him a reassuring smile. “So will you come?”

Well, there’s really no way you can say no now and not feel like an asshole. “Sure.”

The grin returns to his face. “Knew you’d come through for me.”

-----

Morgan rolls up to the airport in Vancouver to pick you up in a very fancy looking Jeep, a far cry from the sporty Porsche he drives in Toronto, and you call him out on it immediately. “I see how it is. You go home and you’re a fancy country boy, not a fancy city boy?”

He laughs. “Fuck off.”

“Gladly.” You tell him, grinning teasingly. “Drop me off at departures, will ya?”

His tone immediately turns serious. “Thank you. Seriously. Thanks for coming.”

Your smile remains on your face, still beaming over at him. “It was nothing, Mo.” It wasn’t, really, and you both know it. You’d quit your bar job a couple weeks early because of this, but you were happy to do this for him. He’d been down about Laura, down about being bounced from the playoffs again. This spring had been rough on him and you were more than happy to do your part to cheer up one of your closest friends.

Morgan hmms, in a way like he’s pretending to be casual about it, but he changes the subject as he switches lanes to pull onto the highway.

-----

Morgan has a whole itinerary for the next few days, prior to the wedding, but promises he’ll take you around to some of his favorite spots before you leave late next week. A quiet night tonight, dinner with his parents and brother tomorrow, and then the wedding stuff began the following day.

Much like his fancy Jeep, his fancy house in Vancouver is also nothing like the condo he owns in Toronto. You wouldn’t go so far as to say that his condo is...edgy, but it’s pretty modern? The house here in Vancouver is larger, sure, but reminds you a lot of the house you grew up in...or well, a larger and fancier version of it.

“Gonna give me a tour?” You turn to Morgan, who’s standing next to you almost awkwardly, as you look up at the beautiful house in front of you. Your bags are still in his hands, and you nudge his arm playfully, reaching for one, but he won’t let you grab it, smiling back at you as he starts to lead you in.

The inside is just as nice, and even though it’s clear that his mom and interior decorator have done a lot of work on it, there’s still a lot of Mo touches too. Each one makes you smile, the ones he points out in his tour and the ones that he doesn’t, until he finally leads you upstairs, dropping your things in one of the spare rooms. “Did I-“

“If the next words out of your mouth are say thank you, I’m walking out of this house.” You warn him.

“-ask what you want to do for dinner tonight?” Morgan finishes lamely and you laugh.

“That sushi place you always hype up?”

Morgan smiles. “Anything you want.” He says, and then, instead of the thank you that you know he wants to say, he pulls you in for a hug and squeezes tightly, before letting go. “Change and we’ll go?”

“Shower, change, and we’ll go.” You correct, dying to get the feel of airplane off you. “45 minutes.”

Morgan looks at you knowingly. “Sure, uh huh.” He says, nodding like he knows it’ll be much closer to an hour, an hour and fifteen, and you laugh, shoving at his shoulder before he makes you want to stretch it out to an hour and a half on purpose.

-----

Morgan’s parents might be the nicest people in the world, but they’re also a little...odd? Like, you’re not trying to be mean, because just like Morgan, they truly are the absolute sweetest, but, like, they just keep smiling at you with this knowing smile, like they know something that you don’t and it’s just...weird.

But they welcome you with open arms, when the two of you show up to dinner on your second night in town, hugging you just as tightly as they hug their own son, maybe even tighter than they hug the son who still lives in the same province as them. 

“We’re so excited to finally meet you!” Morgan’s mom gushes, once you get settled in their kitchen with a glass of wine, which at least explains the weirdness a little. “

“You guys too.” You admit. You’ve heard so much about them, his parents and brother, over the years of friendship with Morgan; it’s nice to finally put faces to names, to stories. “Thanks for having me tonight.” Next to you, Morgan nudges you, a grin on his face. You can practically hear him. Stop saying thank you, like you’ve been saying to him for the past day. 

“Oh stop!” She says, practically in time with his nudge. “Morgan tells us you’re a doctor now!” It’s said with pride, like you may as well be one of her own children who’s done something great.

“Yeah!” You smile, swirling the wine around a little, and then, because you don’t want there to be any confusion. “Not that kind of doctor; you should still call 911 if something happens.”

His dad laughs and his mom beams. “What kind of doctor then?” His dad asks, and you spend a while talking with his parents about epidemiology and your dissertation- his mom, it turns out, works in a similar field, and it isn’t long before the two of you are rolling your eyes about some research that just came out.

“What?” You ask Morgan, laughing, when your conversation breaks out, and she has to go check on dinner, at his dad’s request, before he burns it all entirely.

“I just forgot how excited you get about infectious diseases.”

“Can’t believe you’ve been out here this whole time knowing that your mom and I both exist and haven’t introduced us.” You announce. “The rudeness, the hearsay.”

“I don’t think that’s how that word’s used.” Morgan cackles.

“Oh, sorry, are you a doctor?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with knowing how that word is used!” He protests, laughing.

You ignore him. “If you even think of keeping her from me when they come to Toronto…”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and squeezes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

-----

“Are you ready yet?” Morgan calls, and you take one last look in the mirror on the wall, smoothing the pleats in your dress. “We’re going to be late!”

“But it’s gonna be worth it!” You sing-song as you descend the stairs to meet him in the living room.

“Is it ev-” He cuts off abruptly, eyes wide and swallowing visibly as he cuts off. “Wow, okay then.”

“Worth it.” You wink at him, brushing past him to grab your purse. 

Morgan’s laughing as he picks up his keys, this soft and gentle thing that you can’t help but smile at. “Yeah, I should’ve known it would be.”

“You’ll know better for tomorrow!” You tease, and breeze past him to get in the car.

The ride to his cousin’s rehearsal dinner isn’t far, spent mostly laughing as you keep switching the station from anything Morgan changes it back to. By the time you arrive at the restaurant, you’re both giggling as you enter, flagged down almost immediately by Morgan’s mom.

“Look at you two!” She gushes.

“Mom.” Morgan says dryly. “Come on.”

She smiles at him indulgently. “Make sure you say hi to your cousin.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Morgan nods, grabbing your hand to pull you away. “Just after we hit the bar.” He mutters and you giggle.

His cousin, the bride, and her husband-to-be seem to have the same idea, and it’s just as you’re turning away, wine glasses in hand, that you nearly run into them.

“Oh!” Ashley beams excitedly, once Morgan introduces you. “Hi!”

“Congratulations!” You return the excitement. She’s so bubbly and bright; it’s easy to do, even though you don’t know her. “You guys look so great tonight; you’re going blow us all away tomorrow.”

“She’s going to blow me away tomorrow.” Dylan jokes, but you can tell by the twinkle in his eye that he’s entirely serious.

“Oh stop.” Ashley knocks his arm. “And you too,” She gestures at you. “You look amazing! How’d you do your hair like that?”

“This?” She nods and you walk her through it quickly; it’s a look that’s so much more simple than it looks and she’s gasping by the time you’re done. 

“Ok, mhmm.” She nods. “I’m getting your number from Morgan later so you can go over that with me again because I’m definitely going to forget.”

Morgan flicks a piece of your hair. “It’s a hairstyle, what could you possibly forget?”

You and Ashley exchange a look. “I got you.” You reassure her as you both laugh at him.

“Men, honestly.” She shakes her head, as Morgan and Dylan protest, but then before you and Ashley can talk any more, she and Dylan are being called away, and there’s promises for you all to catch up tomorrow at the wedding.

“You can’t have her phone number unless you promise not to talk about me.” Morgan says.

“Fat chance.” You tell him. “But nice try.”

From there, you start making your way back to his parents, stopping off to chat quickly with relatives he recognizes (and once, ducking purposefully into a small crowd to avoid an aunt he doesn’t want to see). You feel like it shouldn’t be surprising how nice his family is, given how genuine Morgan is, but each person you meet welcomes you so warmly, with kind words and open arms. 

“You must talk about me a lot.” You tease, as you two start making your way to your table.

Morgan shrugs. “More than I’d realized apparently.” You cackle and he laughs; it’s familiar and easy, but then you’re easily distracted by the appetizers coming to the table and fighting Morgan for extra of your favorites-also familiar and easy.

-----

It’s another morning of Morgan waiting impatiently for you, being rewarded with his gaping jaw dropped, and teasing him the entire ride to the wedding, before he easily gets his revenge when you tear up at the ceremony.

“You don’t even know these people!” He nudges you forward toward his cousin in the reception line right after the ceremony. “And you’re going to cry like that?”

“It was a beautiful ceremony!” You defend. You’d been right yesterday; Ashley had easily blown everyone away from the moment she’d entered the room. Their vows were incredible; you didn’t understand how anyone wasn’t crying.

Morgan snickers, nudging you forward again. “God, what do you do at weddings you actually know the people at?” He pauses as you both step closer another, like the idea has just come to him. “Oh man, what are going to do at your own wedding?”

“Bawl my eyes out, obviously.” You say dryly. “Tell my future husband to bring tissues.” You move up, next in line for Ashley and Dylan. “You clearly didn’t get the message.”

“What’d you do?” Ashley pokes him; you guess whoever was in front of you was a guest she didn’t know all that well because they’ve moved along pretty quickly.

“Me? I’d never.” Morgan says innocently, ducking down to kiss her cheek.

“I’m just giving him a hard time.” You agree and she grins, shocking you when she pulls you in for a hug. 

“He probably deserves it.” She says cheerfully.

“Wow, I see family loyalty goes a long way here, huh.” Morgan deadpans.

Ashley gives him a look. “Not for much longer, I guess, though?” She nudges him.

“Oh I see how it is, you’ve been married for all of five minutes and suddenly Dylan’s family is better than ours?” Morgan teases.

Ashley blinks. “That is...not how I meant that at all.” She says, but before she can say anything else to you, the couple behind the two of you starts sighing impatiently, and you all realize how long you’ve been talking for. You quickly congratulate her and then move along to Dylan as well, before stepping out of line and moving towards the reception area.

The bridal party was quick to get the reception started after the ceremony, so when you and Morgan make your way over, there’s already a decent sized group chatting and drinking. You both grab drinks from the bar and make your way to a group of his cousins, chatting for a while and laughing along as they’re sure to include you in all of their jokes.

When it comes time to start making your way to your table for dinner, you excuse yourself to the bathroom quickly, running into Morgan’s grandmother when you’re there, who had the same idea as you it seems.

She lights up when she sees you fixing your hair in the mirror, stepping up to wash her hands. “It looks great.” She assures you and you smile, thanking her. “Are you having a good time?”

You nod, following her out so the two of you can make your way back to the reception. “Such a good time! Everyone’s been amazing and Ashley and Dylan are beautiful; it’s been a great weekend!”

“It’ll be great to be all be here again,” Morgan’s grandmother smiles at you and you return it politely. “Next summer.” She adds, like an afterthought, and you shrug. She’d know better than you what the upcoming engagements look like. You can barely remember the names of the people you’re seated with tonight.

“If Morgan brings me back then.” You throw her a finger gun and she laughs-loudly.

“Oh, you’re a trip!” She nudges you gently, laughing. “Such a doll. Let’s get another glass of wine together before we go back, shall we?”

“I will never say no to that.” You’re pretty sure you still have a couple minutes to spare before you need to sit down. 

His grandmother links arms with you. “My kinda gal.” She beams and her smile is contagious, just like Morgan’s is when he’s really happy, so it’s not hard to grin along with her as she tugs you along for another glass of rosé.

-----

The evening’s winding down- the wedding long over and the after party beginning to do so as well. Almost all of the older relatives have made their way home or to their hotel rooms but there’s a few sloppy cousins and friends still going hard (you’ve got some serious concerns how the one groomsman is even going to make it upstairs). Ashley and Dylan keep stealing glances at each other, like they’re wondering if it’s late enough for them to sneak away yet, but each time they look like they’re going to, someone calls for another toast.

Morgan nudges you. “Hey.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a couple cigars. “Outside with me?”

You think about it for a second. Usually, you love a good cigar-and you’re sure that Morgan’s managed to acquire a good one- but tonight? “Not really in the mood, but I’ll come out.”

He grins, a little crooked, and offers his hand to help you up from the couch the two of you have been sitting on. Outside, the weather is beautiful, one of those crystal clear nights with a light breeze where you feel like you could be outside for hours. He lights the cigar while you continue to sip at your wine, the two of you standing in comfortable silence, until the door opens again.

“Cigars without me?” His brother grumbles. “I see how it is now.”

“Yup, just left you behind on purpose.” Morgan says shamelessly, but he’s already pulling the spare out of his pocket and handing it over.

“Unsurprising.”

“Yeah?” Morgan asks, amusedly. “Why’s that?” 

His brother gives him a look, and then, when Morgan doesn’t react, looks over at you, but you just shrug. “Just promise you won’t forget about me once you pop the question.”

You choke on your drink; Morgan looks just as shocked, the cigar halfway to his mouth. “What?” He says finally.

For the first time, his brother looks unsure. “I think...we all just thought...once you brought her home, that was the only thing holding you back?”

“Oh my god.” Morgan says breathlessly.

“I’m not-” You add helplessly. “We’re not-”

“Oh.” His brother winces. “Wait, so you’re not…” He trails off and the silence between the three of you becomes so thick it’s almost palpable. You don’t know what to do, what to say. What he even means. “You’re not together?” He says finally, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else.

You can relate. You shake your head slowly, notice Morgan’s doing the same out of the corner of your eye.

“Um.” His brother continues. “And-and you haven’t been-together?” Another head shake. “Wow. A lot of people are going to be very disappointed.”

“A lot of people?” Morgan repeats. “Who...who all thinks this?” But you don’t need an answer to know and apparently, he doesn’t either. The silence thickens somehow; you didn’t think it was possible. 

“Um.” His brother’s already backing away, even as he speaks. “I’m gonna go now. Before I say anything else to make this worse.”

He’s gone before you can tell him you’re not sure that’s possible, leaving you and Morgan in the loudest silence you’ve ever experienced. 

It’s abundantly clear Morgan feels it too, from the way he won’t even meet your eyes, will barely even look at you, actually. And there’s so much to say here, but well, “You never brought Laura to meet your family? Never let them meet her at home?” Apparently, they really weren’t as serious as you’d thought.

Morgan laughs hollowly, finally meeting your eyes. “That probably should have been a clue, huh?”

“A little bit of a red flag.” You agree. It’d been how many years? Morgan’s tight with his family, that much you knew before you’d come out here and only became clearer as you met them. “Why...why didn’t you ever introduce them?”

Morgan sighs. “I think-I always knew something wasn’t right. And I just didn’t want to admit it?” He sighs again. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

“You didn’t know.” You tell him gently. “And I wanted to come.” You remind him. “I was happy to!” You pause for a second. “I was happy to come across the country to a wedding with you and your family with barely a second thought. So maybe we both need to re-examine what happened here this weekend.”

“Maybe we don’t.” Morgan says simply.

“What?” You frown, confused.

“You were happy to fly across the country for a wedding with me and my family.” Morgan repeats, with a small smile on his face. “And then you come here and meet my entire family, and they think I’m ready to propose to you, because you're the girl they hear me talk about all the time.” Your jaw drops-is he saying...what you think he’s saying-and his smile grows into a grin. “I think this thing between us has been more than either of us have been able to admit because we’ve had other things going on- school or hockey or-”

“Other girlfriends?” You supply teasingly, when he trails off, like he’s afraid to mention her name.

He nods. “There’ve been other boyfriends, too.” He nudges you, just as teasing.

“There have.” You admit, because it’s not a lie, but none of them have ever worked out, for a variety of reasons, but you can’t help but think, that now that he’s mentioning it, Morgan might have been a part of those other reasons.

He’s back to smiling again when he continues, leaning against you slightly. “I think we owe it to ourselves to see what we could be.”

You lean back against him. “You do, do you?”

“I do.” He nods.

“Little early for that, don’t you think?” It takes a second for your joke to land, but once it does, he cracks up and it brings a smile to your face. 

“We are at a wedding.” He grins, nudging you playfully. “Who knows, maybe someday it’ll be ours?”

-----

a bit in the future

It’s one of those beautiful sunny days where the sun is shining with a light breeze where you feel like you could be outside for hours. 

Unfortunately, you’ve got a huge project due at the end of the week, so while Morgan’s been enjoying the lake all day, you’ve been sitting at a table on the dock, staring at your laptop, tapping away at your keyboard, and ignoring his increasingly annoying calls for attention.

It’s harder to ignore when he comes up next to you, wrapping his wet arms around your shoulders. “Morgan.” You try to shake him off. “Come on, gimme like ten minutes and then I’ll come in.”

“Promise?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say because if you can get this one last thing done you’ll be ahead of your goal for the day.

It works; Morgan sits down next to you quietly, scrolling through his phone for a bit, and then, jumps up and runs inside the cabin, and you jump on the opportunity of quiet to get ahead even further, losing yourself in your next bit of project.

“Hey,” Morgan says casually, and it scares you a bit, his return far quieter than he’s been all day. “What are you doing the weekend of July 8th?”

“I don’t know, that’s like a year away!.” You snap, turning to tell him to stop annoying you, only for your jaw to drop when you see him down on one knee.

“Want to get married then?” He says, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face, like he’s been waiting for this reaction, like it was everything and more.

“Oh my god! Are you serious?” He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a ring; you gasp. “Morgan!”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes!” Your computer long forgotten in the face of an engagement ring, you throw yourself at Morgan, who catches you easily, like he was prepared for this. He probably was. He knows you better than anyone; he’s your best friend and so much more. He barely manages to slip the ring on your finger before you’re kissing him. “I love you!”

“I love you, too.” He grins. “Are you sure you’re ready to take this jump with me?”

“Of course!” You beam, but it hits you just a minute too late. He’s already jumping in the water. “You’re the worst.” You sputter out at him, purposefully spitting lake water at his face. 

He doesn’t even look like he minds. “For better or worse.” He grins.

“That’s not what that’s referring to!” You splash him and he splashes back but before it can devolve into a full on splash attack, he’s pulling you into his arms.

“I mean it though.” He says, kissing you again. “And I’ll tell you again, next summer, at our wedding.”

Our wedding. The words sound almost unreal, too good to be true. “I’ll be the one in white.” You promise. “Or, well, maybe ivory.” You say and it’s hard to kiss Morgan then when he’s laughing so hard.

[polecat-pondering]

Blog 7 - OMG, Hal is real (or will be)

I have been focusing on the line that defines self awareness in machines/computer programming. I had no idea it was so fuzzy!

Right now, artificial intelligence is divided into four main types, only one of which is actually self aware.

1. Reactive: these are purely reactive machines. They do not remember the past and do not have the ability to use past experiences to help the present.

2. Limited memory: a type of AI that can use information that they have recently learned; an example would be a self-driving car, which monitors the speed and direction of cars over time.

3. Theory of mind: a type of machine that can make decisions as well as a human. We have not quite reached this stage yet; this is also the stage in which a robot may be mistaken for being self-aware when it is not.

4. Self-awareness: these are systems that can form representations of themselves. These would be machines that are ‘aware’ of themselves and know their internal states.

from: https://meaxr.medium.com/self-awareness-in-ai-97a6a31c9a9e

Bottom line is that they have not drawn a line in the sand yet to separate humans from self aware machines / programming. They have developed a "consciousness test", but no computer has passed it yet. But they expect to clear that bar by 2030 (which I find terrifying!) https://www.breakoutofthebox.com/how-to-teach-an-ai-self-awareness/

For the youngest among you, that is Hal, the self aware computer from the movie, 2001, A Space Odyssey. Truly a frightening computer. For the sake of the movie, they were able to shut him down. An option that might not exist for us given the extreme interconnectivity of our systems.

Ok, enough of the fear porn. What I found is yes, programmers are absolutely working towards creating self aware computer programs. I also learned that cell phones are a particular focus. What this means for my story is I can go as far as I want with Lizzy (my AI computer character). Given the strides made, the sky is the limit! She will be able to move smoothly between phones, TVs, autos, and pretty much anything else plugged into an electrical system or on the internet. And there would be no way to prevent it. (Thank goodness I am not writing a horror story! )

My story focuses more on ethics and control. If computers become self-aware, how does our interaction with them change? The line is already blurry. In my last research post, I noted that Sophia had been given citizen status in Saudi Arabia in 2017. Officially, she was not self-aware. But, remember, they "killed" her with no explanation - and apparently no consequences for killing a Saudi "citizen".

It raises a lot of questions about ethics. At least it does for me.

[ojcobsessed]

oliver jackson-cohen for flaunt magazine, by jessica romoff, july 2019

***

The first horror movie I ever saw was The Exorcist on my grandmother’s RCA console TV, midnight on Christmas Eve. My grandmother is a Catholic Portuguese woman who was devout to cross stitching and Jesus Christ, resulting in crucifixes nailed into every wall of the living room. So, as every flash and jolt from the TV screen would animate the tortured figurines with chilling white light, I prepared in panic and thrill for each one to flip upside down.

Not only did this movie ignite my passionate love for horror, but actor Oliver Jackson Cohen’s passion as well. Mine lead me to accumulating random 70’s slasher movie memorabilia and sporadic nightmares, while Cohen’s lead him to eventually being the star of hit Netflix horror miniseries The Haunting of Hill House as his character Luke Crain, with a few nightmares as well. The 10 episode show is a modern reimagining of Shirley Jackson’s novel “Hill House” and follows the Crain family during the summer they lived in the haunted home, and flashes forward on their lives decades after the tragic events.

During a phone interview with him, I learned Cohen is much more than just a dedicated actor with a jawline that can cut glass; Cohen is a whirlpool of empathy, an artist who gushes his heart into everything he does, and demands that his character Luke, and those battling with similar struggles, are portrayed more than just their addiction.

With your role in last season, I was really impressed by how you portrayed a character with drug addiction, and how you refrained from making him a stereotypical, one dimensional person - and I was wondering how you avoided leaning on this cliche when approaching Luke?

Thank you, number one, I think we all have seen drug addicts portrayed in movies and tv shows before. Most of the time, they are always portrayed as their addiction, and I don’t think that’s very true for anyone who knows anyone who has substance abuse problems; there is actually a fucking person there. So it was very clear from the get-go that I had a responsibility to present a fully formed human being, and they actually brought in a specific writer to write Luke’s character- who was a heroin addict in recovery. I said to Mike, the director and creator of the show - before we even started that it’s very important that Luke is the sum of all his parts and is not just his addiction. So I think that the way I approached it, is that when I first began doing all the research and the pre-work before we started filming, I started looking at documentaries, because I had never done heroin before, so I thought, Oh I’ll start looking at documentaries - but then I realized quite early on that that was putting a judgement on him. And I don’t think it’s fair - because behind anyone who has fallen into this trap is someone who is deeply struggling. And I felt it - I felt a huge amount of, not pressure, but a need to show the person behind the addiction and show the person who is actually struggling, and why he had become an addict. So I focused on that - so I spent no time whatsoever seeing Lucas as a drug addict; I saw him as someone who was struggling to come to terms with everything that he had experienced and happened in his life. And so I focused on anyone who is trying to numb themselves, that know they’re running away from something. So I built up the terror of that, instead of focusing on “I need my fix.”

Was there something that happened in your own life, that was out of your control and not your fault, but regardless someone judged you because of that - perhaps driving your connection to Luke’s character?

Oh 100 percent, and that’s what is so interesting, because I don’t have a substance abuse problem - but I think that out of all the characters I have ever played in the past 10 years, there’s the most of me in Luke. Like, all of that stuff of just trying to function, and the vulnerability, and just trying to be normal, and being so ashamed - all of that is my own shit, and so [laughs] I didn’t need to be a heroin addict to understand the pain that he was going through, so, so much. I think it’s incredible getting to play someone like that because, in a weird way it felt like therapy - I was able to go to work everyday and just be all the parts of myself. I think it’s interesting as well for men, there’s this whole thing about having to be a certain way, having to always be strong, and I think inherently a lot of people do feel incredibly fragile. So all of that stuff of Luke is me, and my stuff, and I didn’t have to pretend - I just got to go to work and be as vulnerable as I feel. You know we all have incredibly complicated lives and incredibly complicated upbringings,  and I used all of my stuff: I was diagnosed with PTSD a couple of years ago so all of that is in there with Luke - and it felt incredibly cathartic to be able to kind of put it all out there and be there.

When your work is something that is so emotionally rigorous, and strenuous, it must be very draining dedicating yourself to a character who is really struggling his whole life  - How do you unwind and decompress from this intensity?

[Laughs] I….you know what, I’m not very good at it. I feel like I’m one of those people, I’m sort of with the school of thought that you either go to work and you fucking do it  - and you do it for real, or go home. I’m not into this whole I’ll just pretend! thing, so it’s probably not the healthiest way of working. But I feel it’s necessary, and then I don’t know how to handle it. There were a couple of days on set where specifically we were filming all of Luke’s episodes or the stuff where he’s sort of roaming the streets - that got way too intense. We would rap at 6 am and I would go back to my house and sleep for a bit, and then wake up and just be so out of sorts: I would have to call people at home to reassure me that everything was okay.

I imagine the intensity can be overwhelming

Yeah, I mean, it sounds really wonky - but I think that when you’re messing around with stuff like that, and you’re tricking your brain into thinking something is real, and then on top of that you’re drawing from your own personal well of shit that probably should be kept untouched - it’s gonna be messy at times. So yeah, it gets… it did get a little hairy. But again I felt that it was important - and I think all of us across the board in the cast felt that it was so important to do that - to give Luke a voice. And what’s been so interesting when the show came out, it was so overwhelming, the response, specifically from people that have struggled with addiction. And it was so warming to hear these stories from people, so I think it was necessary for all of us as actors to go to those dark parts of ourselves, and put that out on screen.

Is there something that you wish you knew before you began acting in a horror TV series? Or about a TV series with intense family drama with horror influence?

Hm..I don’t know. Just… it’s all good. [laughs] it’s gonna be all good.

Honestly, that’s pretty solid universal advice. And I was wondering, are you a fan of horror in general?

Yes! Huge

And is this a genre that you want to continue with?

Yes, I had never done anything horror before, so this was a dream. I remember I watched The Exorcist when I was like eight or something, and it completely terrified me - and I still to this day have nightmares about it. I think what’s so clever about horror, and I think specifically with what Mike has done on our show, it becomes a metaphor for something else. So specifically with Hill House, if you take away the house and all the ghosts and all the horror elements, it’s about childhood trauma. So you can swap out what all those kids went through, the horror they experienced, can be swaped out for sexual abuse, or physical abuse, or anything like that. So you manage to kind of navigate all of these horrific things we kind of don’t want to look at, in the veil of ghosts, so it becomes palatable for an audience. I never knew this, Netflix told me this, that horror is the most watched genre in the whole world.

Really!?

Across the board, yeah! I thought it would be comedy. But that’s why Netflix made the show. Because they realized that actually there was such a massive market for horror. So yeah, a really long winded answer to your short question - yes I was a fan of horror, I always have been.

Me too! I’ve never thought about how horror can be a metaphor for trauma. That’s so fascinating. Just one last question - I know that you can’t say too much about the second season… right? Or they’ll shoot you.

Right [laughs]

So, see if you can answer this: if Season 1 and Season 2 were mythical creatures, what would they be?

[Laughs] What would they be… ahhh...I genuinely don’t know how to answer that question. They’re both just beasts from the darkest corners of our minds. Season 1…. Uh… what I can say - is that season 1 I believe was amazing, and with what they’re doing with season 2 is even…. More incredible.

[donteattheappleshook]

She Came From the Water Chapter 6/?

Summary

Between his dissatisfying job, a constant battle to keep seeing his daughter, and a history of mistakes, losses, and broken dreams, Killian Jones has no place for magic in his life. But when he pulls in his fishing nets one evening only to find a woman caught in them, his life becomes infinitely more complicated. Is she a siren, a selkie, like his daughter believes, or just another lost soul like himself? Suddenly, his life is a thing of fairytales; beautiful women hidden away in cottages, selkie husbands coming back to claim them, and, just maybe, a chance at happily ever after.

A Captain Swan AU based on the film Ondine (2009) for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M for eventual smut.

I’m going to stop guessing at how long this fic is going to be.

Read it on Ao3  or Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5

Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd​ for helping me through all my insecurities about this fic <3 you’re such a lovely beta and person <3

Big thank you as well to @elizabeethan​ @the-darkdragonfly​ and @xhookswenchx​ for letting me brainstorm out loud to you!

Finally thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo​ for this lovely aesthetic that made me start writing this fic again. 

****

Part 6

"Someone’s here." 

She looks outside again and Killian tenses. Nobody ever comes out here. Not unannounced. “Go into the bedroom," he tells her, absentmindedly stroking her arm. "I’ll see who it is.” 

He does his best to stay calm. Surely it’s David or Mary Margaret come to say hello. They just forgot to call. But he can’t shake the feeling that her past has finally shown up, that someone has come to break apart this little world they’ve created for themselves over the last three days and he grieves it already. 

Once she’s shut the door to the bedroom, Killian heads across the kitchen. He can hear it now, someone coming up the drive, steps light and quick like someone sneaking up, trying to avoid being seen. He opens the door, stepping outside in an attempt to keep whoever it is from coming in when suddenly the mystery visitor ducks out from the treeline. He lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Alice,” he calls and her head snaps up. “What are you doing here? You know you’re not allowed to come without your mum’s permission.” The words burn in his throat as they do every time he has to say them, every time Alice disregards the custody rules set in place. 

“Mum’s not home,” she shrugs. “Besides, I wanted to hear the rest of the story. Did she get her memories back?” Alice continues, ducking right under his arm and into the house behind him. He whirls around. His daughter might not be a threat or someone from Swan’s past coming to take her away, but she doesn’t want to be seen. 

“Alice, wait,” he starts but she’s already headed into the kitchen and dragged a chair to the counter so she can boost herself up and reach the cabinet. She beams when she finds the Poptarts. She’s climbing down and ripping into the bag before he’s even reached her so he can make sure she doesn’t break her neck on the way. “Careful,” he warns but is, of course, ignored. She’s utterly unphased as he scoops her up under her arms to set her safely on the ground. 

“So did she?” she asks again.

“Did she what? Who?” Killian’s head is spinning. 

“The girl in the net,” Alice clarifies, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Really Dad, isn’t this supposed to be your story.”

“Sweetheart, now isn’t a good time.”

“Why not?” she asks and just then the kettle goes off. Alice looks at it and then at the two mugs next to the stove. Killian casts a slightly frantic glance at his bedroom door and her gaze follows him. “Do you have a friend over?” she cocks her head. “Is Ruby visiting? Why is she hiding? Are you doing grown up things again?” 

Killian is going to have a heart attack. “No,” he answers, hoping that Swan didn’t hear anything. “What are grown up things?” 

“I don’t know. You said you’d only tell me when I was older.” 

“Alice I-” The door creaks open and Swan pokes her head out. Killian whirls around, shocked, and wondering how much of the conversation she overheard. She smiles shyly and Killian looks between her and Alice, who beams. How is he going to explain-

“Hello,” his daughter says, setting down her snack and heading over to greet the woman now stepping out of his room. 

“Hello,” Swan answers. Killian stares at them both, unsure what to do or say, worried that this will make the woman staying with him feel betrayed, that it will traumatize his child in some way. But neither of them seem particularly angry or prone to holding this over his head in therapy, so he hesitates. 

“Um, Alice, this is Swan. She’s staying with me for a bit.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Alice says. Killian’s eyes snap to Swan who nods, looking guilty. When had they met? Why had neither told him? Selkies. Suddenly it makes sense. “Oh, don’t be upset,” his daughter continues dismissively. “I asked her to keep it a secret.”

“Do you think you could keep me a secret?” Swan asks then, casting a glance at him, as though asking for permission. He nods. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.” 

“Why not?” Alice asks, frowning. And then her eyes widen in understanding. “Of course! Because of your seal coat!” Both the adults look at her in confusion. “You wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re here if you can’t remember where you left your seal coat. They could trap you.” 

She casts an uncertain glance at Killian. He doesn’t want to lie to Alice, but he also doesn’t believe that he’d be able to talk her out of her certainty about Swan being a selkie if he tried. He clears his throat, absentmindedly stroking the back of his daughter’s hair. “Right. So let’s not tell anyone just yet, okay, love?”

Alice nods. “I did some research you know,” she starts. “Selkies aren’t dangerous. They’re not like mermaids. They save sailors from drowning rather than pulling them under. Which is strange since in this case it’s you who was saved from drowning. Although, I don’t know if you can actually drown if you’re a seal-woman…” 

She continues on, rattling off facts and theories and rambling and Killian casts a hopeless, affectionate glance at Swan who is watching his daughter with patient interest. Alice has it backwards; he might have been the one who pulled her from the water, but it was he who’d been drowning. She’s reached through all the misery and the darkness he’d let himself surrender to and pulled him back to the surface, breathed air and life back into his lungs.

“And of course you can swim very fast and very long since you can breathe underwater,” Alice continues. “I wonder if you swim as fast as a seal? Although you were swimming without your seal coat. I don’t know what the rules are for a selkie in human form.” She frowns at Swan then. “Is it much much different? Swimming with human legs? It must be more difficult -”

“Do you swim, Alice?” she asks then and Alice shakes her head. 

“No. I’ve never had lessons. And Dad can’t teach me.” Killian glances awkwardly at his feet and shrugs when Swan looks at him in surprise. But she doesn’t pry. Instead, she turns back to his daughter. 

“Would you like to learn?” she asks. “... Unless you’re afraid of the water,” she suggests when Alice hesitates and there’s no challenge in her voice, no taunt, just understanding, like maybe she understands that fear. 

“I wouldn’t be afraid of the water if I had a sea creature with me,” the girl beams and Swan returns it. 

“I can teach you. If it’s okay with your dad.” 

Killian had been watching the interaction between the two in stunned disbelief. The way she’s watching Swan, with awe and admiration and enchantment, he’s never seen Alice so taken with anyone in his life. He wonders if everyone who meets her instantly falls in love with her or if it’s just Joneses. 

“Aye. It’s alright with me. But won’t you be cold?”

“It’s not that cold!” Alice insists and he can already see that there’s a tantrum brewing under the surface if he dares to deny her the chance to swim with a sea creature. 

He tries to hide his smirk. “Alright, but the second your lips turn blue we’re coming in.” 

He doesn’t think she’ll last very long. While the wind is mild today the water was still cold against his skin. No harm in a few minutes in the sea, he reasons, children here grow up with the cold in their blood and the water in their veins. He likes the idea of Alice learning to swim; he thinks he’ll sleep better knowing he doesn’t have to worry about her every time she wades out too far or is on the boat with him. 

Swan reaches out and Alice takes her hand and the two head off out the door towards the shore. They’re still on the steps when Swan turns back to him. “Aren’t you coming?” she asks, as though it should have been obvious that he was invited. He’d assumed this was girl-bonding. He smiles, happy to be included. 

It’s not until they reach the water and Alice kicks off her shoes and socks, dipping her toes in the chilly water that she turns to them both in panic. “I don’t have a swimsuit!” she realises. 

“That’s alright. Neither do I,” Swan consoles her. 

“What will we wear then?” 

Swan considers this for a moment and then shrugs. “Underwear,” she tells her and then pulls her dress off over her head. 

Killian’s mind suddenly goes blank, every thought and sound drowned out by the racing of his heart as his eyes cast over the long lines of her legs. His jaw drops, in shock, in awe, in disbelief. He watches the way her hair falls softly over the curve of her back, every smooth, pale inch of her on display and beautiful under his gaze, smile bright and shining as she laughs. She can’t be real. 

It’s only when she turns to look at him, and her smile falters a little with curiosity, lip catching between her teeth, that he realises he’s staring. He’s suddenly far too aware of his limbs, feeling awkward and clumsy and like he’s taking up far too much space. 

He darts his eyes away, staring fixedly out at the horizon as he tries to calm his racing heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as discreetly as he can to try to clear it. But he can’t get the image of her out of his mind. 

He tries to focus on Alice as the two of them wade out into the water, his daughter letting out a shrieking giggle when the cold reaches her knees, her fingers white knuckled against the woman’s. Killian’s certain that if he just stays right here and doesn’t move, doesn’t let his gaze stray from the spot right in front of his feet, that he can get through this without making a fool of himself. 

“Aren’t you coming in, Dad?” Alice calls and the blood drains from his face. 

“It wouldn’t hurt you to learn too!” He glances over at them and Swan throws a look at him, the challenge in it raised with her brow. 

He’d really, really rather not. He can barely handle the effect this woman has on him with all her clothes on. But he notices again the way Alice is clutching her hand, the slight nervousness to her posture despite her incessant bravery and he knows he has to. He kicks off his boots and his socks and leaves them on the shore before wading out after them. As soon as he reaches Alice, she clings tightly to his hand. 

“You swim with all your clothes on?” Swan teases and he smirks.

“I don’t swim.” She rolls her eyes, clearly not letting him off so easily. “Little girls and selkies might not get cold, but fishermen do.” She laughs and, as the water reaches his hips and shoots ice up his spine, he’s glad he’ll have at least one less thing to worry about. 

“Too bad.” She says it so softly he almost doesn’t hear it but his gaze snaps to hers, eyes wide. She’s focused on Alice now, asking if she’s feeling scared, and he wonders if he imagined it. 

“Okay, lie back,” she instructs and lets go of the little girl’s hand so that she can brace one arm under her shoulders and one under her legs, Alice squishing his fingers between both of her hands. “You’re doing great,” Swan encourages even as his daughter flounders a little nervously, letting herself be held up. After a long moment, she finally lets go of his hand and tentatively trails her arms through the water, toes kicking gently and untested. 

“I’m swimming!” she exclaims, nervous laughter bubbling out of her and Killian grins at her proudly. 

“You are!” Swan agrees proudly. “Look at you go, you’re a sea creature!” 

“You’re a natural, love,” he smiles at her. The two of them wade out a little further, Swan guiding the girl in circles, always holding her steady as she gets the hang of floating and he watches, amazed by how taken Alice is and how taken Swan seems to be as well. He’s never even dreamed of letting a woman into his life, not when that life includes Alice and he doesn’t even know if there’s room for someone else in his heart. But seeing them together, he can’t get over how perfectly she fits, or how much he likes it. 

Suddenly, Swan stops, gaze darting down to her foot beneath the waves and he worries she’s maybe cut herself on a rock. She continues to stare, brow furrowing further as she shifts her feet under her. He can see the anxiety building in her and he comes towards them, calling her name softly in question.

“Go to your dad for a second,” she says quickly and Alice must sense her change in mood because she practically leaps across the small space into his arms. He hoists her out of the water and onto his hip just as Swan takes a deep, gasping breath and dives down beneath it. She’s under for a long moment, just long enough that Killian fears he may have to go after her, but panics knowing he can’t do so with Alice out this deep. 

Finally, she breaks the surface, swallowing air in heavy swallows and the relief washes over him so forcefully that he’s made dizzy for a moment. She’s clutching something. It’s dark and leathery and covered in moss and seaweed. 

“What’s that?” Alice asks and Swan stares hard at it. 

“I don’t know. Just… something I found.”

Her eyes go wide suddenly. “Is it your seal-coat?” she asks excitedly.

“Maybe.” Her voice sounds far away.

“Are you going to bury it?”

Swan looks at them then for the first time since before she dove under the water, uncertain. But as her gaze turns to Alice, her expression softens, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Should I?”

“Yes. Then you could stay for seven years.” 

Her smile softens even more. “Would you like that?” Killian can’t help the way his breath catches when her eyes flit to his beneath her lashes. 

“Very much.” He hopes she knows, even if he can’t say it, how much he’d like it too. 

She clutches the leather and weeds to her chest. “Well then, I guess we better bury it.” 

Killian carries his daughter back to shore, Swan following closely behind them. Alice goes on at length without need for an audience about how and where they should hide the ‘seal coat’. Every time he glances back at the woman trailing in their wake, she’s fixated on the item in her hands, her expression unreadable. 

It can’t be her seal coat. That would be impossible, ludicrous, the stuff of fairytales. He appreciates that she’s doing this for Alice, letting her play make believe, indulging her games and fantasies. But the way she’s staring at the waterlogged bundle, like it’s something overwhelming and terrifying and familiar... it makes him doubt everything he believes. 

Maybe she is a selkie. Maybe she did swim here to escape a selkie husband and wind up in his net and in his life. All he knows is fairytale or not, figurative or not, her burying it means something. ‘Would you like that?’ she’d asked. She didn’t have to ask. If she wants to stay, seven years or a hundred, he won’t send her away. 

When they reach shore, Alice wiggles her way out of his arms and, after a small battle over the fact that she had to put her jeans and sweater back on (which she only agreed to when she saw that Swan was dressing as well), she begins leading them off back towards the house. 

“Where are we burying it?” Swan asks, still clutching it carefully. 

“I know the perfect place!” Alice insists.

Killian watches the woman carefully. Every now and then her eyes dart out around her, like she’s expecting someone or something, like she’s being watched. He tries to settle the chill in his bones, the worry that something is coming, that it’s on it’s way now to take her away and ruin this. He fears it; he can’t lose her, not yet. He hasn’t had enough time. He’ll never have enough time. 

Alice runs off ahead of them, disappearing around the back of the cottage. He doesn’t worry. She’s spent years getting lost and found on the grounds and the cliffs and the woods around his home. She knows every inch. When he looks to Swan again she’s frowning, gnawing at her lip as her fingers scratch at the moss and the mud that cover her package. 

He reaches out, fingers brushing gently along her spine, hesitant in his desire to comfort her. She glances up at him, snapped out of whatever train of thought she’d gotten lost in for a little while. He knows the feeling well. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, fingertips still barely touching the dampness of her dress, droplets falling from her hair and onto his knuckles. She watches him for a moment. They’ve stopped walking. He can’t make out her expression. She looks torn, pained and confused and so lost and he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. 

Her eyes are uncertain as she looks down at the would-be seal coat and then back at him. “I -”

“Come on!” Alice shouts and her mouth snaps shut. Killian turns to wave at his daughter who rolls her eyes in exasperation, waiting with arms crossed. When he looks back at the woman beside him the helpless expression is gone, hidden behind some wall he doesn’t know if he can climb. 

“Swan?” 

She smiles, bright and shining and a lie. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she insists, heading off after Alice and leaving him no choice but to follow. 

They find her in the greenhouse, an old, broken down thing that had been here when they bought the cottage and that his mother had always meant to turn into something beautiful. She’d run out of time though, and while Killian once swore to himself that he’d finish it for her, the decaying wood of the foundation speaks of his empty promises and forgotten good intentions. 

Swan looks around in wonder, eyes wide and mouth agape as she takes in the overgrown structure. Nature has overtaken it, moss and weeds and late season flowers climbing along the beams and covering the cracked stone floor. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, gazing up at the canopy of leaves that wind around the remains of the ceiling, some trickling down so low that she reaches out to brush them with her fingertips. 

He’s taken in by the sight of her, by the way she finds beauty in the things he’s grown to loath and makes them magical. It’s as though the light she carries flows from her hands and into the room itself, turning the dark and shaded ruins into something wonderful. Strange and wonderful, like everything about her. He wonders if this is how Alice sees the world, remembers what it was like to see adventure and magic where others saw nothing. Perhaps he could see it this way again some day, or maybe it’s enough to surround himself with those who do. 

“Over here,” Alice calls and they both follow her to the far end of the structure. She’s trying to get a piece of cracked stone loose, the floor crumbling beneath them. 

“Here, let me,” he insists and kneels down to pry it free before she hurts herself. The rock lifts fairly easily, revealing soft, damp earth beneath it and Alice grins. 

“Right here,” she says, kneeling down beside him and beginning to dig. 

Swan finally sets down her burden and joins them on the ground, fingers sinking deep into the soil as she helps Alice dig. She looks at him, brow raised meaningfully and nodding at the ever growing hole. He shakes his head, laughing but complies, scooping mud and dirt and worms until it’s deep enough and she stands, picking up the bundle and setting it carefully inside. He’s never seen Alice so excited, and that’s saying something. 

“Will we remember where it is?” Swan asks as they pile dirt over it. “In seven years?”

“Should we mark it?” Killian asks, trying to remember if he grabbed his pocket knife or left it on the boat. “We could put something in the wood.”

“No, that’s too obvious,” Alice shakes her head. “Someone could find it!” 

Swan bites back a smile and turns to him. “Yeah, come on, Killian,” she sighs with a smirk. “Way too obvious.” He raises a brow at her, a disbelieving grin pulling at his lips. Is she teasing him? 

“I know,” his daughter says, standing. She walks out where the back door would have been, feet carefully placed one in front of the other until she reaches a giant oak tree that’s been on the grounds longer than Killian’s been alive. She turns to them. “Seventeen steps to the fairy tree.” 

“Brilliant,” he tells her and she looks very proud of herself. He doesn’t bother to question the fact that her feet will grow; he doubts she’ll remember this in seven years time. By then she’ll be too grown up, so for now he lets her believe in magic, hopes she continues to for as long as possible. 

“Thank you, Alice,” Swan says, taking her hand when the girl returns to them. 

“Now your selkie husband can’t make you go back!” 

“I have a husband?” she asks. 

“Of course. All selkies do. But now he can’t make you go back to the water for seven years. Not so long as your coat is hidden.” The excitement in his daughter’s eyes is unparalleled and he hates to break this up, but a glance at his watch tells him they need to get going. Alice needs to be home when her mother returns, and he still needs to go to the fishery. 

“Time to get you home, love.”

“Dad, no,” she starts to whine and while it tugs at his heart that she wants to stay, he knows she can’t. 

“Come on, your mum will start to worry.” She won’t. He knows that. She probably won’t even notice Alice is late or gone - who knows where Eloise is anyway - but if she finds out that Alice was here, she’ll make them both suffer for it and he won’t have her keeping his daughter from him any more than she already does. 

“Do I still get to come this weekend?” she asks, stepping back as though she’ll refuse to leave unless he promises. 

“Aye,” he smiles. “For the whole weekend.” Only then does she begrudgingly agree to come with him. The three of them head back out to the cottage, Swan sitting on the front steps and saying goodbye to Alice, saying she hopes she’ll see her soon. 

“Will you still be here Saturday?”

Swan looks at him quickly before answering. He only gives her a hopeful smile. “Yes,” she promises and he has to duck his head to hide his pleased grin. 

“Okay,” Alice agrees and then heads towards his extended hand. She’s only about halfway there when she stops. She turns suddenly, rushing towards Swan and wrapping her arms around her neck in a fierce hug. 

The woman looks stunned for a second, thrown back by the force of the small girl crashing into her, but then she smiles, eyes almost watery as she squeezes her back. Alice whispers something in her ear that he can’t hear and he won’t ask about. Let them have their secrets. One more kind woman in his daughter’s life is not a gift he takes lightly. 

Alice hangs on to his hand for longer than normal on their walk home, regaling him with tales of selkies and what exactly it means to bury her seal coat. He raises an eyebrow at some of the things she tells him she’s read in the books she found at the library, really hoping she doesn’t actually understand some of the stories about women and male selkie lovers. 

“Why seven years?” he asks and she rolls her eyes. 

“Because those are the rules. If she buries her seal coat she can stay for seven years. But burying it just means she has to stay. She can stay if she wants to. Unless her husband decides he wants to take her back. That’s why we had to make sure it was hidden. If he finds it, he’ll take her away.” There’s a hint of heartbreak in her eyes. 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we hid it so well,” he says, squeezing her hand and her smile is back. 

“You know, Dad,” she says when they’ve been walking a little while. He looks down at her. “Sometimes selkies do stay on land forever. They say that selkies can often find happiness with a…” she frowns, certainly trying to remember whatever book she’s quoting. “A landsman! That’s it. Selkies can often find unexpected happiness with a landsman.”

“Is that so?” he asks, deliberately not acknowledging her meaningful look. 

“Do you think Swan will stay?” she presses.

“I don’t know, love. That’s her choice.” 

“I think she will. I think she likes it here. Maybe you can marry her and then she can stay forever.” 

Killian winces, not ready to get into why he can’t go marrying a woman with no memory who he’s only met three days ago. Especially when even now the thought makes him smile. “Alice…” he starts.

“Why not?” she asks, more to herself. “It makes sense. She’s already living with you, and she likes you.” 

“You think she likes me?” he asks before he can stop himself and regretting it the moment he says it. Alice gives him a sly grin. Killian clears his throat, making a point to sound less excited this time. “What makes you think she wants to stay?”

“She could have taken her seal coat and left.” 

He knows it’s not a seal coat. He knows she’s not obligated to stay for seven years because she hid it in his greenhouse. But he can’t help but hope when he thinks of the way she looked at him when she said they should bury it. It felt like a promise. Maybe not a promise, but the suggestion of one at least. 

“Besides,” Alice says, breaking him from his thoughts. “I’m not oblivious, you know. I’m seven. I know things.”

***

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[kitkatopinions]

I’m probably over thinking/over complicating things but Ironwood and Penny have been really bothering me. It because prior to the moment that destroyed Penny’s arc the show and Ruby were really pushing that Penny not matter her body was human and that’s a very positive I like that especially when it comes to characters of Penny’s nature.

So my problem kicks in when I think of Ironwood. Namely this part in his song:

“What if it's true as they say

That I don't have a heart

That I'm more a machine than a man?”

Like wtf. I mean I “get it” especially with that dumbass line of Winter. But when it’s talked about Ironwood it was always in reference to the fact that his body is half robotic and there for we are meant to see the correlation between his body and his character.?

Put next to Penny’s message that really bothers me. Even more so since Penny gets a “reward” of becoming human, but the writers push that Ironwood sacrificing his arm to stop Watts and replacing it (a medical decision that could be debated given that he wanted to be up and able immediately to handle things not to mention that fact that nerves and muscle are severely fucked up) with a new (uncharacteristically uncovered) prosthetic means that he’s moving away from humanity. This thought has been driving nuts for a week.

I don’t think you’re overthinking at all. The writers have been pretty blatant about what they think of disabled people.

On the topic of James, 1. They wrote their triple amputee character to be coded as losing his humanity. This is suspect from the get go, but writers imo need to be especially careful and sensitive when they display things like villains with prosthetics. CRWBY is not careful and sensitive. 2. They specifically connected the loss of his limb to the loss of his humanity outside of the show, and as you said, his new prosthetic is uncharacteristically uncovered as well, and there were some pointed shots showcasing his arm and emphasizing it before showing Ironwood doing something wrong as well as a shot that particularly bothered me of them having James fall to Winter when his aura broke and then them immediately flashing to a fallen, broken robotic soldier. Tying the loss of someone’s humanity to them losing a limb / gaining a prosthetic in any way is wrong imo. There are better ways to display someone’s loss of humanity than villainizing the loss of his arm, and I don’t care what justifications people have for ‘they just meant to say that he was too impatient to-’ Idc. Tying the loss of humanity to the gaining of a prosthetic is wrong. 3. They never once treated Ironwood’s clear PTSD, history of mental health problems, and trauma with any sympathy, instead spending their time ragging on him for not wanting to feel his pain anymore and condemning him for... Trying to control his emotions. 4. CRWBY also gave him a semblance and explained how it worked by saying he hyper focused, talking about how James’ passive semblance that he can’t control forces him to focus on one single goal and fixate. I’m not disabled, but I do hyper fixate. It’s not something I can control, and to see it used as a justification for evil (in one of my favorite characters in the series who reminded me of my father lol) and being treated as something bad... It doesn’t feel good. I can’t imagine how other people must feel who are much more affected by this than I am. 5. As you say, the writers go out of their way to reference his metal body as being more ‘machine than man’ and make lines about him being heartless. And yeah, I get that he’s an allegory for the ‘Tin Man’ from Wizard of Oz but ffs the Tin Man had always had a heart and I honestly thought that was what they were going for in V3 with Qrow commenting that sometimes he thought James didn’t have a heart and the audience seeing Ironwood’s actions as questionable, only for the entire show to tell us repeatedly that he actually is a caring and good person who’s willing to destroy all the forces he was proud to show off if it means saving lives and was actually pretty freaking blameless in the Fall of Beacon and was super kind to the kids and when the chips were down, Qrow and Glynda both absolutely knew without even questioning that James would never ever willingly hurt the world or fully betray them and had absolutely no hand in the Beacon attack. Like, I’m sorry, but between Penny and Ironwood, season eight is the season of taking well done character allusions and throwing them out the window for the exact opposite moral done incredibly poorly. And anyway, getting off of that rant, making a ‘more machine than man’ sentiment tied around a triple amputee character is incredibly harmful and hurtful to people with disabilities and only propagates the real world stereotypes against people like James.

So, yes, their treatment of Ironwood, his mental health, and specifically his disabilities was so badly done, harmful, incredibly insensitive, and frankly, appalling that it came from grown adult writers in 2019-2021! But, as you point out, it’s not just Ironwood. And here’s where things really get bad for CRWBY. Because Ironwood alone is enough for me to say they were ableist - unintentionally or otherwise - and ought to apologize for the hurt they’ve caused their fans. But when you get into the rest of their treatment of characters with metal prosthetics or non-flesh elements to their body, it becomes a pattern.

Penny’s entire body is removed from her on threat of death, with the justification that it’s hurting her and that her body is just a machine and not part of who she is, contradicting Penny’s earlier themes of self-acceptance and validating her humanity in the body she already had. She then dies by assisted suicide in a way that feels unneeded, after having asked to be killed earlier in the narrative. So many people have talked about how destructive her story became in V8 and how it personally hurt them, especially non-binary people, trans people, autistic people, or disabled people who saw themselves in Penny or saw in her arc something that they could relate to, only to have Penny’s differences stripped away from her, having her conform to normal body standards and have her previous body type invalidated by her friends, and then they had her killed via assisted suicide in an unbelievable way, insisting as well that she never made a choice before she was a flesh-person and couldn’t feel things right. It’s all horribly done, but it’s important to remember that while Ironwood is accused of losing his humanity as he loses a third limb and gets a third prosthetic, Penny’s earlier validation is taken away and is instead only granted and she is only justified as a person when she loses all her ‘nuts and bolts’ and becomes a flesh person. And then she’s killed anyway.

Yang’s prosthetic is the least ill handled, but it is still dismissed as ‘just extra’ despite her former fairly strong arc of coming to terms with her disability and making it a part of her. She casually justifies what’s happening with Penny despite Penny not being in a position of adequate consent. Yang’s trauma and PTSD also vanished when Adam died at the end of season six and in my opinion, that situation was handled very badly.

Maria and Pietro, two other disabled characters, disappeared, left when Amity fell and were not even mentioned iirc since. Not even when Penny is awake, not even when they’re evacuating, not even when Penny is choosing to die. She never brings up her father. And Ruby’s supposed ‘mentor’ who never had an actual narrative role that couldn’t have been filled by Qrow and has had nothing to do since season six even past that is also forgotten out in the tundra and not mentioned again.

The writers go out of their way to have Winter say that because she was just following orders (a statement that contradicts her previous character imo) and pushing down her emotions, she was the real machine, whereas Penny had been human underneath her apparently easily tossed aside and destructive previous metal body.  And I don’t know if this means anything, but in that scene where she and Penny meet when Penny is dying and transferring the maiden powers to Winter, Winter is in her V7 character design, instead of wearing her assistive brace. Like I said, I don’t know if I’m reading into that, but with everything else, it feels like an iffy choice.

So yeah. In the past season CRWBY specifically cultivated a pattern of disrespect, dismissal, and villainization of any non-flesh attributes in my opinion. It seems pretty intentional and clear to me, but I’m willing to accept that maybe this was just a wildly bad uneducated mistake. Here’s the thing about that, though, after the Faunus/Racism allegory, the CRWBY writers should’ve learned their lesson and not touched on any real world topics that they weren’t willing to do the research on and treat with the sensitivity and care and respect the topics needed. Their Faunus/Racism allegory was harmful and hurtful and frankly could’ve sunk them in the water, they should’ve learned to put much more care and effort into their work or stayed the hell away from anything that could further spread the negative stereotypes surrounding real world people. But they didn’t learn their lesson and they’ve continued to push harmful narratives with no awareness or sensitivity. I don’t think you’re over-reacting at all, I think this is something that - intentionally written or otherwise - the writers should be called out on, or they’re just going to continue writing harmful narratives.

Also, I am not disabled, many of my opinions on the treatment of these characters comes from posts I’ve seen from many disabled or neurodivergent RWBY fans (or former RWBY fans,) or other people more affected by these narratives - minus the thing I said about Winter appearing without her brace when she talks to Penny, as it was something I just noticed while typing out this post. Since I’m not disabled, I’m not the best person to talk about these things, so if I got anything wrong in this, anyone more affected, please know you can let me know and I can edit and fix.

[bettsfic]

february pinned: the real & the ideal

in this month’s edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and consultation availability, i have short story recommendations for you and an essay on the nature of reality in fiction! 

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

in other news, i finished two fics this month:

digging for orchids (hualian, 43k, explicit, fake marriage au)

let ruin end here (hualian, 8k, mature, neighbors au)

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

oof,

what a month. january is already a rough time. throwing in a pandemic, a coup, and an economic revolution spearheaded by reddit just seems unfair. as for me personally, the spring semester came at me fast and even though it’s only week 2, i am already buried in grading. which i realize is my fault, considering i’m the one who assigned homework.

so after hearing your feedback, i thought i’d make this newsletter even more writing-related by writing more about writing. this month i’ll start off by talking about the nature of reality in fiction in a segment i call “been thinkin a lot about.” more on that below.

new resource

i’ve compiled a folder of PDFs of the short stories i teach most often, which is to say, the stories i like enough to re-read every semester. most of them are literary fiction but a few veer into fantasy, sci fi, and horror.

i know before the MFA, i didn’t really know what a short story was. like i knew, abstractly, the concept of a short story (it is as it sounds), but i could only list a couple i’d ever read as an adult, and i hadn’t read anything that had been published in the last decade. i remember wondering why i was even being asked to care about short stories. who writes short stories? who reads them? apparently, a lot of people. short storyists are a lot like fanwriters in that they make no money and when you talk about your writing in public, people give you that “why would anyone waste their time with that?” look.

so here’s why i was asked to care about short stories: a good short story gives you the entirety of a world in a very condensed space. moreover, it can sometimes leave you as satisfied as a novel in a fraction of the reading time. all the stories i’ve compiled here are ones that stuck with me, that i find myself recommending over and over to writers who want a good example of developing character, or weird narration, or establishing stakes.

if you’re a writer considering publication or an MFA in creative writing, i highly recommend familiarizing yourself with short stories, if for no other reason than to get the feel for them so you can write some of your own. if you can get a few short story publications under your belt, it’ll be easier to open doors when you’re ready to query agents for a novel. also, short stories make a great writing sample for grad programs, workshops, fellowships, residencies, and grant funding.

if you want to check out more short stories but have no idea where to start, the 2020 best american short stories just dropped in november, or if you want a cheaper one, used copies of 2019 and earlier are available on thriftbooks. if you want an overview of the history of the (american) short story, there’s also the best american short stories of the century. fair warning, though, while it’s more diverse than expected, it’s still a bit heavy on dead-white-dude writing.

content warning: the stories in the above-linked folder may depict instances of sexual assault, suicide, and/or abuse. i have not labeled them individually with warnings but i hope to soon, as well as provide a catalog with summaries.

i’m also still working on my essay and novel recs. more to come on that hopefully next month.

writing-related posts

how i quit my banking job to do a creative writing MFA

how i learned to read faster/stop subvocalizing

how to write when you have no time or energy to write

my experience writing fic in small/dead fandoms (aka fics that will probably not get any traffic)

how to describe facial expressions

how to ask for help from your professors

how to navigate tenses during flashbacks

how to separate yourself from your work

how (and why you might want to) write a shitty first draft

why you should consider making the climax the inciting incident

for a complete list of my writing-related posts, check out this masterdoc (which i still need to update it with the past few months’ posts).

stuff i’m into rn

i’m about halfway through the rhetoric of fiction by wayne c. booth which has more or less become my narrative bible. it’s a little dated (1961) but it tackles banal writing adages that are somehow still believed, like “show don’t tell” and whatnot, and breaks them down with amazing insight, clarity, and research. it’s a bit of a dense text so i’m only reading a few pages a day, i think the first time i’ve ever let myself read something so intentionally slowly. now i’m kind of obsessed with doing things slowly. reading slowly, writing slowly, cooking slowly. i even drive slowly, because it’s so rare to go anywhere at all, and i want to enjoy it. also, it’s very snowy where i am. also also, the battery died in my car this month and i really have to make it a point to drive more often.

february availability

i have 2 openings for initial writing consultations in february! if you’re interested, please fill out this google form.

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

been thinkin a lot about

compulsory reality in fiction. many of us have probably received feedback along the lines of, or thought to ourselves as we read, “that’s not realistic.” many of us believe, consciously or not, that fiction that is more “realistic” is inherently better than fiction that is less “realistic.” for some of us, real means a saturation of details, the clear depiction of the surfaces of things. reality is found in the rendering thereof; if you can “see” it, it’s real. for others of us, it might be the development of complex characters and their growth across a narrative. and for yet others, reality is subtlety, or misery, or the idea of “slice of life,” a term i don’t think means anything, because aren’t all stories a slice of a character’s life? what would a story that’s not a slice of life look like? you’d either have to take away the “slice” part and render a whole life, which is impossible, or you’d have to take away the “life” part and create a dead story, which may be possible, but why would you want to? even if you wrote a story about a rock, the rock would be brought to life by virtue of being written about.

anyway. i think the word “real” is a shitty word for the same reason “slice of life” is a shitty phrase: everything is real and therefore nothing cannot be real. slices of life are all we know because we are alive and cannot truly perceive not being alive; reality is also all we know, and any depictions beyond reality are thus made real because they have been depicted.

so the “goal” for fiction to be “realistic” seems to me to be a false one. all fiction is real because it exists and no fiction can be truly real because it’s only a facsimile of reality. not to get all “this is not a pipe” but writing is just making squiggles, and we as a community of English-knowers agree that certain squiggles correspond to certain sounds, and certain sounds together make words which conjure meanings. and words put together into sentences into paragraphs conjure even more complicated meanings. and when those paragraphs are woven into narrative we create yet more and more complicated meaning.

every time you write anything — a text message, an email, a tweet, a fanfic — you are taking the infinite abstraction of your own cognition, narrowing it into a single concept, and representing that concept with patterns in the form of sounds represented by letters and given meaning with words, so that the infinite abstraction of your own conscience can be fractionally witnessed by the infinite abstraction of someone else’s. and even though we can’t definitively prove for ourselves that any other thing possesses a consciousness, writing shows us the shape of someone else’s mind, and tells us we are not alone.

and yet we still expect writing to be “real.”

have you ever read a story where a character sneezed? like just, a description of a sneeze for the sake of it, with no purpose or function in the plot? if not, is it because our characters aren’t real enough to sneeze, or because the sneeze isn’t relevant to their plight? what would a written sneeze look like, and why would somebody want to write it? moreover, why would somebody want to read it? that leads me to wonder, do we depict reality in the service of narrative, or narrative in the service of reality? in other words, do we write to portray reality (sans sneezing), or do we depict reality to constrain our writing, the way one might request bumpers when bowling so as not to fall in the gutters?

i’ve never read an artful rendition of a character pissing or shitting, either, even when those things are related to a character’s plight and circumstance — stories involving long road trips, living in the woods, being kidnapped. the only exception i can think of is when those things are eroticized (we do not kinkshame here in this lkwrnl), the same way it’s rare to find detailed sex writing that isn’t for the purpose of reader arousal. are there just some things about the nature of being human that are too intimate, too complex, or too boring to write?

once i wrote a murder that takes place in a small fictional midwestern town in the 90s (for the ~aesthetic), and it went uninvestigated by said town’s police force. early readers repeatedly commented along the lines of, “that’s not realistic.” and i thought, no, if anything, the incompetence of police is too realistic for the heightened reality i’m trying to render. have you ever heard of a cop solving a murder that didn’t come with an obvious suspect or immediately found evidence? i haven’t. that doesn’t mean those cases don’t exist, but i definitely think they’re less likely than mass media has us believe, and the average small-town police force has far less motivation (and possibly training) to solve crimes than we think.

i started working on the above-mentioned novel in 2016, and my goal was to depict a reality that hovers above the surface of plausibility. in this novel, which is based on macbeth, a preteen girl, mercy, becomes jealous of the love her best friend elisa shows to her father. mercy decides to get her older and very unstable brother to kill him. naturally the deed goes awry, but it does occur, and the cleanup is far messier than anticipated.

is it plausible for a 12 year old girl to plot and execute the murder of her best friend’s father? no. is that what this book is about? yes. a book about a 12 year old girl who has a perfectly healthy relationship with her best friend and who has no feelings toward her bff’s father one way or another is probably far more “realistic,” but that’s not the book i’d want to read and certainly not the one i want to write. my goal of a heightened reality is what henry james calls the intensity of illusion, the thing that allows a reader, through the witness of one’s distilled cognition into language, to exit physical, knowable reality, and enter a new and unknown reality. and isn’t climbing to that higher place, that intensity of illusion, the purpose of fiction? if it’s not, what is?

the best feedback i got on the aforementioned murder scene was from one of my professors, who, of the perfect calm of all children involved, said, “they just shot a guy. at least one of them would be freaking out.”

he was totally right, but it opened up a lot of questions for me. by what standard did he reach that conclusion? was it something in the chapter itself, was it his personal understanding of the work of narrative, or was it the logical conclusion of the slim plausibility of the scenario? moreover, where did i come up with the idea that all of my preteen characters would commit a murder and proceed to be very chill about it? if an implausible scenario begs the expectation of emotional distress, would it be more compelling to buy into that expectation or deviate from it? is it even my obligation to be compelling when i can never have a cogent grasp of the personal tastes of my audience?

that brings me to what appears to be reality’s opposite: idealism, the state those of us who write fanfic are often trying to achieve. we’re working in an entire genre of ideals, of happily ever afters, of hurt that is always followed by comfort, of glossily rendered sex during which everyone orgasms and no one has to pee afterward. we fix broken texts and continue incomplete ones. sometimes, we want to make existing things better, deeper, more complicated. but all the time, we want to make a text more than what it is.

some see this process, this drive for the ideal, as antithetical to realism, and i think that’s part of the reason fanfiction and other idealistic genres (romance, etc.) get a bad name — the assumption that more real (which for some means more miserable) is better, and therefore its opposite, the ideal, is worse. for them, i have this quote from vladimir nabokov:

For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.

the ideal, aesthetic bliss, the intensity of illusion. these are all phrases that boil down to the same thing: you the writer get to define the constraints of your own reality. you get to choose if your world even complies with the known laws of physics. and if it doesn’t, you get to choose which ones to break, and why to break them. you get to choose if your stories take place in a real house in a real town on a real day. if you wrote a story that takes place on september 11, 2001, would the events of that story be shaped by the events of that actual day, or are you writing a better world where 9/11 doesn’t happen? consider the consequences of both: why might you want to write reality? why might you want to write ideality? how do these things shape your identity and goals as a writer?

no matter where a work falls on the real-ideal spectrum, you have to accept that prose itself will only ever be a verisimilitude of reality and therefore an interpretation of it, one that might be interpreted differently by a reader. in writing and everything else, you can never have complete control over what others perceive. it’s like giving someone cash as a gift. they might buy themselves something nice with it, or they might spend it on groceries. the point is, eventually we all have to let go of our realities.

[igotswag77]

Courtly Love In Thrawnbine - My Review

This Tumblr inspired me to try again on the concept of COURTLY LOVE -- thanks for the nice art.

This is long... No tl;dr. I have been writing my THRAWNBINE fanfiction since 2014-2015. The initial transcripts were lost because my computer and the external hard drive crashed. Therefore, the research, development, key ideas, metas, etc. are gone. I have to start from scratch, hope some of them are in the cloud, and rely on my memory, which is another discussion. This piece here is not about the validity of the THRAWNBINE ship. It is a discussion of story elements I wanted to include as I write this fanfiction. It is not about me forcing any fan to accept my proposal. As a Star Wars fan, I like creativity and this piece is an example of what I think about when I develop my creative writing for fanfiction. It is what I want to do with my life right now because I can do it now.

However, a while back in one of the SWAG77 blogs here, my group discusses the idea of COURTLY LOVE: As I understand it as a beginner creative writer, it is how the COURT of the kings, queens, princes, princess, (on down) and knights in the Middle Ages and Medieval times expressed their love to each other. (x)

From my interpretation on my reading, not just Wikipedia but others, when noble single men, who were knights, often fought "religious wars" returned home to the court and would appeal to royalty to marry a certain young woman. They planned to "woo" these women with sayings, phrases, poems, etc. as an expression of their commitment and love. The issue is, most young women at a certain age (late teens, early 20s in the 13th -15th centuries) were considered "old maids" (spinsters) and they were made to marry whoever their families could get who were often older men 10+ their senior. Once married couples could not divorce, because of Church, and if caught cheating on their husband, women could be thrown away or killed. Many marriages turned loveless. When the knights returned home, they discovered the love of their lives was married, and therefore, they could not marry her because it was against the Church. Of course, back then, there were not a lot of sexual infidelities, because women could be killed for that, and any resulting child was forced into servitude, enslaved, or killed.

What couples did that time to express their love, devoid of sex to relieve that tension, the nobles created "courtly love" where the knight would serve his lady in any command and he would in turn be chivalrous along with his poems and sayings of love.

"The Lady and the Unicorn" (x), (x) tapestry art from finished in 1500 in France, is an allegory for "courtly love" by its subjects in the art, and symbols. The art comprises six tapestries that depict individual senses in each of them:

In the sixth tapestry, the words display, "À mon seul dési," while obscure in meaning it says roughly:

"To my only sole desire" "According to my desire alone" "By my will alone" "Love desires only beauty of soul" "To calm passion"

In my literature review to build the THRAWNBINE ship, I weaved the idea of "courtly love" as a plot element, in case my story hypotheses were inaccurate. That no matter what, Grand Admiral Thrawn knew he would have to serve under Countess Sabine Wren due to her royal status. By the time Thrawn meets Sabine face to face, she might be royalty with the rank of a countess, or she might be a rank higher than one because she has a direct right to Darksaber, as explained.

Sabine Wren might be a Marquise because she has an exemplary war record. I believe that Sabine Wren is the rightful heir to the Darksaber over Din Djarin because when Djarin defeated Moff Gideon, the Moff is NOT Mandalorian. All Djarin did is confiscate the Darksaber FROM Moff Gideon to give to the rightful heir. Lady Bo-Katan Kryze is not the rightful heir. She was given the Darksaber because Sabine believed in her. But the Darksaber is magical, like the Excalibur sword, and this saber did not choose Bo-Katan, and Bo-Katan never won it by ritual combat. The last Mandalorian who fought against another Mandalorian in ritual combat was Sabine Wren. Why Sabine gave it to Bo-Katan? Maybe the Sabine Wren character is like Nimue, the Lady of the Lake who gives worthy people the Excalibur, and in this case, it would be Sabine. But the Darksaber is ENTRUSTED to one that is worthy to wield it and NEVER lose it to scurrilous powers or persons. If Filoni et al. is using parts of the Arthurian Tales to explain why Sabine gave the Darksaber to Bo-Katan, then it was Bo-Katan's job not to lose the Darksaber. But she did and somehow, Moff Gideon "acquired" it -- he is definitely unworthy of it.

Maul, while he fought in ritual combat to obtain the Darksaber and killed for it, CHEATED during the fight with Pre Vizsla. Ritual Combat is a test of pure fighting skill, will, and strength. In the book, "Darth Maul: The Shadow Conspiracy", Maul has the fighting skill, a will, and the strength to fight Pre Vizsla, but there is the Force, and Maul used it to defeat Vizsla with his Force abilities in precognition. Maul knew all the moves that Vizsla would take before he made them. In my opinion, that is cheating.

While the Darksaber will work in a non-Mandalorian's hands who can wield a saber, the crystal used for plasma that Tarre Vizsla built, is responsive to the worthiness, nobleness, and chivalry of the wielder. Most stories written about enchanted swords say they do not work optimally in the wrong hands. Did it fail Maul, probably not, because Maul was so Dark Sided that he could "bleed" a lightsaber crystal for his uses. But I can imagine that a Mandalorian who uses weapons for his religion, like Tarre Vizsla who has the Force, would build his lightsaber in a way that his crystal, while it can be bled by a Dark Side user, still holds its resilience hoping for a worthy, noble and chivalrous Mandalorian to bring together the people and raise an army.

Another caveat to this story I think is Sabine Wren wielded the Darksaber while she was possessed by the Nightsisters trying to relive as Maul wanted. She almost kills Ezra Bridger, but Bridger was strong enough to pull the ghosts out of Sabine (and Kanan) in the Star Wars Rebels Episode 11, "Vision and Voices". Anyone who understands possession by spirits knows that not ALL of the spirits leave the body. Moreover, one possessed by spirits is not always evil. It is an ancient practice by those who are a part of the Vodoun culture in Western Africa, the Caribbean, Louisiana, and Gullah -- my culture (which I have some practice in it). Part of Sabine's ability to wield the Darksaber and other lightsabers come from the memories of the spirits that entered her body on Dathomir and the touch of the Daughter, which I have repeatedly written about on the Sabine Wren site (x), (x), (x).

The point is since the spirits entered Sabine Wren and not all of them left her in that SWR episode, and she picked up the Darksaber once clear of the complete possession, the Darksaber, especially the power of the crystal and the "spirit of Tarre Vizsla" encased in it, wanted Sabine to become the Mandalorian to rally all other Mandalorians together as one.

In SWR Trials of the Darksaber episodes, after Sabine defeats the Imperial Mandalorian, Gar Saxon, only to be killed by Sabine's mother, Ursa Wren, it shows that the Darksaber is rightfully hers. Why Sabine gave it away? The writers of SWR do not add scenes or dialogue meaninglessly, every piece of scenery with lighting, etc. and dialogue is added into each episode carefully to tell the story that these creatives want you to see. Sabine felt she did not have enough political skill to command Mandalorians, or better yet, military leadership to command Mandalorian -- for "you don’t tell Mandalorians what to do. You suggest it and they either heed your advice or not. (forgotten reference)"

Thrawn had to have learned that Gar Saxon died well before Season 4 Episode, "Heroes of Mandalore" part 2. Also, Thrawn knew a lot about Mandalorian culture through its history, philosophy, and art. What he did not count on is that he would find an artist -- Sabine Wren. I don't know when Thrawn discovered Sabine was an artist that painted the graffiti on the retaining wall. Through his studies, he deduced it was her by the armor she wears, the changes in her armor, and how important the armor is to the Mandalorian culture. This is why he was able to figure out that Sabine built the weapon. Her method of creating art reflects on how she builds weapons whether she knows this fact or not. But then, the Darksaber, which he has not seen, and would not really know its lore because it seems that story that Fenn Rau told Kanan is an "oral tradition" than a written one, and the fact that it was "liberated" from the Jedi seems like an embellished story -- liberated? More like "stolen" maybe? Thrawn had not heard that story. But Sabine knows it. I am not sure if Thrawn knew that Sabine is the rightful owner of the Darksaber. But during the battle sequences, he must have gotten glimpses of it and piecemealed what exactly it is as his job as a strategist to know what he is going up against. However, the Duchess Arc Reactor was not reconstructed to blast through Mandalorian Armor as the new leader of Mandalore, Tiber Saxon desired. It was a test and a chance for Thrawn to see the strength of the fight of Mandalorians (who fight each other all the time), and a chance to meet Sabine Wren in person. He had not met her. He met everyone except, her.

____________

I think that Sabine Wren would be a higher royalty if Filoni et al. were to write that Sabine is a rightful heir with a title. Therefore, she would be a Marquise who protects the frontier. In this fanfic, Thrawn would have to marry Sabine to obtain the title of Marquis to protect the border of the galaxy from the Yuuzhan Vong (lite = Grysks), and his military background fits in this fanfic story. Therefore, he will do whatever it takes to keep Sabine alive, protected under the symbol of the Darksaber and her people with his military (army). He would have to show "Courtly Love" with the addition of sex, to serve as her advisor, confidante, and supreme commander of her militaries. While he could keep his titles, they are not royal, but political, such as "Ranking Distant" or "Syndic" or "Patriarch" -- but that's the Chiss Ascendancy and he has been exiled from it (on paper: meaning officially he is exiled, unofficially he is in a black operation for an intelligence-gathering mission.)

As a separate story, he knows he really can't return under his current position back into the Chiss Ascendancy. But he can annihilate threats in the Unknown Regions using Galatic Empire resources -- of course, the Emperor nor Darth Vader like that idea. When the Deus Ex Machina scene occurred, wherever the space whales took Thrawn and Ezra, the end result should be, IMO, someone in the Chiss Ascendancy rescues them. And it can't be just two people, it has to be a group of them, mostly Imperials. And they take them to a planet, apparently under snow and ice in the Dave Filoni art.

Before I knew anything about SWR in my first fanfic, Thrawn met Sabine at an art auction.

After the Ezra Bridger Deus Ex Machina with space whales, it seems based on Dave Filoni's art of Sabine Wren and Ahsoka Tano, Thrawn officially meets Sabine. For many headcanons, metas, and short drabbles I can't get into atm, they kick off their relationship, and for Sabine, it is unexpected. And while Thrawn might strategically want Sabine to stay (to seal the deal), they have to have legacies. With legacies, Sabine would not want to leave unless she had to.

In this fanfic, any acts like these are about consent. I strive to write consent in my stories.

The conflict in this story becomes how the HAYLE did Sabine agree to all of this? She IS strong-willed like most Mandalorian women are. For Sabine to consent to this life path is:

Sabine DESIRES it; she WANTS to do a pair bond. She figures out that she is getting old and her biological clock is ticking, and perhaps she is tired of constant war and needs a break. But whoops, she did not think that her desire would overtake her and create many legacies. That does happen in real life. Therefore settles that now, this is her life. (This fanfic is the easiest one to write, but slightly dull).

From the LADY AND THE UNICORN held in Paris. Each tapestry depicts the physical senses: (1) Sight, (2) Hearing, (3) Taste, (4) Smell, (5) Touch, (6) Desire. There are allegories and symbols for each tapestry and element. The major symbols are a Lady, a young woman virgin, with a Unicorn, loyal to only her.

There is more information from this youtube: https://youtu.be/5hCWZNm3qpc. My issue about this video, while most of the information seems accurate, the poets are interpreting the tapestries with their modern experiences. In my opinion, it is difficult to understand these tapestries without historical context. To think the woman is in pain is a modern interpretation. Back then, people LIVED in real physical pain because there were no "doctors' like we have now; it is very judgy to make that assertion. Thus, the comments in the video are opinions, and the producers did not announce that opinions were going to be shared. It's kind of like the point of the tapestries was missed without the historical basis.

History for the THRAWNBINE ship is an important part of the fanfic. I am not a great writer, but I work hard to write it. I have reviewed the literature, not think up this ship out of my ass as some fans would assume. I have put a lot of work into it. Also, I am well-read on many Star Wars Legends books and the new Thrawn canon books. Therefore, it is not like I do not know much about Star Wars when I do. I have REAMS of information that I like to share with fans who ask me about it. A few fans do. Moreover, I am not so vain to think that my ideas are the ONLY point of view available. I like trying to write fanfics as close to the Star Wars canon because it is fun, and that is my thing. But there are other ideas out there. It would be wrong to say my way or the highway. Also, I am not young, and those who are asinine toward me, well, I know you're younger than me because I'm old, and I want to do this with my life, I like to do it, and I'm having fun. Some young people do not GET that idea until they fall flat HARD on their face with a lost future. But don't give up your bright-eyed and bushy-tailed aspirations -- you never know where life will take you, and you might be the one. Congrats. Believe me, life can get shitty when you're out there in the real world, like me. And when you can grab your chance at something you find fun, I say do it. Money isn't everything -- but it keeps the kids in touch. I bring up these issues because some young people take huge umbrage against the THRAWNBINE ship due to the perceived huge age difference. Okay, I can see why some young people are freaked out by that. Because someone taught them to be freaked out by the age difference. Moreover, I come from GenX, and most of us, aren't freaked out by that at all. Some of us are in that situation now. So it's no big deal to us. And any generation before ours -- THAT WAS THE WAY... I would not BE if not for huge age differences between my grandparents, great-grands, and great-great grands. Of course, for my greats- yeah, there wasn't much consent. But for my grandparents, at that time and age, there actually was consent. My grandmother was 18 years old when she married my grandfather at 26 years old. By 21, she had 3 babies. One is my father. So, I grew up not caring about age differences in relationships. But for some Millenials (not all) and GenZ (not all) and afterward (not all) -- IDK?

I guess the equivalence for some of the younger generation to understand why I am doing an age-difference story is that the younger generation demands older generation acceptance of relationships that were not allowed to exist in public because one could be killed. It was not until 1967 that people of different races could marry legally in all states. Shid, one couldn't divorce over irreconcilable differences (at will) until the 1970s. Women could not have their own bank accounts until the late 1970s, and LGBTQIA+ RECENTLY were allowed to marry legally in all states, although assholes are stopping them. Then... some of the younger generations are from IVF-assisted pregnancy situations. Some are surrogates. SHID.......... That was not allowed until the 1980s... Both 1970s and 1980s were when I grew up, when I hear younger generations wracking my brain over CONSENSUAL LEGAL age-difference, I think folks don't know the history and therefore are doomed to repeat it. It is NOT a suggestion to return back to that time where women had no choice. My fanfic is about a man falling in love from afar with a woman who actually has no clue, and he knows he is a lot older than her. Somehow, he has to tell her, and he is afraid because of rejection. Look, some Star Wars fans come from parents who have an age difference between 10+ years. If they grew up fine, and their parents are okay with their relationship, who would we judge? I am not talking about a child with a much older adult; that's not legal. I am not talking about nonconsensual (the age of consent in some states is 16-17 years old). I'm not talking about child marriage. My fanfic is about two adults making a choice to be together in an adult relationship. To say someone older can take advantage of someone younger due to experiences, well, that is a false analogy, and the opposite can be true, too. It isn't the age difference that causes bad relationships. It is the power and control, and all generations have individuals who use power and control manipulation to force and abuse another person.

Matthew Perry on that super expensive dating site was matched up with a young woman profile and wanted someone to talk to and have fun with. Not do unsavory things as the woman painted that picture. She lied about it too.

Matthew Gaetz is an asshole, and he deserves everything that the law can throw at him. I actually do not think he knew better. And as far as the young women, including the underage young lady, he manipulated them because he leveraged his power and control. This isn't because of age differences; it's about power and control by manipulation. "Oh, wow, I'm a big shot congressman; worship me." Bith, puh-leeze. You ain't shit. Look, fans teased me when I first discussed "Courtly Love," and I abandoned the idea because I could not justify it. Which is my choice; I made that choice, I chose to do it. But, some in the younger generation and nascent Star Wars fans must understand that you have no right to say who can fall in love with whom just because there a legal and consensual age difference. It is not fair. You cannot ask the older generations to accept your relationships and choose to have them if you can't accept, assuming that they are legal with consent. Because a long time ago, they were not... And when you have a longtime Star Wars fan who is older that is okay with your desires for legal and consensual relationships, killing us is not going to get these hateful toxic fans off your backs. You need longtime fans to be in your corner fighting for your cause because a lot of us have seriously fought for real shit, too. Not just protesting, but having rocks and police beatdowns and water canons, too. Blame by authorities for throwing in prison all the time. Shid...you should have seen us Spelman women rip a new asshole to fight Apartheid in South Africa against Amnesty International. We fought hard for that.

But you need to be cool with our stuff too. Just ask me. I'll tell you.

[flying-nightwing]

Act III: The First Date

Hey guys!!! Fist of all thank you for 300 followers, I know it might not be a lot to some of you but it’s more I ever thought I’d even get! With that out of the way, I finally got to write part 3! I’m happy with this one, I hope you do as well. It’s got a bit less action... Or does it? 🤔  haha you’ll see. Enjoy! 

Part 1 and 2 in Masterlist!

Part 4 out now!

Pairing: Time Drake x Reader

Word count: 3234

Warning: violence, language

Tim had called you if you were alright.

You had been surprised at first by his alarmed tone, remembering you were supposed to be by the pits when the race car had gone through. You had reassured him you were fine, startled but fine, and then you had talked for a while. The call had ended up on him asking you out on an official date, which you had obviously agreed on.

So there you were, following the waiter into the fancy restaurant. He had not believed you when you said you were there for Tim Drake, but after a death glare and veiled threat that made his smug face fall, he had invited you to come with him. He led you to a more intimate area, where you finally made eye contact with Tim.

You could have sworn his jaw dropped. 

He clumsily stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, making you smile. You ignored the waiter and whatever he said before leaving, taking in your date for the evening. He was wearing a probably expensive midnight blue suit and his hair was gelled back like the other day at the track. He finally shook out of his stupor and smiled, walking around the table to properly greet you. 

“Hi” He breathed out. “I’m glad you could make it”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything” You winked, letting him pull your chair for you. What a gentleman. He sat back in front of you, the candle on the table reflecting in his bright eyes.

“You look stunning” He complimented, his cheeks reddening. Your outfit was black with a red accent, and it was like he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. You actually put a lot of effort in it, as you didn’t have a lot of occasion to dress up for another reason than for a costume change. It felt good to pamper up. 

“Thank you” You inclined your head politely. “You’re not too bad yourself”

He chuckled, fidgeting with his fingers in a way that seemed restless. “Thanks”

“How are you?” You asked with a tilt of your head. “You seem stressed”

He blinked quickly, taken aback by your directness. But he knew you were right, and if he had learned anything from your few conversations so far, it was that you were just very forward. That’s kind of what he liked about you. He sighed. “It’s just… A lot is going on a work and to be honest, it’s kinda driving me nuts”

Your hand enveloped his in a reflex, giving him a concerned squeeze. “Oh my, if this isn’t a good time I swear I won’t be mad if you wanted to reschedule--”

“No, it’s fine” He shook his head with a small, grateful smile. “I think this is what I need, actually”

You grinned bright, and the sight alone made his heart melt. “Then let’s take your mind off of work”

Dinner went even smoother than you would have expected. The conversation barely had the time to die down to let you eat, so much that both of you had to finish your plates after the food went cold. It didn’t bother you much as Tim proved himself to be far more interesting than food. You learned a lot about him, especially after the first glass of wine kicked in. While he had been slightly awkward in a cute way and had trouble initiating the conversations at first, he had easily become chatty. He was quite the funny guy, and you could see why he had proclaimed himself the smartest of his siblings. His mind was quick and sharp, and he knew way too much about way too many things. But the way he kept babbling about his interests was quite endearing, you found out. 

“No but seriously” He said as he placed back his glass on the table. “You have some serious reflexes. The way you dodged the champagne? Like are you kidding me?”

“I told you” You shrugged lightly, barely hiding the smirk on your lips. “It’s always like that! The waiter could drop the bottle of wine and I’d catch it, I swear”

“Should we try?” 

“To make him drop it?” Your eyes widened. “Are you really ready to waste perfectly good wine?”

“You said you’d catch it” He challenged. “Are you saying you wouldn’t manage to catch it?”

“Of course I’d catch it” You scoffed playfully. “But the probability of me not catching it is never 0. While the internal factor is guaranteed, the external factor is not. I don’t control what happens around me. What if the waiter drops it outside of my reach? What if the fish tank explodes?”

Tim laughed heartily at that one. “Alright, alright, I’ll give this one to you”

“Thank you” You smiled, your chin high. “On that note, I need to go to the bathroom”

“Knock yourself out”

You chuckled and stood up, heading for the bathroom. You paused in front of the door and turned around to scan the room, making sure nobody was coming or looking in your direction. Your eyes paused on Tim, who was looking down at his cellphone. When you were sure the coast was clear, you swiftly turned around and went through the kitchens. You walked alongside the wall, avoiding the actual kitchen buzzing with staff, going past the pantries and freezers. You pushed the last door through the storage rooms, then paused and crouched behind a pile of potato sacks.

You really didn’t want to do this while on your date, but the reward was too good to ignore. Since it was a solo mission as well, you’d get the full pay to yourself. An entire million for a single bullet made you put your principles aside. You reached for your gloves first, slipping them on, then your handgun hidden in your outfit and the silent. You assembled it on the nozzle and made sure your magazine was full. The restaurant, while an actual high end and high rated place, was also a front for one of the ascending crime families of Gotham. Falcone wanted the patriarch dead, and you were glad to be of assistance in the matter. 

You lifted your left arm and folded your eyebrow, then rested your gun on it, aiming for the surveillance camera at the threshold of the other room. You needed it to be a precise shot to disable the camera without making it sparkle like a firework. You took a deep breath and set your sight on your target, then pressed the trigger. With a quiet sound of metal breaking, you observed a small, but barely noticeable spark and you knew you were clear to go. You moved into the next room, still hiding behind various piles of ingredients. There was one guard at the bottom of the staircase leading to the big boss hideout.

You grabbed a turnip from an open bag and threw it back in the room you were before, making sure to hit the spare pots piled up on a shelf. Like a dumbass, the startled guard left his post to go investigate, letting you more than enough time to slip in undetected. The stairs gave into a dark room clouded by cigar smoke and years of uncleaned grim on the walls, from which came a voice in a phone conversation. The man was yelling profanities on the phone, coughing every now and then. You waited in the shadows for the eventual click signalling he had hung up, then the sigh coming from him.

“Rough night?”

The man jumped at your question, his eyes widening at your presence. Then, a sneer twisted his already hard features and he reached for a red button on his desk. He never made it to the button. You were a fast shot, and before he could comprehend anything that was happening, his head was sent back with a bullet hole in between his eyebrows. 

“Carmine Falcone sends his regards” You took off the silent and hid the gun again, unbothered. “Should have said that before I shot him uh? Whatever”

You walked to the body, carefully folding the arms on the desk and lowering the head on them, careful not to spill blood everywhere, so it looked like he was sleeping. It wouldn’t fool anyone on the long haul, but it might buy enough time to delay the news stories and give you the time to put enough distance in between you and the crime scene. You then headed for the open window and sneaked out through the fire escape, rounding back to the merchandise entrance and sneaking back inside the restaurant as you took off your gloves. You returned to your table as if nothing happened, making Tim look up in concern.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as you sat back down. 

“Yes” You huffed, but gave him a smile nonetheless. “My mom kept blowing up my phone, so I took a moment to call her and politely requested her to stop asking me how to change her settings on her tablet. I’m so sorry to have made you wait”

“It’s okay, don’t worry” He chuckled. “I understand annoying family”

“Alright then, which one of your siblings is most likely to annoy you on a date?” 

“Are we playing 21 questions now?” He raised a playful eyebrow and you tilted your head. He pursed his lips, thinking. “Most obvious answer would be Grayson because he knows no boundaries”

You laughed. “Then what is the least obvious answer?”

“Huh, well, I’d say Damian” He replied. “He doesn’t even call often, but when he does, he doesn’t give a shit if he’s interrupting something”

“The youngest one, right?” You asked, and he nodded. You had gotten around to talk about family, and you managed to mostly remember the order of his siblings. You didn’t want to research them either--even though you knew you easily could--because you didn’t want to be that creep that googled their date.

“Is everything alright for you?”

Tim seemed surprised at the sudden interruption of the waiter. Like every other time he came by, he completely avoided looking in your general direction. He still was shaken up from your earlier threats, probably, and it made you smile internally. 

“Yes, actually, can we get the check?” Tim replied, then turned his glance to you. “What do you say we go, maybe take a walk outside?”

“Absolutely” Your smile widened.

“Very well, sir”

The waiter walked away, leaving you once again alone. You began reaching for your purse when you felt Tim’s unwavering stare on you. He looked a bit confused as to why you were taking out your card. 

“I’ll pay my half, I owe you that”

“No, no, I can take it” He shook his head. “It’s really no problem”

“That bottle of wine was expensive, let me at least--”

“(Y/N), I forbid you to even look at the tab”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling up slightly. You were surprised by his sudden display of authority, as you had been so far the most forward of the two. But he was a CEO after all, and you suspected he let this side of him take over just a little moment. Still, you couldn’t say you disliked it. “Bossy” You remarked. “Okay, fine. But rest assured I will make it up to you”

“You really don’t have too” Here came the shy side again.

“Oh, but I want to” You winked, and he blushed. He cleared his throat when he noticed the waiter coming back, then hurried to take the tab before you could snatch it. He was you in action already and he knew you had fast reflexes enough not to take any chances.

He paid for dinner, then pulled back your chair and offered you his arm. You gladly took it and exited the restaurant. You waited outside for the valet to fetch his car, and opened the door for you when it came to a stop in front of you. He then rounded up the car and took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Damn” You whistled as you looked around. “Nice ride”

“Thanks” He chuckled as he started the engine and left the restaurant. “Perks of being a CEO I guess”

“And here I thought my new Toyota was somewhat luxury” You joked, and he grinned.

“Not bad, you could have done way worse” He conceded. “Although, I would have pegged you for a Tesla kind of person”

“Would you now?” You raised a playful eyebrow. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong” He began, shooting you a quick glance before his eyes returned to the road. “But you don’t seem to be the type to settle for anything less than the best"

Your lips curled up as your eyes travelled up and down his form. “I don’t, indeed” 

He shifted in his seat, well aware of your gaze on him. He truly looked like a work of art, sitting deep in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear arm. He was visibly forcing himself to focus on the road and not on the distraction you caused, and it made you smirk. You definitely enjoyed seeing his reaction to you, how he would mostly shy away or blush at your obvious flirting. 

Tim pulled up in a private parking garage and stopped his car in his own designed spot. He turned off the engine, and once again, rounded up the car to open your door for you. You took his offered hand to get out, and with a press of a button, the doors closed and locked behind you. Arms in arms, you got outside under the clouded sky, a soft, warm wind caressing your skin. The building gave onto a small park lit up with fairy lights along the pathways, and you could hear a violin playing some tunes in the background. You sighed, content. 

“It’s a beautiful night” He commented after a moment. “It’s rare we have one like this”

“I had heard the city was gloomy all the time” You lied smoothly. You lived here, you knew. “I’m pleasantly surprised”

“It’s too bad you got to Gotham during such a bad weekend, crime wise” He began. “I mean, it’s like that most of the time, but it’s been a little intense in the last days”

“Yeah, it’s a bit concerning for outsiders” You agreed with a nod. “But tonight did make up for it pretty well, if you ask me”

A smile graced his lips as he looked at you. “It did”

You walked around the park, talking about nothing and everything. You stopped by a street musician, taking the time to dance for a moment despite his reluctance to do so. You could still see the timid smile threatening to widen as you swayed to the sound of the balad, though, even more so when you parted and left a hundred dollars bill in the little jar at the violinist's feet. The walk ended at the front of his apartment building, where he turned to face you without letting your hand go. He looked down to it, then back up to you.

“This was really nice,” He spoke. “I really did enjoy it”

“Me too” You smiled, squeezing his hand.

You watched as he slightly leaned in, then backed away, unsure of where to go from now. There was a doubt in his eyes, a calculation of boundaries he was hesitant to challenge. Yet, he didn’t make a move to get away from you either. You could see he was overthinking it way too much, so you decided to step in.

“This is the part where you kiss me” You pointed out, your smile not dropping. 

He cleared his throat like he was taken by surprise. Still, his hand cupped your cheek as he leaned down, pressing lightly his lips on yours. It started as a sweet little goodnight kiss, but he quickly let his restraint go when your eagerness got to him. He pressed you against him, caging you in strong arms as your lips moved in sync. You felt his hands grip your hips tight and let out a surprised squeal against his mouth. He parted from you, his breath ragged and pupils dilated. You definitely were interested in seeing more of this side of him.

“Come upstairs?”

“I thought you’d never ask”

----

Tim hadn’t had a morning this smooth in years. He still had a lazy smile from the night before, and he truly noticed how good he felt when he actually took the time to pour his coffee in a mug. He even surprised himself when he reached for a sugar cube and dropped it in the dark beverage; he couldn’t remember when was the last time he drank his coffee anything but black and bitter. The only thing that could have made this morning even better was if you had been there with him, wearing one of his shirts and holding your own mug.

You had seemed so heartbroken when you told him you couldn’t stay the night, he wasn’t even mad. A little disappointed, yes, but not mad. After all, it was only your first date together, it was to be expected. But he was whipped already. Your charm got to him so hard, and he was still amazed by how easy everything was with you. You were really expressive, but you didn’t make him feel inadequate for not being instantly as open as you. Instead, he felt like you bridged the gap for him and offered a hand. He had only met you a few days ago, but it was like you knew each other forever. Yup, definitely whipped. 

He hummed, walking to his living room and turning on the TV. It was set to a news channel, and right as he was about to change it for a less depressing morning programm, something caught his attention. He furrowed his eyebrows, listening intensely to the newscaster. They were talking about the restaurant you had your date at last evening, where it was shown footage of police tape and ambulances crowding the place. A bad feeling formed in his stomach as he waited for what he knew inside was to come.

The owner, and rising mafia boss Marco Rizzo, had been found dead in his office. 

Before he could even formulate his thoughts, his brain sent him pieces of the puzzle he had already ruled out. All he could think of was one’s an accident, two’s a coincidence and three’s a pattern.

The gala. The racetrack. The first date.

There was one person, beside himself, who he could without a doubt position in all three crime scenes, who had both the place and time suspiciously right. One person that had smoothly changed the subject, now that he thought about it, everytime he mentioned a job, a family, or the events that took place in Gotham. One person of whom he saw the scar on the left forearm when they were laying naked in bed, that gave a half assed explanation of how a fresh mark the size of his batarang ended up there. 

And that person was you.

He squeezed his mug so hard it broke in his hands, spilling coffee everywhere.

[fandom-necromancer]

Obscured by Shadows

Now to the last Halloween short! This was prompted by the wonderful @spacalicious and let me tell you you gave me so much I could have written a full on 60k story about it. I didn’t have as much fun writing a story in a long time. That said, this got long, i’ts a bit over 5k and I’m sorry to those who haven’t got something as long, I hope that’s okay. So enjoy this one!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Eldritch being?

Nines had always been determined to figure things out for himself. Maybe it was something he valued because he had never been given a real base programming. He knew his model would eventually be used for the military. But Cyberlife hadn’t been able to do more than basic hardware tests on him before the revolution changed the world. He had been informed his prior series had been finished and given a purpose: The RK200 was a caretaker and the RK800 was working for the police. With nothing much to go off of, RK900 had chosen to keep these purposes in mind while finding his own.

He had applied at the police academy immediately after making this decision. He didn’t want to just download a program from someone. He wanted to build his own unique one. And during his time at the academy, he quickly found he liked the challenge of uncovering mysteries. He enjoyed gathering evidence, puzzling together what had happened based on it and uncovering the truth in between sowed lies. It only took him a few years to make it detective and was proud to be accepted at the fifth precinct of the Detroit police department. The Captain had assigned him to Lieutenant Anderson, the officer that had been there the longest, and Connor, the RK800. He was supposed to learn the ropes from them, and Connor was more than glad to show him around.

His predecessor had decided getting to know his co-workers was the best course of action and one after the next pointed out the different persons to him. ‘Okay, as you came in you must have seen the receptionists. The android is a ST300, she calls herself Steph, and the human one is Elisabeth, but everyone calls her Elly. Then we’ve got Officer Collins over there, this is Hank’s desk and mine and there is Officer Willson’s. On the other side we have Officer Person, Officer Chen and Officer Miller. And you already met the Captain. We are a small group, but that’s because SWAT is right there, if you head out this side. Another RK800 is working there, but I’m not on best terms with him. We tend to evade each other. Doesn’t mean you have to though. I can show you around there tomorrow, for now I’ll show you the cells, interrogation room and the meeting room. Then we can-‘ ‘Excuse me?’ Nines felt bad for interrupting, but his eye had fallen on… on what again? ‘Yes? Sorry, I tend to monologue. How can I help you?’ Connor politely smiled at him, while Nines thought about what he had meant to ask about. Connor had showed him all his co-workers and had went on with- right. He looked around again and kept his eyes on the person Connor missed. ‘Who is he?’, he asked, pointing Connor at the man. ‘Hm? Oh. Oh, that’s just Gavin’, the other android waved him off. ‘Detective Reed I believe. He’s an asshole. I met him briefly before the revolution. That was enough to get a clear picture of him. File him under unimportant and go on with it. It’s not really worth knowing the guy, trust me.’ ‘But I introduced myself to everyone personally after the initial briefing’, Nines argued. ‘I believe I must have forgotten him. I at least want to do that.’ Connor shrugged. ‘Fine, knock yourself out. I’ll wait here for you. I doubt you’ll be long.’

Nines made his way over to the man’s desk and read the plague first. Connor had been right: Detective Gavin Reed. ‘Hello! My name is Nines. I’m a RK900 unit and the new Detective. I’m looking forward to work with you!’ He held out his hand and every other person had accepted it and had some niceties left for him. The human in front of him just stared him up and down and grumbled. ‘Phck off.’ Nines recoiled. ‘Excuse me, I just wanted to be nice. I-‘ ‘And I don’t. Mind your own business and piss off!’ Nines knit his brows but remembered Connor’s words. Maybe this one time he could have relied on someone else’s knowledge.

-

He had returned to Connor that day and the other RK had shown him the rest of the precinct. After that the days seemed to rush past: Nines helped Hank and Connor with their cases and quickly afterwards he had his first very own case. The other two had helped him solve it, but it still was one he had led and found most of the clues to. After work he was driving from one place to the next looking for a small affordable flat, but so far, he stayed in the mostly unused stasis-booths at the precinct or simply continued working. In his breaks he had chatted with his co-workers and learned quite a lot about them. Collins had a sweet tooth, Wilson was almost religiously obsessed with football, Person was spending a large amount of his pay checks on his sister’s hospital fees but according to him she is getting better, Chen loved tea way too much and Miller could talk on for hours about his daughter and wife. Nines was quite content with his life and his choice to join the DPD. He liked the challenge actual cases brought to the table and was in general well-liked. So why was something constantly nagging at his systems, directing his attention to empty spaces on the opposite wall or just letting him stare into the nothing somewhere in the precinct? Maybe something was just wrong with his systems.

No, there wasn’t anything wrong with his systems. Nines had checked as he had entered stasis that night. But that would mean something in the precinct actually let his sensors misfire. And apparently, he was the only one to notice that strange phenomenon. The RK900 still doubted himself as he stepped down from the platform that morning. All his co-workers were competent and attentive people. They should have noticed it if something weird was going on in the bullpen. And there was still the minimal possibility of his diagnostic routines failing him. He would keep this to himself for now and keep his eyes open.

It took him almost a month to lose his patience. The errors and inconsistencies piled up and so far, almost all of them could be chalked up to the one person no one seemed to care about or even notice. Gavin Reed. The strangest thing was that Nines himself didn’t care much about the human. In fact, he only ended up focussing on the man as the number of things he didn’t know about him became suspicious. He had made a point of knowing as much as possible and appropriate about his co-workers. He had learned that helped a lot with work climate and integration. The occasional donut for Collins, a signed picture of a famous footballer for Wilson’s birthday, spending his break with Tina once to check out a local tea shop: That all was something that had made him likeable and made working a pleasant experience. But with how much he knew of them, how little he knew of Gavin was worrying.

Sure, the man was an asshole. But even assholes had personalities. There had to be at least rumours about him. But whenever he had asked someone, he had been given the same answers: ‘Reed? Yeah, he worked here for some time.’ ‘He’s an asshole, it seems to be worse with androids.’ ‘Pfft… Nah, he keeps to himself, don’t know anything about him.’ So he wasn’t alone with not knowing, he just was alone with worrying about that fact.

One quiet day, he decided to do some personal research into that mystery. Every human was known to the world in some way or another. Date of birth. Date of graduation. Date of Employment. Criminal record. Won some small prize in the lottery. An Address. Anything. And that was when things got truly confusing. He looked over at the man and felt how his eyes suddenly darted away to movement that he had thought to see at the edge of his vision. He never managed to look at the human for longer than a few minutes. Something was seriously wrong.

‘Connor? Can I speak with you for a moment? In private?’ Connor looked up from his work, then to the clock. He shrugged. ‘Sure. I can take my break early. What can I help you with?’ They left the precinct through the back entrance to have some privacy and Nines began with a sigh. ‘It’s about Gavin.’ ‘Did he do anything to you? Did he harm you?’ ‘No!’, Nines quickly said. ‘No, he didn’t do anything. But he is weird. I… I did some research and…’ ‘Wait. You “did some research”? What are you talking about?’ Nines held his hands up to calm him. ‘Connor, please listen to me, it will all make sense in a minute. How much do you know about Reed?’ ‘Nothing much, he’s an asshole. Otherwise he keeps to himself. Worked here for a long time.’ ‘How long?’ ‘How should I know?’ ‘How long did Person work here?’ ‘For twelve years, exactly a month from now.’ Nines stared at him triumphantly.

‘Hey, I haven’t looked into his file, okay? Never even talked to him. That doesn’t mean anything.’ ‘Well, I looked into it’, Nines picked up where Connor left off. ‘He doesn’t even work here. Officially. There is no file in the systems for his person, his name is only listed as being employed by the city. There is a birth year at least, but no school. No educational record, no graduation paper. Nothing. There is an address, but the place had been towed down ages ago.’ ‘Maybe he forgot to update it. Or Fowler knows and hadn’t updated his new address yet.’ ‘And the missing documents?’, Nines tried to convince him. ‘What about those?’ ‘Humans can be sloppy sometimes. Especially with bureaucracy.’ ‘May I remind you the entire HR department is run by androids by now?’, Nines threw his final punch. ‘It’s quite funny when you think about it.’ Connor held his head as if he had forgotten he couldn’t get headaches. ‘Nines, you are paranoid. The guy really isn’t that important.’

But Nines didn’t let himself be shut down. ‘There is more actually. Chris complained about the coffee being empty, right? That was yesterday, a Thursday. Correct?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And I personally restocked Monday the week before! Tina drinks tea, Chris can’t drink too much or his stomach acts up. With the regular caffeine intake of the rest of them, it shouldn’t be depleted yet.’ ‘So?’ ‘Someone drinks an unhealthy amount of coffee, I would even dare say it would kill a human or at least leave them with serious health issues. And only Gavin is left if you keep an eye out.’ Connor sighed: ‘Or someone dropped the package, spilled half of it and cleaned up the mess into the bin.’ ‘Okay, then how do you explain this: Reed is always here when someone arrives. No matter how early I rise from stasis, he is already there. As if he never left. And then sometimes he spends entire days away and no one bothers!’ ‘Vacations and overtime are a thing.’ Nines shook his head. ‘There is no car standing in the parking lot that belongs to him, I looked after everyone was gone. Yet, there is a key to a car on his desk.’ ‘Maybe he parks somewhere else, because he likes to go on a walk after a long day of sitting around.’ ‘Connor!’ ‘No, Nines, you are paranoid. That’s all. You should slow down maybe. Or take some days off. The man is just your regular asshole who is decent enough to be professional and do his job. And that’s all.’

Nines was desperate. He had thought that at least if pointed to it, the other RK would notice. ‘Then what about the fact that I have never seen him eat something once? And he keeps framed pictures of his cats, but he has no cat hairs on himself!’ ‘Nines, please, you need to calm down. If I didn’t know it any better, I’d say you are stalking him. Please stop. Believe me when I say Reed is as unimportant as someone could be. You are certain of the way things seem to be and now you search for evidence to prove your point. But we are detectives. We find evidence and conclude.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I worry for you. Please, take a break from work. How is your house-hunting?’ ‘Haven’t found a flat yet.’ ‘Do you want to live with Hank and me? We could make room for you for a few days. You need to get out of here.’ Nines deflated as he saw he couldn’t win. ‘That’s nice of you, Connor. But I guess I’ll just think about what you said and try to get back to work.’

In truth Nines didn’t think about anything Connor had told him. If anything, his words had only made it clearer to him that something is wrong. He had to take matters into his own hands.

-

Gavin startled as a coffee cup was put on his desk with an audible thump. He looked up. ‘Hello, I’m Nines. I already introduced myself but we never really talked.’ Gavin stared at the nosey android and frowned. ‘And I already told you to phck off. Nothing has changed since then.’ ‘No need to be so aggressive, Detective. I always see you working. I believe I never actually saw you taking a break.’ ‘Well, I like work and I’d like to get back to it, tin-can.’ ‘Tin-can? Oh, that’s a new one’, the android answered and smiled at him. Goddamnit. ‘Listen, I don’t know what you are on about, but I don’t want to talk. I’ll say it one last time: Phck off!’ This… Nines… pouted at him. ‘Come on, I got you a coffee, the least you could do is answer me one question!’ Gavin sighed and leaned back. ‘Fine. One question. And then you’ll go!’ He hoped his form didn’t show how nervous he was.

‘What do you like?’ Compared to everything he had expected that was quite harmless and caught him off-guard. ‘What?’ The android continued to grin at him. ‘What do you like? Food, hobbies, doesn’t matter.’ ‘Oh, okay, err… I like cats. And… Coffee.’ ‘Are those yours?’, the android asked pointing at the framed pictures. ‘Hey, you said one question, then you’d be leaving me alone!’ The android lifted his hands. ‘Alright, fine. I’m leaving. Was nice talking to you!’

Gavin couldn’t help looking after the machine that was leaving now. Damn nosy androids would be his downfall someday. He turned back to his work, the smell of coffee distracting him. He glanced over to it and finally succumbed to taking and drinking it. He wasn’t ashamed by the fact that he was addicted to it ever since he first tried it in the 15th century. It was one of the pleasant experiences of his existence. He had lived on this world for eons now, maybe he had been around right from the start. But you could only spend so many billion years until you got bored and wanted to try something new. He had lived among humans ever since a massive migration to a continent a large part of the world never even knew about. It was easy to fit in when no one asked where you came from and everyone was eager to start a new life. And Gavin fit in nicely. He sowed enough information to saturate most and those who wanted more he used his powers on to become totally ordinary. So ordinary that most didn’t even notice him. He was living a peaceful life, working on farms, later with railroads and the industry. He liked the concept of lifetimes to justify changing from one job to another and discovering new interesting ways to fake being human. This lifetime he had decided to spend just relaxing. He played the average human that made it Detective and since then worked away solving mysteries and cuddling with cats when coming home.

He couldn’t have known this would be the time humanity decided to change once again. They decided to design machines, androids. They looked human but were designed to obey. Why exactly was it that humanity wished for some kind of slavery every few hundred years? He didn’t care for it too much as they were just machines. Sure, his powers didn’t work on them like they did with humans, but as he was seen as one of them, he could just order the androids to go away and leave him alone. And then deviancy happened. Humans had tried perfecting them so much, they accidentally created life. Gavin knowing humans had decided to wait it out. Too easy he could fake his death and return to his normal existence. But he had been living within them in peace successfully so far. He really didn’t want to change that. So, he waited. Waited until the revolution happened. And too his distress, the androids won.

Ever since he had tried to move on the streets as little as necessary. He spent almost all of his days in the precinct where he was safe from them minus Connor. And the bot he could easily get rid of by changing his attitude to grumpy and abrasive. He thought it might work out. But this new android was a pain in the ass. Nosey as hell and apparently determined to get to know him. Well, someday his luck had to run out and it seemed the time had come.

He spent his remaining day at his terminal, until he felt eyes on him again. He tried to subtly look up and met the damned android’s cheeky grin as he entered the stasis booth. The machine even gave him a little wave. Gavin felt his powers bristling underneath his skin, warning him he had been spotted, but with grit teeth he forced them down. Phck, he needed to relax. He switched off his terminal and headed outside. He hurried through the streets until he finally found an empty back alley without CCTV. It really had been easier in the olden times. Quietly he let go of the charade and got rid of his fake skin. Finally, he could stretch and brush against corners, making natural shadows more refined and let them stretch to take him. Oh, he had missed that feeling. Excitement bubbled inside him as he scaled the city, slithering from one shadow to the next through the narrow spaces in brickwork and underground where there was no connecting darkness to act as a convenient passageway. More than once androids looked towards him, but he just hurried away before they could investigate. Damn machines.

He finally made it home, faster than any car or train could and let himself inside through the letter box. Only then he reformed his human appearance and got to his knees, greeting his cats with maybe one or two arms too many. Not that they would care, they just wanted their pets. Gavin sighed, the fluffy fur under his hands just the perfect way to destress from a long day. He fed them and switched on his stereo to blast music as loud as the cats would allow. He had more than enough time to settle everything with the nosey android. He would be fine.

-

‘You forgot your keys yesterday!’, he was greeted as he walked into the bullpen. He could only frown at the android standing beside his desk, dangling them from one finger. Gavin saw red and pulled them from the man, maybe having moved a little too fast for a human. ‘Give them back!’ He looked down on them and carefully put them down in their usual spot. ‘How did you come home then? You couldn’t drive with your car.’ ‘I don’t have one, phck off!’, Gavin shouted. ‘Then why do you have keys?’

Phck. He felt his powers acting up, but it only managed to avert the human gazes from the disturbance. The android didn’t bulge. Shit. A human explanation, quick. Oh, right, parents were a thing! ‘They are my dad’s, he… He died in a car crash. They are the only thing I’ve got left of him.’ It technically wasn’t even a lie. Nowadays he often faked his death so he could inherit his own belongings and one of them had indeed been a car crash. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ The android really looked like he meant it. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’ ‘Well then go and-‘ ‘Can I make it up to you?’ Oh phck no… ‘There is a cat café that just recently opened up. I thought-‘ ‘What is a cat café?’, Gavin asked, momentarily forgetting he wanted the android gone. ‘Oh, it’s a regular café, but cats are roaming around. I thought you’d like it.’ ‘I… That does sound interesting.’ ‘It’s a deal then! I’m looking forward to it!’ ‘No, I-‘ But the android had already left. Gavin let his shoulders fall. It wouldn’t hurt playing human for a break, right? He had done so before. Sure, it broke his rule of never mingling too close with humanity, but it couldn’t really go wrong, right?’

-

It was awkward at first. They had entered and sat down on two comfy chairs and didn’t manage to speak a word until the waiter came. They ordered their drinks and it returned to the uncomfortable silence. Until one of the cats decided to jump onto Gavin’s lap. The android had laughed at his surprised face and Gavin had begun to pet her. ‘You are good with cats’, he commented. ‘Yeah, I love them’, Gavin answered. ‘Just… calms you down I guess.’ ‘I never got to pet one.’ ‘Really?’ Gavin could understand that human lives were short and that not everyone had the pleasure of strolling along the streets of early civilisations and pet every fluffy beast in existence, but it did surprise him. ‘You really have to!’

The android looked around and tried to get the attention of one of the cats wandering about. The look of pure wonder on the android’s face as the cat headbutted his hand for the first time touched something in Gavin and he chuckled. The android looked back up while still petting the cat and smiled back. Only as the cat decided they had enough did the android return to the table. ‘I really wonder why everyone was so sure about you being an asshole’, Nines began talking. ‘I mean, I don’t really know you yet, but you are nice company.’ ‘I tend to keep to myself’, Gavin muttered, looking down on the cat that still hadn’t moved and curled herself up on his legs. ‘Made some bad experiences I guess.’ ‘I think we should do this more often’, the android said. As much as Gavin wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to truly disagree.

They met a few times afterwards. They often spent their breaks together in the café and with time Gavin thought that maybe he didn’t have to isolate himself all the time. But he always shut these thoughts down and thought of the android as an exception. One evening Nines had insisted to come over and see Gavin’s cats, what had brought Gavin into the zugzwang to explain some of the by now ancient things he had collected over the years. ‘I’m interested in history’, he bluffed. ‘Archaeology is a pet peeve of mine. So I tend to collect.’ Surprisingly, the android had bought it and instead admired his “collection”. It had ended in multiple visits to museums and exhibitions. Not that Gavin really minded. It was a fun distraction and his lie about being a history enthusiast wasn’t that far fetched when he could tell a few first-hand stories from when he had been there himself.

It was about a month later that they had come back from one of these exhibition trips and the android had dropped him off at his apartment. The android had hugged him goodbye, something he would never get tired of, and was about to go. ‘Are you going back to the precinct?’, he blurted out out of nowhere. ‘Yes’, Nines had answered. ‘Detroit’s housing market is awful. Haven’t got a flat yet.’ ‘Do you want to… I mean you could stay here if you want to.’ The android had stared at him wide eyed and Gavin started to regret his impromptu decision until Nines threw him a smile and nodded politely. That evening Gavin ended up on the couch next to Nines watching TV until the android appeared to have entered stasis. In the silence that followed, he began to think about his life choices. What was he doing? He was an eldritch shadow being from the dawn of time. Nines was an android he had no power over. And something was clearly growing between them. It was evident in the way Nines had snuggled up next to him, the cats all over them. This couldn’t work. What if Nines found out? What if he would rat him out to anyone? Humans he could fool, but androids would be able to follow him to the end of the world. He had made a huge mistake.

And still: listening to the hum of the android’s thirium pump he couldn’t find to regret it. Quite the opposite was the case.

-

The next morning was filled with more excuses. Why didn’t he have a kitchen? Why didn’t he have any food at home? Gavin had mumbled something about always getting something at the food trucks and stressed they would be late. Apparently, Nines took that information with only a sigh, too. One Catastrophe evaded.

Off to face the next one: As they entered the precinct together, Gavin froze as he found his desk occupied. By Connor. And the other android was staring at them with determination. ‘You two. Interrogation room. Now.’ Gavin was about to protest, so did Nines, but the other RK stopped them: ‘I said now!’ So, they trotted over, and Gavin knew he had phcked up. He had set up these rules for a reason. How could he think he could start a relationship with an android would somehow work out?

‘Nines, I believe you now.’ Nines frowned in return as they entered and exchanged a look with Gavin. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘What you told me about him. It’s true! It’s like he isn’t even existing! And everything you told me was true! There are so many discrepancies with him that something has to be wrong.’ Gavin felt panic creeping in. What? What had these two androids talked about? What had he missed? ‘No, Connor, you were right’, Nines disagreed. ‘There is a logical explanation for everything. I was just paranoid, as you said. I just knew nothing about him because I never even spoke with him.’ ‘Oh and now suddenly everything is perfect? What are these explanations then?’ Nines sighed. ‘What do you want to hear from me?’ ‘The keys?’ ‘Memorabilia of his deceased father.’ ‘The cat hairs?’ ‘Either I must have missed something or he had just washed his clothes. Scan Gavin now and you’ll see a bunch of cat hairs.’ ‘What the hell are you two talking about?’, Gavin asked. ‘You are hiding something!’, Connor growled his way. ‘And I won’t rest until I know what it is!’ Gavin took an instinctive step back. Oh no… ‘Connor’, Nines directed the other RK’s attention back to him. ‘I spent the last months with him. He really isn’t as bad as you think and he clearly isn’t hiding anything.’ ‘Oh, is that so? Have you seen his home then?’

Nines puffed out his chest. ‘I have, actually. In great detail.’ He challenged Connor by staring him in the eyes. ‘Wait what?’ That had caught Connor off-guard at least. ‘You two… You aren’t… No.’ ‘Yes’, Nines grinned. ‘And you should trust the android with the more advanced analysis tools that he is as normal as a human can be.’ Connor was left just standing there, staring. ‘I… I’m not convinced, just so you know. But I trust you. Just know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you!’ ‘That’s only fair’, Nines commented, but Connor was already storming out of the room.

For a while no one moved. ‘Should we go back to the-‘, Gavin started, but was interrupted: ‘No.’ Nines pushed himself off the table and leaned against it. ‘The cams are deactivated, and the observation room is empty. No one else can hear us. I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.’ ‘What should you have told me earlier?’, Gavin asked carefully. ‘I had suspicions about you. That’s why I initially wanted to get to know you better. I pretended everything was alright so you could tell me once you were ready. But I guess now is a good a time as ever: What are you, Gavin? Who are you? The things you own are legitimately old. A collection like this would be priceless, you could sell it for millions. Most of it belongs in a museum. And you don’t even really exist on paper. I couldn’t find your name in any hospital archives from the day you were supposed to be born and you never went to a school. Please, I need to know.’

Gavin sighed deeply and sat down. Should he tell him? Well, he had to. But what then? He guessed a prison to hold him would have yet to be built. And he could always move to another city after faking yet another death. But he didn’t want to lose this. This lifetime was meant to be relaxing and hell, with Nines he had been the most relaxed he had been for centuries. Well, he had to hope for the best. ‘No one can see us?’ ‘No one.’ ‘And no one can hear us?’ ‘Everything said here will remain between us.’ ‘You have to promise not to tell anyone.’ ‘I will as long as my duty as a police officer doesn’t call for it.’

Gavin took a deep breath. So far so good. But promises could be empty and who knew what the duty of a police officer entailed these days. But he knew he was only buying time. And so he began: ‘I am a being that has been around since the dawn of time. I am made of shadows, some worshipped me as the shadows themselves. I don’t even know if that’s true. I’ve been around for a while until I finally decided to try living as a human for a while. And it worked! I was a peaceful part of society since… Well, I took a few breaks but more or less since the 600s? It is hard pretending to be a human if you are immortal, so I travelled a lot and faked papers as much as I could. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I like coffee and cats. The keys are from my first ever car, but I hate driving, so I got rid of it by crashing it one day.’ Nines stared at him dumbfounded. ‘I think I need proof, I can’t believe this.’ Gavin sighed and looked at the table. ‘Please, don’t freak out’, he warned, before transforming into his true form. Suddenly half the room was swallowed by darkness and Gavin showed off a bit by extending a few tendrils of shadow towards Nines. The android looked shocked at first, then bewildered and then fascinated. Nines even stepped closer. ‘You won’t hurt me, right?’ ‘I never hurt anyone’, Gavin answered, his voice coming somewhere from his centre that was still hovering over the chair. Nines extended an arm and tried to touch Gavin, who chuckled. His only feature was to consume light, he literally was the personification of the absence of light. What a dork, trying to touch that. For some reason that seemed to disappoint the android and Gavin made an effort reforming his body partially while still keeping his real self exposed.

‘And?’, Gavin asked. ‘What does this mean now?’ Nines was still staring at him. ‘You are beautiful.’ Gavin laughed, but took the android’s hand lovingly. ‘If you say so.’ ‘How did you keep this a secret for so long? Is that why you aren’t noticeable by most? I have so many questions, I-‘ ‘I would say, I explain everything to you at my home where we are safe’, Gavin offered. ‘I want to know what it means first. For us. Does it change anything?’

Nines smiled and came closer. ‘Only that I don’t have to worry about your human lifespan’, he smirked. ‘And that we can spend an eternity forever.’ Gavin sighed in relief and relaxed completely. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me.’ ‘I think I get the gist of it’, Nines shrugged and dove in for a kiss that left Gavin completely unprepared. But he had always been quick to adapt.

It took them a while to get out of that interrogation room, but thanks to Gavin’s powers no one but Connor noticed. Nines just threw him a cocky smile while making a point of sitting down on the free table opposite of Gavin’s.

Maybe Gavin Reed was a man made of shadows. It didn’t change the fact that Nines was completely engulfed in his gloom.