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metamatar · 4 months ago

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In 1975, civilian nuclear technology was part of a worldwide strategy to bring the Organization of Petroleum-Exporting Countries (OPEC) to heel. That body’s power seemed unprecedented, given that most of its countries were historically impoverished or “backward” peoples. [...]

Many developing countries did adopt nuclear technologies, often with crucial parts of their national infrastructures relying on American and European expertise, equipment, and fuel. Rather than seeing liberation from nature, such countries faced renewed forms of dependence. Iran certainly never gained reliable access to uranium and did not become the economic miracle envisioned by Ansari back in 1975. Instead of lifting up the poorer nations of the world, the global nuclear order seemed structured in ways reminiscent of the colonial era. The most heated debates within the IAEA pitted the nuclear weapons states against the so-called LDCs—less developed countries. The agency never became a storehouse for fission products. Instead, one of its primary functions was to monitor an arms control treaty—the Treaty 4 on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. By the end of the century, the IAEA was referred to as a “watchdog,” known for its cadre of inspectors. In 2003, IAEA inspections were crucial talking points in public debates about the invasion of Iraq by the United States [...] evidence gathered over the years by the agency created for the peaceful atom was being interpreted by the United States government as justification for military intervention. [...]

Focusing only on arms control glosses over the domestic politics of nuclear programs, particularly the role of high technology as symbols of state power and legitimacy. But it also does not square with what scholars of the Cold War have been pointing out for decades—that governments, especially the United States, deployed science and technology as diplomatic tools, to achieve feats of prestige, to shape business arrangements, to conduct clandestine surveillance, or to bind countries together with technical assistance programs. Poorer countries’ dreams of modernization, of using advanced technology to escape hunger, poverty, and the constraints of nature—these were the stock-in-trade of US diplomacy. Why, then, should we imagine that the promises connected to peaceful uses of atomic energy were any less saturated with geopolitical maneuvers and manipulation? [...]

American officials in the late 1940s and early 1950s were very worried that commercial nuclear power would siphon off supplies of uranium and monazite needed for the weapons arsenal. So they explicitly played down the possibility of electricity generation from atomic energy and instead played up the importance of radioisotopes for medicine and agriculture��because such radioisotopes were byproducts of the US weapons arsenal and did not compete with it. The kinds of technologies promoted in the developing world by the United States, the USSR, and Europeans thus seemed neocolonial, keeping the former colonies as sites of resource extraction—a fact noticed, and resented, by government officials in India, Brazil, and elsewhere. Mutation plant breeding, irradiation for insect control or food sterilization, and radioisotope studies in fertilizer—these were oriented toward food and export commodities and public health, problems indistinguishable from those of the colonial era. These were not the same kinds of technologies embraced by the global North, which focused on electricity generation through nuclear reactors, often as a hedge against the rising political power of petroleum-producing states in the Middle East. By the mid-1960s and 1970s, the United States and Europe did offer nuclear reactors even to some of the most politically volatile nations, as part of an effort to ensure access to oil. Convincing petroleum suppliers of their dire future need for nuclear reactors was part of a strategy to regain geopolitical leverage. Despite the moniker “peaceful atom,” these technologies were often bundled in trade deals with fighter jets, tanks, and other military hardware [...]

By the close of the century, two competing environmental narratives were plainly in use. One was critical of atomic energy, drawing on scientific disputes about the public health effects of radiation, the experience of nuclear accidents such as Three Mile Island (1979) and Chernobyl (1986), or the egregious stories of public health injustice—including negligence in protecting uranium miners or the wanton destruction and contamination of indigenous peoples’ homelands. In contrast was the narrative favored by most governments, depicting nuclear technology in a messianic role, promising not only abundant food, water, and electricity, but also an end to atmospheric pollution and climate change. [...]

As other scholars have noted, the IAEA tried to maintain a reputation of being primarily a technical body, devoid of politics. But it had numerous political uses. For example, it was a forum for intelligence gathering, as routinely noted by American Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) documents. It also outmaneuvered the World Health Organization and Food and Agriculture Organization in the early 1960s and was able to assert an authoritative voice playing down public health dangers from atomic energy. Further, it provided a vehicle for countries to stay engaged in atomic energy affairs even if they did not sign on to the non-proliferation treaty—India, Pakistan, and Israel most notably. It provided apartheid-era South Africa with a means of participating in international affairs when other bodies ousted it because of its blatantly racist policies. By the same token, it gave the Americans and Europeans political cover for continuing to engage with South Africa, an important uranium supplier.

Introduction to The Wretched Atom, Jacob Hamlin

#jacob hamlin #nuclear power #readings

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everythingblackblack · 3 months ago

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If Shinichi met Kuroba Kaito what would he think of him? Would he know of him from his mother (ignoring the cousins thing)? From Hakuba? Does he figure out he's Kid?

I think it depends a lot on the context, if there's no intervention from anyone, and we say that these two just meet on the street, Shinichi might think that Kaito is suspicious.

It's already been said that Shinichi has some kind of radar on KID, so it's likely that he senses it, but can't quite place it at first.

On the other hand, I feel that Kaito's internal dialogue would be "Damn, damn, he's here… I need to get out of here!", but of course, Shinichi wouldn't let him go that easily. __________________

It would definitely be fun if it was for his mother! I can see Shinichi arriving home, and then he sees a guy his age having tea with his mother in the garden, Yukiko makes the introductions: "This is Kaito Kuroba, he's basically my brother disciple, and he's also the son of my master, Toichi Kuroba, say hello to your uncle, Shinichi!" And on the other hand, Shinichi would start putting two and two together, Toichi Kuroba is a magician who passed away, master in the art of disguise, and he has a son his age, then he would shout… "You're Kaitou KID!" Then Yukiko would scold him because she doesn't want him to bother her guest. Kaito would joke that "I have a cute nephew now". _________________

Personally, I'm not a fan of Hakuba constantly pointing at Kaito as KID, so I don't think Hakuba would drag Shinichi around to get a second opinion on his prime suspect. Hakuba doesn't need it, and Kaito is his prey! He told him so himself! "Don't let anyone else catch you."

However, I think he would just enjoy the chaos happening around him, intervening slightly to divert Kudo's attention and annoy Kaito.

Hakuba will never confirm Shinichi's suspicions about Kaito, but he won't deny the obvious either. I imagine the following conversation:

"You've known him longer than I have, is he KID?"

Hakuba takes a sip from his cup of tea, falls silent, and ponders his answer.

"Inspector Nakamori said he suspected him once, but eventually withdrew the accusation because KID disguised himself as Aoko, certainly, using Kaito's face just to annoy Inspector Nakamori isn't that far-fetched."

Shinichi thinks about it and he's right, KID has disguised himself as Ran before to annoy him… Even himself!

There's something about the whole situation that doesn't sit right with him, but he decides to let it go for now.

I feel like Shinichi comes back to Hakuba later, saying things like "The guy is very suspicious" and Hakuba just thinks "I know" but doesn't say it and just asks "Well, do you have any evidence?", Shinichi replies "Just circumstantial", and Hakuba would say "That's not much use."

As Shinichi leaves, Kaito comes up behind him, but before he can say anything, Hakuba steps in front of him and says, "KID is my target, I won't share it, but in a heist I won't be so lenient."

"You're as creepy a detective as ever, but anyway, I don't care what you were talking about with that guy, Aoko wanted to treat you to dinner." Kaito feels very relieved even though he doesn't show it.

Kaito has animosity towards Hakuba, but Hakuba doesn't have those kinds of thoughts for him, so, I think if Shinichi were to intrude too much on his territory (outside of a heist), Hakuba would start investigating him, I imagine:

"You don't seem to come around Ekoda a lot?"

"I'm investigating a suspect."

"Now that you mention it, I think you're a bit suspicious."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me explain this another way. Don't you think it's suspicious that you disappeared for a whole year for a case and then had sporadic appearances here and there? The media says you were very focused on solving it, but it's strange… I don't think a case this complex would give you enough free time."

"The police can tell you, there's a whole file, and of course, I sometimes came to visit my friends and family."

"That's not what Hattori told me."

"I don't know where you're going with all this."

"I'm not interested in your secrets, but if you're intruding on my territory, I hope you're prepared for me to enter yours."

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise."

"All for a thief?"

"He's not just a thief, he's my secret to uncover, my puzzle to put together and I'm not going to share it, I won't stop your investigation, but I won't let you catch him either, I'm the only one who can catch him." __________ It wasn't intentional, but the writing has so many HakuKai vibes, I love Hakuba and he's so cool, I can't help but think of him as a mastermind who secretly loves chaos. I'm so sorry if this is so out of character, I got carried away.

#magic kaito #kuroba kaito #kaitou kid #magic kaito 1412 #hakuba saguru #kudo yukiko #hakukai #ask

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moonextinguisher · 2 years ago

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Amen to that and might I just add as proof this wonderful gif from @sidneycarter? The looks, the smiles.......

You know it's not the same

As it was

(This comparison has been living in my head rent-free for like a week)

Top gif is by @montabeau

Bottom gif is by @sidneycarter

#cartivan #inspector sullivan #sid carter #father brown #no Devine intervention #sid x sullivan

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inspectorspacetimerevisited · 1 year ago

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While Emerald’s adoptive mum intervenes to block the Inspector from interrogating the young woman, Emerald’s phone rings.

Much to Emerald’s surprise, a producer from Glenn Hugill’s company has called with usual news.

‘He’s come into a load of money. Three million quid, I think he said. Left by a great-uncle he��d never heard of. Still, he’s up and quit. But, I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to get this project back on track. We’ll help you find your mum and dad.’

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susandsnell · 4 months ago

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did you see the current US les mis tour? i'm thinking of going (though i haven't bought tickets yet) and i'm curious about what might be in it for valvert enjoyers (including myself)

OH DID I EVER, FRIEND. It came to Canada this past summer and I cannot recommend getting tickets enough; it's possibly the best the show has ever been, and the cast is incredible. I didn't think I'd still be crying at it at this age and bam, Act 2 rolls around and there goes my painstakingly winged eyeliner.

Valvert is imo the most played up it's been, if you want to go in unspoiled I'll leave it at that, but I'll put more details after the cut. Spoilers/me being a cringe parody of myself below.

They've gone with both a lot more physical blocking between the two of them and a much more humanized Javert + book-accurately violent (albeit For Good Reason) Valjean than previous productions, all of which lends itself very well to the ship. Lot of lingering gazes in prison/grabs at each other, a genuine rapport between Maire Madeleine and the Inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer, and then there's the Champmathieu trial through the Confrontation. Javert actively lunges for Valjean after his confession and the two leads I saw had such an intense chemistry you could see their eyes burning through that part.

As for the Confrontation, it's been choreographed/blocked to be a lot more suggestive violent than previously; there's a barely concealed smirk on Javert's face during "you'll wear a different chain" that I remember made me think "...my 12 year old self is thriving right now." Valjean doesn't snap until Javert tries to shackle him, at which point it goes into the whole "I am warning you, Javert!" bit. He uses that incredible, Brick-accurate Valjean strength to break free, deck Javert, and garrotes him with his own chain at the song's (heh) climax, until the man goes down to his knees, and if I'm not misremembering, he half-straddles his shoulder to keep him down. Before it gets into the "And this I swear to you tonight" bit, there's a good several moments of Javert left rolling on the ground writhing, gagging, and moaning (this would become a persistent thing as the show progressed) while still crawling towards Valjean, half-conscious and half-mad with obsession, reaching towards him. And then Valjean smashes his head into a wall, Liam Neeson in '98 style. I don't know what you go to the theatre for, but personally I do to see old men cry and beat the shit out of each other homoerotically.

Not much more happens in Act 1 (though the Intervention through Stars has as much reverence to it about the sanctity of their chase and their dynamic as it does the very structures Javert cannot fathom Valjean existing outside of - I think he presses his fingers to his lips a little on "Lord, let me find him" after crossing himself), but Act 2 at the Barricades is where things go wild again. There seems to be an Objectifying The Inspector agenda behind the scenes of this new production and I am here for it. Thus, please know that the Valvert barricade scenes take place with the mainstay of Javert having his shirt needlessly torn open/almost off by Les Amis / his ponytail getting dishevelled / him throwing his head back and moaning / panting at some points over the singing because he got his ass kicked again. Heavy, heavy appraisal in Valjean's "give me the spy Javert"/tugging on his bonds as he pulls him away to ostensibly take him out back like Old Yeller (for show for Les Amis, sure but I sensed a bit of spite/something else). And then Valjean's Forgiveness is just. Okay, so I got good enough seats to say that Javert is licking his lips during "How right you should kill with a knife."

What really made my jaw drop was that Javert, being played a lot more emotionally and erratically at this point, actually reaches with both hands once freed of his bonds to grab hold of Valjean's rifle by the mouth and pull it up to his head/press his whole chest into it on "shoot me now, for all I care". Which, yes, Imagery, but then you have them having a legitimate moment where Valjean firmly but gently pulls the gun away/him away from the gun, and holds his face/shoulder in a way I think was? Deliberately meant to echo the blocking of the Bishop during the whole "I have bought your soul for God" in the prologue. "There's nothing that I blame you for" is almost played as a realization despite the anguish Javert has put him through. As for the sewers through the end, each man is played as having increasing realization of how much they are two sides of the same coin, but during the Soliloquy, you have Javert screaming out/sobbing some of his lines about Valjean and how dare he transcend the very structures that gave sense and shape to his world. It has to be seen to be believed.

Outside of this -- there's actually a lot more work done outside their interactions to parallel them. Javert and Gavroche are given a rapport meant to run alongside the Valjean-Cosette relationship where you see a Javert who's a lot more indulgently annoyed towards this cocky gamin than aggressive (they have such a cute, funny moment together after Look Down/Javert's Intervention bit, Javert's not even mad and more 'are you fucking kidding me I lost to an 8 year old' when Gavroche blows his cover). It pays off because they worked in him paying respects when he sees his body during the Bring Him Home instrumental as they did in the movie (albeit more organically, because the scene is staged from Javert's POV seeing all the bodies at the barricade + he stops over Gavroche, kneels to close the boy's still-open eyes, and with a stricken expression, makes the sign of the cross over his body), to the point that you absolutely get the impression Javert is seeing his younger, disadvantaged yet striving self in Gavroche. With the instrumental cue being Valjean's song of paternal feeling for Marius, the staging really drives home that Javert had so many opportunities himself to go through a similar journey of personal growth through fatherhood. And there's power in these parallels when they're not interacting, too!

All in all, they went all in on every character relationship in this production and I cannot recommend it enough. The costumes are beautiful, the sets/effects are phenomenal, and the orchestration reveals just how beautiful the score really is. Go see it!!!

#les miserables #valvert #jean valjean #javert #les mis #if you don't like les mis that's okay but just know that you're completely wrong.

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sebastianswallows · 4 months ago

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The English Client — Forty

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 3.4k

— A/N: Here it is 💚 Finally at an end. Thank you to everyone who's been following this fic, and thanks again to @localravenclaw for requesting it for @esolean. It was a great adventure taking this story from prompt up to this point. It's been almost one year to the day since I started writing it, so it is fitting that the final chapter is posted now. I hope you all enjoy it!✨

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir @thiefofthecrowns

Tom was on a train, riding back to England. It wasn’t a dream anymore. His cabin seemed more comfortable than it did last time and the view outside was decidedly serene. There was no sign of the chaos that was unfolding back in Italy.

A warrant had been issued for Ambrogio Oso and the Swiss authorities fell under criticism for their obstinate lack of cooperation. The Italian police were convinced he’d struck a bargain with someone so that he would not face extradition. He was clearly connected with the Roman underground and old rumours of his involvement with the Mafia surfaced once more. Since the conflict involved the French-speaking part of Switzerland — Oso was said to have settled in Geneva — the Swiss asked for mediation from France, who delegated Mr. Jean Monnet to solve the issue. An evening paper in Rome described it as “an underhanded excuse to leverage the authority of the ECSC”, of which Italy was a member but not a more important one than France. This opened the door for all manner of political and economic experts to weigh in and stoke the already bubbling dissatisfaction with the ECSC as a whole.

Support for law enforcement in Italy was already wavering and the amount of resources being wasted to chase the suspect in the murder of a controversial aristocrat was seen as an insult to the public in a time of economic strife. The exchange rate with most foreign currencies, especially the dollar, remained pitiful, which no doubt contributed to the influx of spoilt and noisy Americans among other undesirables. The fiery murder of Baron Agarda at the hand of either an elderly employee or — the second most likely suspect — a young French national with a record of public indecency, was considered an act of divine intervention either way.

It amused Tom, thinking back now to how keen the inspector was to resolve the case specifically because of his yearning for public approval. He bit his lip to keep from chuckling as he read the Corriere Della Sera. Perhaps he would clip the article and keep it as a memento of his fun little vacation.

He had a moment of compassion for Donatien… Fleeing to Switzerland in the hope of reuniting with his erstwhile protector and would-be sponsor, Ambrogio. As soon as the boy was seen standing outside Casa Ur that day, the Carabinieri knew they had their man. Tom had only helped them confirm it. He so loved hot-headed people, their brains as soft as pudding. And it had certainly taught him a new respect for the art of invisibility. Of course, him planting Donatien’s ring with the bloodied clothes of Clement probably had more to do with it.

He sighed in quiet satisfaction and placed the paper aside. Before him sat the cursed book, the cause of all that trouble. The intrigue, the heartache, betrayal, and death. He supposed it was only fitting. Books like that had a destiny, and a price, and the will of their maker prevailed above the petty wants of their mortal caretakers. It just so happened that the price of the Delomelanicon was not gold or silver or banknotes, but blood… and a couple of souls.

The view outside his window never changed. They had crossed a frozen Italy softly veiled in white and now he couldn’t say exactly where they were. Maybe it was France already. He could see frozen vineyards in the distance and a crown of crows above. There was a light over everything spreading like spilt milk but it came from nowhere, no moon, no sun, as if the very sky was a gaping hole revealing a void of white. Perhaps there was a sea of souls behind that firmament and only in days as cold as this would they appear… But Tom could never count himself among their number. He had made sure of it, in more ways than one.

He could only imagine the furore that was to come in the magical community among those in the know once Burke let spread the word he had the book. Buyers will be crawling over each other like beasts in a pit, and it would likely fall to Tom to skin the price off of their monstrous backs. What’s another heirloom or two compared to sacred knowledge? Yes, he would not let this opportunity pass him by, not after everything he’d been through… And he knew of more than one collector who would part with precious relics for a chance to own that book. After all, demonic tomes that the Ministry knew nothing of had many uses for many wizards, and he intended to milk those amateurs for everything they had. Perhaps, he amused himself, he might get Mr. Malfoy to pay for it again — and no forged folds of muggle bills this time… Tom estimated he might even squeeze three Horcrux-worthy items from the old fool.

“What are you grinning about?”

“Just thinking of all the things we’ll get up to in London.”

“No, no, it wasn’t that kind of a grin.”

“Oh, was it not? What kind was it, then?”

She smiled and, like a cluster of writhing snakes, uncoiled to leave her nest of fur and scarves behind and join him on his side of the cabin. Tom kept her comfortable and warm, weaving around her soothing spells of warm fumes that smelled like her favourite tea and conjuring for her the most luxurious and soft accoutrements. After all, she would find precious little of any of it in London, especially in his cheap one-bedroom flat. And as a reward, she pinched his cheeks and ruffled his hair and smiled with love and adoration at him.

“That was a very bad idea kind of grin,” she said.

“So? It’s not like I ever got us in trouble before.”

“You mean aside from theft and murder and giving false statements to the Carabinieri?”

“Those, I’ll remind you, are exactly the sort of things that got us out of trouble.”

“And breaking my heart?”

“That was only temporary…”

“Well, you certainly made it seem not-so-temporary.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment,” she grumbled.

Tom reached up and grabbed the back of her head, her hair soft beneath his fingers, and pulled her in for a kiss.

She understood why he’d done all of that. He knew she did… It was imperative that the Carabinieri have no idea they were together, especially if he wanted to make the inspector think he had been Donatien’s lover. He explained everything to her as he helped her hurriedly pack in the middle of the night before they made for the train station. It had been hours before she believed him but with that morning’s newspapers in their hands, she slowly accepted that Tom had done all of it for her. The lies he wove, once she saw them brought to completion, made as much sense to her as they must’ve done to the Carabinieri. An aristocrat running an underground network for rich old perverts, an illegal book trade, payments made in the form of boy flesh, love affairs and subtle murder, it was all easier to believe than magic and demonic books.

And although it hurt Tom to paint Ambrogio as the hero, he had to admit it was a neat little plan. It certainly worked well to draw suspicion away from her. The foolish inspector was only too eager to believe that a delicate lady like her would never hurt a soul. Of course, Tom knew better — poor Clement. She, however, still didn’t know that he knew about that. And that’s how it was going to stay. She may not have been blameless in her own mind, but she could at least imagine that her soul was still untainted in his eyes.

She sighed into his kiss and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to his neck, her soft body melting against his. Tom held her tightly, claws sinking in, as the train carried them further and further away. She was all his now and nobody could come between them anymore. He would find a way to live forever with her — and having the Delomelanicon opened paths for him that weren’t there before. And if anything, her being a muggle should work in his favour. Her mind was innocent, a blank sheet with no preconceptions, and for her, magic was still a wonderful thing. There was no good or bad, no right or wrong, it was all beautiful to her, and Tom would be there to watch her discover all of it, to teach her as she went through the same waves of wonder as he did as a child. Hers was the perfect mind to accept what he suggested without fear or prejudice.

She pulled away after a lazy patter of kisses and he caught her licking her lips when he opened his eyes. He smiled and brushed his thumb against her cheek. She looked positively drunk on love, just as he liked it.

“I can’t wait for you to see London… It’s a ruin, and atrocity. You’ll hate it just as much as I do,” he said with a smile.

“Are you sure I won’t be a burden?”

“Having second thoughts?” he chuckled. “We’re a long way from Rome already…”

“I just…”

She struggled to find her words. Tom waited, but he already knew what was on her mind.

“It will be the first time I’ll be useless,” she finally said.

He cupped her face, the warmth of her skin so intense against his skin it penetrated him to the bone.

“You will never be a burden,” he said. “I’ll teach you potion-making, there’s no silly wand-waving involved in that. You can dabble in alchemy too if you want. I’ve salvaged some books on it from the Baron’s collection just for you.”

“Want me to discover the Philosopher’s Stone to prove my love? Is that it, Tom?” she laughed.

“Great minds do think alike,” he grinned. “But no. You can prove it in far simpler ways.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a giggle as he pulled her in his lap.

They arrived in Paris. From there, they would have had to take another train to Callais and then the ferry, a tedious proposition after everything they’d been through.

“Are you glad to see it again?” he asked.

“I don’t know… It looks different this time.”

He cast a subtle charm on their suitcases to make them lighter and carried most of them out of the train station, diverting their course without even asking. They would not leave Paris that night.

It was a dizzying feeling, being free… Between the Italy job and returning to England, Tom could do as he liked. As for her, this was the first time in years she’d been out of a job and with him at her side, she could go anywhere, do anything, at least for a little while. He booked for them a fancy room at a hotel with a view of the Arc de Triomphe and they decided to see none of the places they’d seen before together.

They explored Paris as if they were strangers to it, stopping at the first café they spotted, going into antique shops tucked between old streets, sitting by modest fountains in parks with no name and petting every stray cat along the way.

On their second day, he took her to Montmartre without specifically saying why, and she was so used to the mysteries that surrounded him that she didn’t even ask.

“Are we still using fake money, by the way?”

“We are. But not where we’re going.”

“Pity. That taxi driver was really nice.”

“He fancied you.”

“Do you think so?”

“Have you ever known a Frenchman to be polite without good reason?”

“Well…”

“And don’t mention Donatien.”

“But he always was nice to me.”

“He was a thief and a liar.”

“But Tom, so are you.”

“I suppose you have a type, then.”

He took her to La Place Cache where he bought her sweets and trinkets. They were hardly more than parlour tricks, but it was real magic she could hold in her hands. Passing through the statue made her dizzy, but actually seeing the place, hearing the sounds, tasting what he bought her, was thoroughly intoxicating. Tom smiled, remembering something of what it was like for him to first see Diagon Alley. It was a weakness of his to want to impress her, and magic sure did that… The whole day, she spoke of nothing else. The littlest thing mattered so much to her and it made his heart grow ten times over in his chest.

“Can we get some of those moving photographs before we leave?” she begged with a jumping chocolate frog clutched in her hands, melting away.

“Of course we can. What of?”

“Something wild… Something beautiful. A scene of nature with swaying trees and drifting clouds and bunnies and deer passing by.”

He got her a pretty landscape photo of a forest and she spent the whole way back to the hotel looking at it, her head resting serenely on his shoulder. It helped Tom decide what they should do on their final day there.

She wanted to see something untamed, entirely different from the marble monuments of Rome, so Tom took her to the Vincennes Woods on the eastern outskirts of the city. It was an overcast day and nobody else seemed to be travelling there, which suited them just fine.

They got blissfully lost after fifteen minutes of wandering aimlessly about and kissed between the grey shrubs by the lake. They found strange mansions tucked among the trees, and statues, and a marble birdbath with an owl cleaning its feathers in it.

“I saw a lot of owls there…”

“Where?”

“Yesterday, on the magic street.”

“You mean La Place Cache?” he asked with a cocked brow.

“That’s the one. Why do they have so many?” she asked as she hooked her arm around his.

“We use them to send letters.”

“Owls?”

“They’re highly intelligent. Best sort of bird for it.”

“So do you have a mailing owl at home?”

“No, not anymore. I used to when I was at school.”

“What was its name?”

“Morgana. She was a great horned owl with black and grey plumage.”

“Awww!”

“She was very noisy. And a glutton. She ate half a rabbit once that she caught out in the field and dumped the carcass on my bed.”

“I love her.”

“Sold her when I was about sixteen, didn’t need her anymore. Bought a diary with the money.”

“I want a pet owl…”

“Well, that can be arranged,” he smiled.

Fallen leaves bunched up around their feet, softening their steps. The sky was all but covered by the crowns of high trees and birds sang all around them. Tom created motes of light that lit the path when the forest grew the thickest, and they kept on walking.

He found a snake to speak to as well, an innocent green grass friend hidden in a winter burrow. Tom bent down and called her over as he invited the snake into his palm. Her eyes shone as she watched him speak in Parseltongue.

“Can I learn that?” she asked.

“Afraid not. It has to be inborn.”

“Not fair!”

“Here,” he said, holding out the snake in the cup of his hands. “Hold her, she won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t know, Tom…”

“He said you’re very pretty.”

“Liar,” she mumbled, but took the new friend anyway.

It hissed and shivered pleasantly, its muscles coiling and relaxing.

Tom laughed. “She says your hands feel lovely. She wants to stay there.”

“Oh no… How can I ever put her down now? Poor snake, down in that cold, dirty hole in the ground…”

Tom hissed and told the snake to kiss her. It did, slipping its forked tongue out to tickle at her pinkie finger. She gasped and Tom could see her face light up with sweet affection.

“She is so darling! Tom, I want to keep her…”

“If only you liked my kisses that much.”

“I do. Shut up,” she smiled, gently starting to pet the snake’s small head with her thumb. “Tell her she’s pretty too. That she has lovely scales.”

Tom’s smile turned a little sharper. “I’m starting to regret introducing you two.”

“Tom, tell her!”

He sighed and with a toothy smile conveyed her praises to the snake. Its lithe body shivered in delight and it nuzzled the cushion of flesh beneath her thumb, tail curling around to hide its eyes.

“Awww, she’s shy!”

“What a showoff.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“Why not?”

She petted it a while longer then bent to put the snake back on the ground. As it slithered into its home she covered the entrance lightly with leaves, tucking the creature away for the winter. As for Tom’s jealousy, she soothed that with kisses beneath the swaying tendrils of a willow tree while he played at being angry for a few moments longer.

They eventually found the path that led out of the forest with the sunset and she gathered acorns as they went. The last bus took them to the hotel and Tom forged enough French banknotes for a feast. Her sense of honour protested again, at least until the first eclair touched her lips. Tom’s lips followed close behind to lick the chocolate from the edges of her mouth.

III

The North Sea was sleek and docile, swaying them in unfeeling waves like children being lulled to sleep. The sky had disappeared again, taking the sun with it, and they were left once more with a white void above. Everything had a feeling of finality about it akin to being doomed to death, but there was a hint of resurrection too. For Tom, it was as if returning from the underworld. For her, beginning a new life.

Surrounded by other passengers going about their ordinary lives, the two of them felt like the carriers of a great secret — which in a way they were. The story in the papers about the hunt for Ambrogio kept evolving but on pages further and further in the back. Nobody had been speaking of it in France, and now three days later it was as if it never happened.

They were still full of sweets and wine and lazy from the night before but they treated themselves to the snacks on the ferry as well and fed treats to one another in a hedonist repose. When she got tired, she slid down to lay on Tom’s lap as they sat beside the window atop red cushioned seats.

“Do you think we’ll be happy in England?” she asked.

“I never was,” Tom shrugged. “Were you happy in Italy?”

“I think so,” she said. “I had friends there, you know. And I had you.”

“And you have me still.”

She looked up at him, her eyes catching his upside down, and smiled. Tom held her tighter, feeling suddenly possessive in the way he got when he thought of his old diary or his grandfather’s ring.

“Well then, here’s one reason to be happy.” He leaned down to brush his lips over her temple. “Even if you won’t be happy in England, you’ll never be miserable on your own again.”

Her giggle was a crystalline chime and she reached up to kiss him. She curled her fingers in his hair and held on like they were sleek black reins to let him feel her possessiveness as well. Tom parted from her lips and sighed, but smiled. She was in his arms, soft and comfy on his lap, sweet on his lips, and filled with love. She smiled back at him as her hand still lingered in his hair, twirling a stray lock around her finger.

“I can’t wait for us to be alone,” Tom said.

“I’m sure,” she cocked a brow.

But that wasn’t how he meant it.

“We’ll have an eternity together. You’ll see. At the end of time, there will only be the two of us left.”

He could tell she couldn’t quite understand, and even if she did, he wasn’t certain she’d approve yet. But then again, she didn’t need to. Tom brushed a strand of hair off of her forehead and smoothed his thumbs over her brows. He’d clear a path in her mind, just as he’d carved a place for himself in her heart, for immortality.

“You’ll see. I’ll make you want to spend eternity away. With me.”

“Oh, silly Tom. I already do.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

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autistic-ben-tennyson · 10 months ago

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In Defense of Julie Yamamoto

I want to talk about Julie as I’ve noticed she gets a lot of hate from all corners of the fandom. Omniverse fans consider her boring, some fans write her as a toxic girlfriend especially Bwen shippers and she got the short end of the stick from the writers. As an Asian American, I want more Asian rep as well so that’s another reason I’m defending her and am still salty about how OV treated her.

The thing is, she always tried to be supportive of Ben since the start of Alien Force. She was willing to help during Big Chill’s pregnancy and tried to reassure Ben after his identity was leaked. While she was upset with the way the arrogant clone acted in Duped, she accepted Ben had responsibilities as a hero. She only got mad at him after learning he snuck off to watch the Sumo Slammers movie. That wasn’t even the first time he did something like that. Back in Pet Project, he lied so he could stay home and watch a movie. That doesn’t make him a bad guy, he probably doesn’t get much time to himself as a hero. The problem is a lack of communication as they could have just talked about it.

As for the claim that she was boring, we see glimpses of her personality that go beyond tennis player. She’s a bit headstrong as she would often charge into danger, examples being Pet Project, Greetings from Techadon, and Inspector 13. She can be a bit stubborn about what she believes in and really wants to help people when joining the Flame Keeper’s Circle, something she shares with Ben who also has a hard time changing his mind and really enjoys helping people. It’s a shame we only saw her dad once. Something UAF didn’t do nearly enough was flesh out the characters families more. Let Julie interact with Carl and Sandra and vice versa. Have them stage an intervention with Ben and their concerns about his fame. Ben meeting Julie’s parents could have been a motivation to be a better boyfriend. Flesh out her relationship with her dad. Dwayne McDuffie was a big supporter of diversity in comics. It would have been a great opportunity to show a healthy Asian parent-child relationship as opposed to the Tiger parent stereotype.

Now onto Omniverse. For starters, like the AF trio, her design feels like a step in the wrong direction. Julie was always shown to be very mature and yet like Gwen, she dresses more like a 10 year old in OV. As @vreedleedleedle pointed out, her design looks much more like a racial stereotype than in UAF especially her eyes. Second, the end of Ultimate Alien made her important as a character where she was able to talk some sense into Ben when he was about to remake the universe in his image. You’d think from the ending that she’d be part of the team more often. Then OV doesn’t mention her until the end of season 2 where we learn they broke up. Even if you prefer them as just friends, they didn’t do nearly enough with her character and she doesn’t make another appearance till the harem episode where she’s used for jokes. Julie deserved better than how the writers or fans treated her and she’s not a bad girlfriend. She respected that Ben had a job to do and only got angry when he didn’t care about her interests. Again, them having flaws doesn’t make them bad people, they’re emotionally immature teens who’ve been through a lot of traumatic events. They’re going to make mistakes.

#ben 10 #ben tennyson #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #julie yamamoto #ben x julie #benlie #ben 10 uaf #ben 10 analysis #fandom racism #asian american #ben 10 fandom

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jadzio-writing-prowess · 2 months ago

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PP characters and their scars:

imma put some tws, cause this feels heavy enough to warrant em, here so beware: tw eating disorder, tw scars, tw mentions of suicide attempt, tw mentions of past abuse, tw of trauma and ptsd

Inspector:

His body is deteriorated. He has always been a bony person, thin with skeleton hands. But ever since he lost his most recent job and got to work at the border, he has been disappearing in the eyes.

His ribcage started to slightly show.

It's easy to not notice. Winter had hit in its full swing, during that time. It was easy to hide it all, under layers of clothes.

His skin was slowly getting more pale. He got more tired with each day, and went to bed sooner.

He feels faint a lot more and his voice gets weaker.

He shivers in the cold more, from the lack of protective fat.

He got more unfocused at his work, which only made his problem worse.

Altho in January things finally started getting better financially, he couldn't help, but feel more and more pressure.

He usually managed to wave off most concerns, by giving from his plate to his kids and other family members. Or by just storing some of the food ‘for later’, so it can be eaten by someone else.

He fought his hunger by drinking lots of water. It's cheaper than food.

The only scar on his body is on his right hand, from firing, from his killing gun, for the first time, during the terrorist attack, when Elisa came. His inexperience with weapons and much heavier caliber hurt his hand.

Calensk:

He has small scars all over his hands, from working different manual jobs.

Anyone would be hard pressed to see more than that.

He wears long sleeves and sweaters, all the time. Prefers ones with golf covering his neck. Not an unfamiliar sight, with the rather colder climate.

In bed, he shys away from intimacy.

He is not the best at communicating his discomfort and anxieties, with his wife. This only deepens the already existing wages in their relationship.

Under his clothes, he's hiding a plethora of big and small scars, he collected from all over the place.

Some he got from work. Something fell on him, something went wrong when handling machinery. Not an unfamiliar sight in Arstotzka, known for its less than stellar labor laws.

Some were carried from the war. He wasn't serving for the whole war and thankfully never got hit as hard as Sergiu, but he got a bullet or two in the arm. The living conditions were the biggest contributor to his scarring. Bullet wounds got infected often. The brutal terrain and unhygienic conditions, caused a leg or an arm to get cut and scar weirdly. He was glad that at least, he never stepped on any mines.

Some were smaller or blended well with others, indistinguishable as different among everything else. But these carried the most pain.

Calensk's childhood wasn't easy. Filled with labor helping around the family home. Easy to get a cut here and there, not a big issue.

But his parents. They weren't much different than most, but that didn't change much, did it. But they taught him the way of life and to keep it all to himself. For the only thing left that would show, was his body and skin. And that was easier to hide, to excuse. The teachings came in handy in the war anyway…

Sergiu:

Got a lot of scars all over his body, from the war and constant attacks at the border.

His arm and side didn't have time to properly heal before Elisa came, so he started to wear long sleeved shirts, all the time around her.

Tried his best to not flinch in pain, when she hugged him too low, tugged at his arm too hard…

Did his best to keep the wound clean, after Calensk's intervention. He kept hiding in the bathroom in the evening.

But the biggest scars decorate his psyche.

Thankfully he didn't need to hide those as much. Elisa dealt with the same war pains as him.

Loud sounds, gunshots at work and screams, are so easy to trigger him.

Nightmares and guilt waves hit him hard.

His hands tremble sometimes for no reason, destroying a lot of things that were in his hands at the time.

Sometimes all of this is just too much. He wants to just curl up with Elisa and disappear.

Sometimes the smell of gunpowder makes him feel sick and dizzy. It makes him wish they used tranq guns, like the Inspector. Sadly, that's not an option for them.

He has a scar from trying to kill himself during the war, before he met Elisa. He will never tell anyone what it's really from.

He'd like to forget that. He genuinely thinks he moved on from this now. Finding purpose in the people he loves.

The scar is an ugly reminder that stares at him in the mirror.

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