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strings0fcontrol · 9 months

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Hannigram – Post-Fall (12)

Hannibal moved with measured grace, pacing slowly as he sketched out his new plan.

He delved into the hospital's security protocols, schedules, and layout, crafting a convincing disguise that allowed him to masquerade as a hospital employee, complete with a fabricated ID and uniform. As a diversion to confound both security personnel and law enforcement, he orchestrated a series of unrelated incidents and emergencies in the vicinity of the hospital. This plan encompassed fake bomb threats, anonymous tips, and even a seemingly unrelated crime spree in the area.

A fundraiser was in full swing, providing impeccable timing as it would draw the focus of hospital staff and security. Even in his desperation, he couldn't afford to be careless and jeopardize their cover. Not at this crucial juncture, not when he was on the verge of securing Will.

This meant that despite the fact that his adversaries were all around him, seated right in front of him as usual, they would be utterly engrossed in other matters, affording him the perfect opportunity to glide through their midst. Moreover, this positioning was strategically advantageous for his cover-up.

Chiyoh had readied a van, and Bedelia, for the time being, was safely confined.

Thanks to the handmaiden’s astute efforts, it appeared that Jack remained blissfully unaware of their current whereabouts, at least from what Hannibal could discern. Alana, on the other hand, seemed preoccupied with more immediate concerns, likely leaning towards defensive measures before contemplating any offensive moves. She was undoubtedly wary of drawing attention to the precious little family she had constructed, one that Hannibal had promised to wrest from her grasp. This raised the possibility that Du Maurier had indeed conversed with Crawford, but the puzzle pieces didn't quite align. Until Bedelia disclosed the missing information, he found himself at an impasse, staring down a vexing dead end.

The hospital held the promise of unraveling the enigma surrounding Will's condition.

At this point, he could manage the journey, with Will comfortably settled in his wheelchair. Hannibal regarded him thoughtfully, his mind churning with contemplation.

With all his essentials in hand, Lecter stepped outside, fully prepared.

Seated in the back with Graham, their destination under Chiyoh's capable guidance, his gaze narrowed. It felt as though, for the first time in ages, he pondered the alternate paths their lives might have taken if his actions had veered in a different direction. His eyes descended to the gently swaying floor, his clasped hands betraying the tumultuous thoughts that stirred within. He briefly reached for his small notebook, flipped it open, and perused his calculations. He had earnestly ventured into the realm of time travel. It appeared to be the sole concept that truly confined his abilities. Time, it seemed, only flowed in one direction, while we resided in our own glass box. We could observe what lay behind us, and with keen vision, predict what lay ahead, but we remained impotent in influencing the motion of the box itself.

Indeed, we can conceptualize time machines, but the majority of these seemingly workable ideas demand the existence of negative energy or negative mass, elements that appear to be absent in our universe.

Numerous alternative theories about time travel have been posited, but the vast majority of them remain rather unreliable at this stage. The behavior of time itself, much like our comprehension of reality, remains one of the many concepts that we have yet to fully grasp. In essence, even a higher being, one existing across more dimensions than we can perceive in our current form—much like how a two-dimensional figure would remain unaware of our existence in three dimensions—would, hypothetically, relinquish most of its characteristics tied to those higher dimensions if it were to adopt our dimensional parameters. This transformation, akin to our own loss of depth when rendered as a two-dimensional image, signified that even the devil himself would be powerless against time as long as he inhabited a mortal shell. He possessed the mathematics, in a sense, the spell inscribed on his pages, but he lacked the dimension within which he could harness its magic. Reversing time, therefore, proved to be an ineffective solution.

'I was so confident in my ability to help Will, to solve him, …''To save him.'

He longed for Will's return, and that single desire eclipsed all else. Everything once deemed paramount now took a backseat as his world appeared to have turned itself completely upside down. Will had left an indelible mark on him, just as he had on Will, sparking introspection.

The question loomed in his mind: Were the constructs of fate truly as immutable as society perceived them to be? A faint smile lifted his lips. Clearly not. Hannibal didn't seem to mind that Will's influence had infiltrated him. It imparted an oddly human sensation, although he'd never openly confess to such vulnerability. Even in his last moments, Will had remained a captivating enigma, both embracing and defying Hannibal in a quantum dance of existence.

The irony lay in the unchanging state that persisted while Hannibal observed Will. According to the principles of quantum physics, when an object is observed, it collapses into a specific state.

Will, on the other hand, appeared to do the opposite. He became more chaotic, changing between them.

A rather intriguing observation, he mused.

In truth, Will defied the conventional laws of psychology, occupying a realm that strayed far from established norms. His hyper-empathy, like a particle in quantum superposition, existed in an elusive state of unpredictability. This unique trait endowed him with an uncanny ability to feel the pain of others, to grasp their motives, and to immerse himself in their experiences as though they were his own. Yet, it also ensnared him in a paradoxical pattern of pathological behavior.

Did his compulsion to assist others stem from an innate desire to offer what he himself had lacked—a savior of sorts? Or was it a means of exerting control? Kindness, he understood, possessed a subtle power, a tool of manipulation veiled behind a gentle, charming smile, masquerading as the desire for the best outcome for everyone. The balance of intensity was a delicate tightrope walk, where perceptions oscillated between charming and creepy. For someone genuinely kind but overly enthusiastic, they risked appearing needy, even draining, undermining their sincerity. People often found it difficult to take such individuals seriously, their motivation seeming at odds with the ego.

Conversely, subtle gestures of kindness could easily go unnoticed, taken for granted. To wield kindness as a weapon required a masterful touch—an intricate and precise presentation—striking a delicate balance that allowed it to serve as both a shield and a sword.

Exercising unconditional kindness was among the most disruptive actions one could take.

Compassion entailed the logical understanding that things could cause hurt, without necessarily being a participant. Empathy, on the other hand, meant feeling as the other person did, intimately sharing their pain in every dimension. Hence, his motivation concealed a degree of selfishness that others might fail to grasp. He intervened to alleviate the suffering of others, not solely out of altruism, but to safeguard himself from becoming an unwilling participant in their ensuing chaos.

There were no boundaries, no safeguards. If he found himself in the proximity of someone enduring excruciating pain, it would overflow into every fiber of his being. He assisted others not only to shield himself from their pain, but also as a means to pacify his conscience. It served as a perpetual reminder of his identity as a virtuous individual.

However, paradoxically, using this altruism as a lure often proved to be an almost futile tactic. Will wasn't blind to this weakness; he displayed a keen awareness of it. Despite the awareness of the lurking monster behind the bait, he would, with full knowledge, unapologetically approach the trap. Anxiety coursed through Will, yet bravery shone brightly within him. Despite the grip of fear, he pressed onward undeterred. While others might have turned tail and fled, he forged ahead, driven by a singular sense of purpose: to move forward. It appeared to be the sole direction he comprehended—an intriguing anomaly.

Nevertheless, that represented only one facet of the coin; the flip side was considerably darker.

Empathy, oh, it wielded a power far more potent than most could fathom. In its unbridled, uncontrolled form, it was sheer torment to bear the weight of others' pain. But when coupled with a desire to inflict harm, or spite, a masochistic inclination enabling him to endure the suffering he sensed in others while perpetrating it, that was the zenith of empathy—the dark side of its spectrum. When harnessed for offense, it granted him the ability to pinpoint the source of agony, the wound itself, by using his own agony as the map. Instead of healing it, he could ruthlessly rend it open, systematically draining a person of their life essence.

When one finds themselves unable to control the pain that threatens to consume them, the only route to survival is to master the art of deriving pleasure from its agony. Or to endure the suffering, much like Will did, as he steadfastly resisted succumbing to his ominous inclinations. Will was acutely aware of the destructive potential within him but was apprehensive about harnessing it. And he was only inflicting pain upon himself in the process.

Balancing the delicate chemistry just right, it was the art of deception he had mastered. Skillfully posing seemingly benign inquiries, discreet prods veiled beneath the guise of altruism, all the while crafting outcomes that best served his own interests or, on occasion, simply for the sheer amusement it provided.

For a virtuous individual to authentically desire to inflict harm, he had to acquaint them with the flavor of it—the authority it held. It was a relatively straightforward task for someone with loose morals. If he cloaked it in enough excitement, self-serving motives, and rewards, most people would succumb. However, an autistic mind exhibited greater resistance to such influence. It adhered to a stringent justice system, a clearly defined sense of right and wrong, individually crafted, no doubt. But once those definitions were established, they proved nearly impervious to manipulation. Autistic individuals were more inclined to unwaveringly uphold their self-defined rules, even when doing so placed them at a direct disadvantage, simply because the rule held more sway than any offered reward. They did not easily compromise their morals, irrespective of the exact shade. Manipulating this mindset proved considerably more challenging, as it stubbornly recalibrated itself if the person had sufficient time to reflect upon it. The ceaseless activity of an autistic mind ensured that it questioned not only its environment but also itself. It required significantly more time to deviate from its customary calibrations and did so with great reluctance, only when presented with an exceedingly logical rationale. Or so he observed. Naturally, this didn't apply to all segments of the spectrum, but it did pertain to a very specific and limited range within it.

In contrast to the relatively uniform organization of brains in individuals without autism, his studies had revealed that when it came to connectivity between regions, no two autistic brains were alike. The spectrum was remarkably versatile, with instances where two autistic individuals could seem like polar opposites. It wasn't a simple linear progression from black to white; rather, it resembled an entire color wheel with numerous sliders. Each adjustment to a slider caused a complete shift in the overall shade it represented. Sometimes these sliders even moved fluidly, making it a dynamic and complex spectrum. There was no straightforward definition, and it was precisely this complexity that infused it with such vibrant diversity. No two autistic individuals could be identical; they might share similarities, but they could never be identical.

This rendered Will entirely unique, as Hannibal had come to realize. There was simply no substitute for him.

The challenge lay in the fact that, in a condition like this, he had to proceed with utmost caution. An autistic brain was fundamentally distinct, leading to different patterns of behavior. Most scientific experiments and standards were primarily designed for non-autistic individuals, which occasionally made it quite difficult to anticipate how an autistic mind would respond to specific medications or procedures that might work effectively on a non-autistic individual.

These beautiful minds became something of a Pandora's box from a medical perspective due to the limited and uncertain knowledge surrounding them.

These humans, these captivating beings, had always held a special allure for him. Their idiosyncrasies fascinated him endlessly, their little thought processes. He had only begun to peel back the layers of their psyche, to unearth the depths of what lay hidden beneath, steadily working towards the day when he could exert unmitigated control over their minds.

Will seemed to hold a genuine desire to help others, to a degree, but he stumbled in the manner of translating it to the outside. He remained ignorant of the art of wielding this power effectively – the precise timing, the strategic placement, and the controlled intensity. Perhaps, the world should count itself fortunate that no one had ever instructed him in the mastery of this formidable weapon. While it tore him apart from within, it was prevented from unleashing its wrath upon the world.

The world had chosen to label him as a monster, oblivious to the fact that he was the one pursuing the true monsters. What a bitter irony it was.

Will stood as the polar opposite, the yin to his yang.

He remained in a perpetual state of evolution. In his fragility lay an extraordinary resilience. With every scar and crack, he grew more beautiful, more complete.

It was reminiscent of kintsugi, the art of golden repair—a traditional Japanese craft that not only restores an object's functionality but also elevates its beauty by adorning the cracks and repairs with precious metals. This art form embodied the philosophy of embracing imperfections, acknowledging that breakage and mending were integral aspects of an object's history, meant to be celebrated rather than concealed.

Every shattered fragment of him, Lecter would tenderly gild with gold.

It was a breathtaking spectacle to witness the extent to which his mind could stretch, unfurling its little tendrils to weave these peculiar connections—an absolute masterpiece of nature's design. Always voracious, forever learning, ceaselessly observing and dissecting, much like Hannibal himself. It marked the first occasion he had encountered someone who evoked such a sense of belonging.

To him, others were perpetual strangers. He moved through the throngs of humanity like a ghost in the daylight, his facade carefully cultivated to blend with the cacophonous world around him. The world, in all its ostensible vibrancy, held little allure for him. His tailored suit was but a veneer, a mere disguise to shield his true self from prying eyes. For in the depths of his being, he was the antithesis of those who surrounded him.

Their conversations, their laughter, their joys and sorrows, they were but fleeting echoes to him, mere hollow reverberations of a life he could never truly understand. The world danced with its inhabitants, but he saw through the web of pretense that concealed the yawning void within. None among them cast their eyes to the heavens, questioning: What secrets do the stars hold?

Narrow minds, and he held no fascination for comprehending sheep; his sole interest lay in savoring their succulence.

As Hannibal adjusted his posture, he sensed the van gradually decelerating. His attention shifted towards the front, where a modest-sized hospital came into view. While it possessed the essential equipment he required, its current late hour promised minimal activity, making covert entry a plausible endeavor.

Donning a white coat and exuding an air of confidence often worked like a subtle enchantment. It was as if, by not questioning his own presence, he rendered himself immune to scrutiny, a trick that often cast a protective shroud around him even when he was under watchful eyes.

He could stride boldly into their midst, no mask needed, and the radiance of his confidence would dazzle all who surrounded him, obscuring the fact that he was, in reality, an outsider in this very milieu.

The brilliance of the Morningstar's light was most potent when directed squarely at those who dared to face it head-on.

He had already assessed Will's reflexes and observed his reactions to pain stimuli. While his pupils displayed appropriate responsiveness, the lack of reaction to pain was perplexing.

This anomaly could potentially be attributed to specific neurological conditions, such as locked-in syndrome or severe variants of Guillain-Barré syndrome, both of which could induce profound paralysis and an inability to respond to stimuli, including pain. Yet, individuals with locked-in syndrome typically preserved their cognitive functions and sensory perception, maintaining an understanding of their surroundings, even though their physical capabilities were severely restricted. This made such conditions appear less likely but still hovered on the fringe of potential explanations.

Hannibal remained watchful for signs of coma or seizure activity, as these remained high on his list of suspected causes for Will's enigmatic condition.

A comprehensive evaluation was in order, and Lecter planned to initiate a battery of tests. This included conducting a CT scan and MRI of the brain, which would help pinpoint any structural abnormalities, detect bleeding, tumors, or other cerebral issues. Additionally, an EEG would be employed to measure the brain's electrical activity, aiding in the diagnosis of conditions like seizures or irregular brain rhythms that might account for Will's state of unconsciousness.

His meticulous approach extended beyond these imaging and neurological studies. Hannibal intended to leave no stone unturned, delving into every aspect of Will's condition, right down to the molecular analysis of his blood. This undertaking promised a busy night ahead.

Meanwhile, Will had reconciled himself to the eccentricity of the pie set before him, complemented by a glass of honey milk. Despite its unconventional appearance, it didn't assault his taste buds with awfulness; rather, it offered an unexpected blend of flavors. He chewed thoughtfully, occasionally savoring the soothing chill of an ice cube to alleviate his inner turmoil. Though it may have possessed the flavor of mere paper, the simple act of chewing was a source of peace. Each deliberate mastication brought a measure of contentment, accompanied by a mindful swallowing, a soothing balm for his sore throat.

It was the first day when, even in the midst of the unusual, something remotely akin to normalcy had descended upon his world. Even though, it followed the most abnormal moment by far. Yet the more he strained to contemplate, the room's kaleidoscope of colors intensified, their vibrant onslaught growing increasingly overwhelming. Sensory overload. Which demanded a decisive intervention. He realized he had to impose a full stop, allowing his mind the respite it so urgently required before it combusted into flames of chaotic cognition.

Could one, through sheer force of thought, will themselves into unconsciousness? The notion held a certain peculiarity that piqued his curiosity. However, he deemed it a venture best left for another time, certainly not on this particular night.

Imagining it as a miniature snow globe resting on Hannibal's desk, the situation appeared only half as terrifying. Strangely, encapsulating it within such a diminutive frame brought a measure of solace to his restless mind.

At the very least, it presented a transitory form that he could tuck away, a shape where its overwhelming terror felt marginally less daunting.

Contemplating grand ideas had become an excruciating exercise, one that drained him of an excessive amount of energy. So, it was time to cease the relentless cogitation and surrender to rest. Perhaps, sleep could serve as a respite, a means to regain some semblance of sanity and reconnect with the tumultuous events that had unfolded around him. Even as he recognized his state of dissociation, the sensation persisted. Awareness, in its cruel paradox, could be a curse in its own right. One could eloquently recount their own suffering yet remain impotent in the face of its relief. It was as if the mind harbored a penchant for tormenting itself.

Will relocated his plate to the sink and transferred the pie to the fridge once it had sufficiently cooled. He then settled onto the couch, fashioning a makeshift cocoon of comfort using a pillow, two towels, and several blankets. The weight of these layers served as an anchor, grounding him in the present and hopefully preventing him from unwittingly casting them aside during the forthcoming onslaught of nightmares. Up until now, he had been largely spared from his dreams, sheltered by unconsciousness. Yet, he understood that this sanctuary would likely wane, and the anticipation of that transition made the prospect of falling asleep an uneasy endeavor. The dilemma loomed large, for if his body were to grapple with such a monumental task during rest, it would either render him utterly incapacitated upon awakening or unleash a deluge of excruciatingly vivid nightmares that would violently jolt him from the cocoon of his bed. The looming question remained: which of these unsettling fates would befall him tonight?

Undoubtedly, he had the option to slumber in the bed situated upstairs. However, this ground-level arrangement held a peculiar charm, evoking a semblance of his own home, a haven of comfort amidst the disarray of his current existence. Here, he could pretend that he had sole dominion over the kitchen and the living room, with occasional forays to the upstairs bathroom. The unexplored rooms beyond remained shrouded in a veil of potential unease, and his convalescent state necessitated prudence. He resolved to minimize his movements, to conserve his precious energy, deeming that grand adventures could bide their time for now.

If he couldn't rely on his mind when it was awake, could he place trust in it while it slumbered?

He had diligently secured the door and ensured the windows were firmly latched, determined to prevent any unplanned midnight escapades. With the lights extinguished, all that remained was to surrender to the embrace of sleep.

That, of course, being the easiest part of it all, stood there in mocking script.

Here, amidst the familiar, he harbored a sense of relative safety. He could simply allow his eyelids to drift shut, placing his trust in the notion that all would remain well. Over time, he had acquired the skill to tread carefully through the minefields of his life. By adhering to the principle of avoiding sudden movements, he could maintain the delicate equilibrium that promised security and serenity.

Yet, at that precise moment, a swift and unexpected touch grazed his hand, sending his eyeballs into a frantic dance and his heart into a relentless sprint, as if his very soul had contemplated to eject itself. He could almost hear a celestial choir, believing he had transcended into the afterlife in that very instant.

Aloneness in the dark was already an unsettling prospect. Not being alone in the dark was an even more harrowing ordeal.

An eerie chill crept up his spine.

He remained motionless, as though the world had stilled around him. His breath held in abeyance, he silently beseeched himself to summon the courage to draw in a slow, deliberate wisp of air. His chest felt as if it might congeal into stone, and his heart, in its fevered palpitations, threatened to crush his throat in its rhythmic screams. With painstaking caution, he pivoted his eyes, seeking to discern any shapes without the slightest movement of his body.

Complete stillness enveloped him. If he remained still, it wouldn't detect him, right?

Then, he sensed another touch, this one feather-light, akin to the delicate caress of a slender plastic thread. In response, his entire body recoiled as if he were a pinball ricocheting off a flipper, his jumping heart nearly propelling him off the couch.

In the realm governed by the laws of monster interaction, his movement had sealed his fate—

Time to sprint for the light switch.

Whatever limb hits it first wins.

It was a marvel, the sudden awakening of the mind in a mere heartbeat, spurred into frantic action by the buzzing static of anxiety.

He was lightning, he was speed, there was a pillow in his way, he was on the floor, tumbling and flailing, but still moving forward, albeit a little less elegantly.

Graham's hand crashed onto the light switch, and he contorted his body to scan the room. As everything flooded with light, it revealed absolutely nothing. An absence so profound that it sent another bone-chilling shiver coursing down his spine.

This unnerving void left him questioning whether he had plunged into complete insanity or if some stray hair or ethereal thread had toyed with his senses. Perhaps even the very carpet beneath his feet had conspired to unsettle his fragile equilibrium.

Or – He inched closer to the couch's edge, peering over it cautiously. But just as he did, he felt a presence on his back, causing his heart to, once again, lurch with a start. Initially sharp, it then softened, gently dipping onto his neck with an affectionate touch. The sensation exuded warmth and life, accompanied by a melodious chirp that serenaded his senses.

It was a fucking cat.

His posture gradually relaxed, and his eyes shifted ever so slowly.

Perched upon his shoulder, an entirely black feline now seemed to reign, as if it had found its throne.

Will's thoughts swirled. Why had his mind conjured a cat when, logically, it should have gravitated toward dogs? The enigmatic feline returned his gaze with an inscrutable expression. What secrets might it hold?

Slowly, he stood, the cat gracefully adjusting its balance to mirror his movements.

Fine, he thought.

He flicked off the light and retreated to the couch, where he gently set the cat down, cocooning himself once more beneath the blankets. The feline perched itself atop his curled leg, a little sentinel in the dimness.

He stared intently at the cat.

From whence had it emerged? How had it infiltrated his house? Had he inadvertently left a window unsecured, providing an entry point? Or was there an alternate ingress to the house concealed from his knowledge?

Its mere presence had begun to stoke the embers of paranoia within him. What if this feline wasn't the only other living entity sharing the island with him? Oh, no, no, no, unwelcome thoughts, unwelcome thoughts. Sleep would elude him tonight.

Speaking of, was he truly awake, or had he already slipped into the realm of dreams? Perhaps, he considered, he was in the midst of a dream within a dream, much like in the film Inception.

Huh.

As he pondered this possibility, his head inclined slightly, veering toward a thought taking shape. Before it could fully materialize, however, a shrill noise cleaved through the air, instantly diverting his attention in its direction. The sound seemed to emanate from one of the windows, although none of the nearby trees reached far enough to make contact with them—certainly not enough to cause any disturbance from the swaying of branches in the wind. The cat, too, had turned its keen gaze toward the source of the sound, confirming that he wasn't conjuring it from his imagination.

High alert.

Will propelled himself upright, his frantic gaze ricocheting between the windows, the door, and the staircase. He had meticulously locked every entry point, taking pains to double-check them earlier. Right? His hand instinctively dropped to his hip, closing, only for the stark reality to hit him – he wasn't carrying a gun. His gaze followed, fixating on the empty space where his hand had grasped at nothing.

Fuck.

Did the house hold any weapon, aside from his modest kitchen knife and, as he examined it closely, this clawed marshmallow?

He hesitated to step off the couch. Paradoxically, it was the only location within the entire house that seemed to offer a semblance of safety, regardless of how illogical it appeared.

A safe haven. The floor, on the other hand, felt like searing lava.

His mind remained on high alert for a compelling reason, one he couldn't, and most certainly shouldn't, disregard.

The cat, too, had shifted its position, its gaze locking on. Its ears stood at attention. Something lurked outside. If the trajectory held, whatever it was, it seemed to be inching closer to the main door. Then, the cat arched its back and let out a hiss, every hair on its body bristling in a vivid exhibition of visceral hostility. That was the only confirmation he required. If the animal was frightened, then he had every reason to be afraid as well. Will gently scooped up the cat, his movements swift yet eerily soundless as he advanced towards the door. As he drew nearer, the door began to shake violently, as if something was hell-bent on breaching it. A surge of fear coursed through him, threatening to send him tumbling as he reached the first step. His body contorted to keep the door in view, one hand clutching the cat, the other tightly gripping the staircase railing, all the while maintaining his precarious balance.

Strangely, the key still lingered in the lock, a detail he had carelessly overlooked earlier. This oversight magnified the room's already palpable tension as the key began to twist on its own, the sound a gradual, spine-chilling creak, sucking away his air. He had braced himself for a forceful breach of the door, but this uncanny turn of events unnerved him far more than any straightforward assault ever could.

Will hastily ascended several steps further, his gaze transfixed on the gradual, eerie rotation of the key. With each step, he could feel his heart pounding louder. As he neared the top, the door suddenly swung open, exposing a pallid figure that lurched into the house from the shrouded abyss outside. The intruder hesitated for a moment upon entry, its peculiar, slightly off-kilter movements hinting at a careful appraisal of the unfamiliar and dimly lit surroundings.

The hairs on his neck bristled, and the cat in his grasp had almost petrified in terror.

Will’s heart pounded so thunderously that he didn't just feel the drumming in his throat; he could taste its rhythm on his tongue, pulsating in his eyeballs, and ringing in his ears.

Every fiber within him whispered a single imperative: run.

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trylkstopocket · 1 year

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Remove these 10 toxic phrases from your vocabulary, say career experts: They’re ‘cold and belittling’

cnbc.com

Ideally, in every workplace interaction — meetings, phone calls, emails, small talk — our conversations would be positive and constructive.

But that’s not always the case. Discussions can be cold and belittling, turning into vehicles for toxic culture — particularly when people make comments about race, gender, age, ability and orientation that undermine personal identities.

Want to stop gnawing at people’s sense of safety and value? Remove these 10 toxic phrases from your vocabulary:

1. “We’ve always done it this way.”

This says that you have a fixed mindset and are resistant to change or suggestions. Because you’re hinting that nothing is wrong with the current standard, you risk stifling motivation and innovation.

What to say instead: “We’ve always done it this way, but let’s see if it’s time to change practices.”

2. “Back in my day, we had it worse.”

This says that suffering should be expected, as if the pain of the past justifies the pain of today. When used, it silences the person who voices a problem.

What to say instead: “Back in my day, we had it much worse, and I’m so glad it’s better for you. What can we change to make it even better?”

3. “It’s best to keep our salary information private.”

This says that you protect special deals and do not value transparency. As a result, particular groups (e.g. women and racial minorities) are left vulnerable to pay disparities.

Keeping salaries a secret decreases employee performance, studies show. It can also lead to suspicion that there is a lack of accountability with salary gaps.

What to say instead: “It’s important to have open conversations about salary.”

4. “We went with [X person] because they have more experience.”

This messaging ignores the fact that experience can be dependent on privilege and access, and that different people begin races at different starting lines. When experience is prioritized over potential and motivation, diversity is undermined.

What to say instead: ”[X person] has more experience and will have other opportunities. We went with [Y person] based upon their strong potential.”

5. “We don’t have term limits.”

This says that you are maintaining the status quo, and that current leaders deserve their positions indefinitely.

Change in culture sometimes requires a change at the top. And establishing a rotating leadership system with term limits actually promotes workplace diversity.

What to say instead: “We value giving everyone a turn. Individuals and organizations grow with rotating leadership.”

6. “Can you document that incident in an email?”

This says that disclosure of an incident may not be confidential or anonymous. While certain things do need to be reported, when the system requires you to document details, one worries about retaliation.

That fear of consequence can decrease the likelihood of reporting altogether.

What to say instead: “Let’s come up with wording that keeps you protected and focuses on the issue.”

7. ”[X person] didn’t mean what they said.”

This essentially translates to: “I hear your complaint, but I am protecting the other person and discrediting you.” Rather than providing support or validating vulnerability, you are gaslighting with the “good guy” defense.

What to say instead: “Thank you for sharing this. Let’s figure out a way to support you and address his behavior.”

8. “I’m not feeling too well. But I’ll try to power through the day.”

This says that you neglect your own health. Boasting about working through pain, infection or a mental health crisis is not a badge of honor.

It also disempowers people who take care of themselves. We must care for the self physically, mentally and emotionally.

What to say instead: “I need to take it easy today, so I’m taking a sick day.”

9. “Keep this between us, as it’s not my news to share.”

This says that you are knowingly compromising privacy and trust. Gossip is universal, so it’s hard to change this behavior. But it compromises both the person who is sharing and the person about whom the information is being shared.

What to say instead: “It is best for me to keep the information about them private. I recommend reaching out to them directly.”

10. “Can you send it to me tonight?”

This says that you don’t respect boundaries. Sure, deadlines can be critical and exceptions can be made. However, the persistent demand for our personal time breeds resentment and burnout, especially if this time is uncompensated.

What to say instead: “Since the workday is over, we can pick this up tomorrow.”

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Jurassic period alien interacting with key cultures and historical figures in Middle East & Asia throughout history

@ketchupmaster400 said:

Hello, so my question is for a character I’ve been working on for quite a while but wasn’t sure about a few things. So basically at the beginning of the universe there was this for less being made up of dark matter and dark energy. Long story short it ends up on earth during the Jurassic Period. It has the ability to adapt and assimilate into other life animals except it’s hair is always black and it’s skin is always white and it’s eyes are always red. It lives like this going from animal to animal until it finally becomes human and gains true sentience and self awareness. As a human it lives within the Middle East and Asia wondering around trying to figure out its purpose and meaning. So what I initially wanted to do with it was have small interactions with the dark matter human and other native humans that kinda helped push humanity into the direction it is now. For example, Mehndhi came about when the dark matter human was drawing on their skin because it felt insecure about having such white skin compared to other people. And ancient Indians saw it and thought it was cool so they adopted it and developed it into Mehndi. Minor and small interactions though early history leading to grander events. Like they would be protecting Jerusalem and it’s people agains the Crusaders later on. I also had the idea of the the dark matter human later on interacting with the prophets Jesus Christ and Muhammad. With Jesus they couldn’t understand why he would sacrifice himself even though the people weren’t deserving. And then Jesus taught them that you have to put other before yourself and protecting people is life’s greatest reward. And then with the prophet Muhammad, I had the idea that their interaction was a simple conversation that mirrors the one he had with the angel Jibril, that lead to the principles of Islam. Now with these ideas I understand the great importance of how not to convey Islam and I’ve been doing reasearch, but I am white and I can understand how that may look trying to write about a different religion than my own. So I guess ultimate my question is, is this ok to do? Is it ok to have an alien creature interact with religious people and historical events as important as they were? Like I said I would try to be as accurate and as respectable as possible but I know that Islam can be a touchy subject and the last thing I would want is to disrespect anyone. The main reason I wanted the dark matter being in the Middle East was because I wanted to do something different because so much has been done with European and American stuff I wanted to explore the eastern side of the world because it’s very beau and very rich with so many cultures that I want to try and represent. I’m sorry for the long post but I wanted you guys to fully understand what my idea was. Thank you for your time and hope you stay safe.

Disclaimer:

The consensus from the moderators was that the proposed character and story is disrespectful from multiple cultural perspectives. However, we can’t ignore the reality that this is a commonly deployed trope in many popular science fiction/ thriller narratives. Stories that seek to take religious descriptions of events at face value from an areligious perspective particularly favor this approach. Thus, we have two responses:

Where we explain why we don’t believe this should be attempted.

Where we accept the possibility of our advice being ignored.

1) No - Why You Shouldn’t Do This:

Hi! I’ll give you the short answer first, and then the extended one.

Short answer: no, this is not okay.

Extended answer. I’ll divide it into three parts.

1) Prophet Muhammad as a character:

Almost every aspect of Islam, particularly Allah (and the Qur’an), the Prophet(s) and the companions at the time of Muhammad ﷺ, are strictly kept within the boundaries of real life/reality. I’ll assume this comes from a good place, and I can understand that from one side, but seriously, just avoid it. It is extremely disrespectful and something that is not even up to debate for Muslims to do, let alone for non-Muslims. Using Prophet Muhammad as a character will only bring you problems. There is no issue with mentioning the Prophet during his lifetime when talking about his attributes, personality, sayings or teachings, but in no way, we introduce fictional aspects in a domain that Muslims worked, and still work, hard to keep free from any doubtful event or incident. Let’s call it a closed period: we don’t add anything that was not actually there.

Reiterating then, don’t do this. There is a good reason why Muslims don’t have any pictures of Prophet Muhammad. We know nothing besides what history conveyed from him.

After this being said, there is another factor you missed – Jesus is also an important figure in Islam and his story from the Islamic perspective differs (a lot) from that of the Christian perspective. And given what you said in your ask, you would be taking the Christian narrative of Jesus. If it was okay to use Prophet Muhammad as a character (reminder: it’s not) and you have had your dark matter human interacting with the biblical Jesus, it will result in a complete mess; you would be conflating two religions.

2) Crusaders and Jerusalem:

You said this dark matter human will be defending Jerusalem against the Crusaders. At first, there is really no problem with this. However, ask yourself: is this interaction a result of your character meeting with both Jesus and Prophet Muhammed? If yes, please refer to the previous point. If not, or even if you just want to maintain this part of the story, your dark matter human can interact with the important historical figures of the time. For example, if you want a Muslim in your story, you can use Salah-Ad-Din Al-Ayoubi (Saladin in the latinized version) that took back Jerusalem during the Third Crusade. Particularly, this crusade has plenty of potential characters.

Also, featuring Muslim characters post Prophet Muhammad and his companions’ time, is completely fine, just do a thorough research.

3) Middle Eastern/South Asian settings and Orientalism:

The last point I want to remark is with the setting you chose for your story. Many times, when we explore the SWANA or South Asian regions it’s done through an orientalist lens. Nobody is really safe from falling into orientalism, not even the people from those regions. My suggestion is educating yourself in what orientalism is and how it’s still prevalent in today’s narrative. Research orientalism in entertainment, history... and every other area you can think of. Edward Said coined this term for the first time in history, so he is a good start. There are multiple articles online that touch this subject too. For further information, I defer to middle eastern mods.

- Asmaa

Racism and Pseudo-Archaeology:

A gigantic, unequivocal and absolute no to all of it, lmao.

I will stick to the bit about the proposed origin of mehendi in your WIP, it’s the arc I feel I’m qualified to speak on, Asmaa has pretty much touched upon the religious and orientalism complications.

Let me throw out one more word: pseudoarchaeology. That is, taking the cultural/spiritual/historical legacies of ancient civilizations, primarily when it involves people of colour, and crediting said legacies to be the handiwork of not just your average Outsider/White Saviour but aliens. I’ll need you to think carefully about this: why is it that in so much of media and literature pertaining to the so-called “conspiracy theories” dealing with any kind of extraterrestrial life, it’s always Non-Western civilizations like the Aztec, the ancient Egyptians, the Harappans etc who are targeted? Why is it that the achievements of the non West are so unbelievable that it’s more feasible to construct an idea of non-human, magical beings from another planet who just conveniently swooped in to build our monuments and teach us how to dress and what to believe in? If the answer makes you uncomfortable, it’s because it should: denying the Non-West agency of their own feats is not an innocent exercise in sci-fi worldbuilding, it comes loaded with implications of racial superiority and condescension towards the intellect and prowess of Non-European cultures.

Now, turning to specifics:

Contrary to what Sarah J. Maas might believe- mehendi designs are neither mundane, purely aesthetic tattoos nor can they be co-opted by random Western fantasy characters. While henna has existed as an art form in various cultures, I’m limiting my answer to the Indian context, (specifying since you mention ancient India). Mehendi is considered one of the tenets of the Solah Shringar- sixteen ceremonial adornments for Hindu brides, one for each phase of the moon, as sanctioned by the Vedic texts. The shade of the mehendi is a signifier for the strength of the matrimonial bond: the darker the former, the stronger the latter. Each of the adornments carries significant cosmological/religious symbolism for Hindus. To put it bluntly, when you claim this to be an invention of the aliens, you are basically taking a very sacred cultural and artistic motif of our religion and going “Well actually….extraterrestrials taught them all this.”

In terms of Ayurveda (Traditional holistic South Asian medicine) , mehendi was used for its medicinal properties. It works as a cooling agent on the skin and helps to alleviate stress, particularly for the bride-to-be. Not really nice to think that aliens lent us the secrets of Ayurvedic science (pseudoarchaeology all over again).

I’m just not feeling this arc at all. The closest possible alternative I could see to this is the ancient Indian characters incorporating some specific stylistic motifs in their mehendi in acknowledgement to this entity, in the same vein of characters incorporating motifs of tribute into their armour or house insignia, but even so, I’m not sure how well that would play out. If you do go ahead with this idea, I cannot affirm that it will not receive backlash.

-Mimi

These articles might help:

Pseudoarchaeology and the Racism Behind Ancient Aliens

A History of Indian Henna (this studies mehendi origins mostly with reference to Mughal history)

Solah Shringar

2) Not Yes, But If Ignoring the Above:

I will be the dissenting voice of “Not No, But Here Are The Big Caveats.” Given that there is no way to make the story you want to tell palatable to certain interpretations of Islam and Christianity, here is my advice if the above arguments did not sufficiently deter you.

1. Admiration ≠ Research: It is not enough to just admire cultures for their richness and beauty. You need to actually do the research and learn about them to determine if the story you want to tell is a good fit for the values and principles these cultures prioritize. You need to understand the significance of historical figures and events to understand the issues with attributing the genesis of certain cultural accomplishments to an otherworldly influence. 1.

2. Give Less Offense When Possible and Think Empathetically: You should try to imagine the mindsets of those you will offend and think about to what degree you can soften or ameliorate certain aspects of your plot, the creature’s characteristics, and the creature’s interactions with historical figures to make your narrative more compatible. There is no point pretending that much of areligious science fiction is incompatible with monotheist, particularly non-henotheistic, religious interpretations as well as the cultural items and rituals derived from those religious interpretations. One can’t take “There is no god, just a lonely alien” and make that compatible with “There is god, and only in this particular circumstance.” Thus:

As stated above by Asmaa and Mimi, there is no escaping the reality the story you propose is offensive to some. Expect their outcry to be directed towards you. Can you tolerate that?

Think about how you would feel if someone made a story where key components of your interpretation of reality are singled out as false. How does this make you feel? Are you comfortable doing that to others?

3. Is Pseudoarchaeology Appropriate Here?: Mimi makes a good point about the racial biases of pseudoarchaeology. Pseudoarchaeology is a particular weakness of Western-centric atheist sci-fi. Your proposed story is the equivalent of a vaguely non-descript Maya/Aztec/Egyptian pyramid or Hindu/ Buddhist-esque statue being the source for a Resident Evil bio weapon/ Predator nest/ Assassin’s Creed Isu relic.

Is this how you wish to draw attention to these cultures you admire? While there is no denying their ubiquity in pop-culture, such plots trivialize broad swathes of non-white history and diminish the accomplishments of associated ethnic groups. The series listed above all lean heavily into these tropes either because the authors couldn’t bother to figure out something more creative or because they are intentionally telling a story the audience isn’t supposed to take seriously.*

More importantly, I detect a lot of sincerity in your ask, so I imagine such trivialization runs counter to your expressed desire to depict Eastern cultures in a positive and accurate manner.

4. Freedom to Write ≠ Freedom from Consequence: Once again, as a reminder, it’s not our job to reassure you as to whether or not what you are proposing is ok. Asmaa and Mimi have put a lot of effort into explaining who you will offend and why. We are here to provide context, but the person who bears the ultimate responsibility for how you choose to shape this narrative, particularly if you share this story with a wide audience, is you. Speaking as one writer to another, I personally do not have a strong opinion one way or the other, but I think it is important to be face reality head-on.

- Marika.

* This is likely why the AC series always includes that disclaimer stating the games are a product of a multicultural, inter-religious team and why they undermine Western cultures and Western religious interpretations as often (if not moreso) than those for their non-Western counterparts.

Note: Most WWC asks see ~ 5 hours of work from moderators before they go live. Even then, this ask took an unusually long amount of time in terms of research, emotional labor and discussion. If you found this ask (and others) useful, please consider tipping the moderators (link here), Asmaa (coming eventually) and Mimi (here). I also like money - Marika.

#alien character #historical fiction #science fiction #pseudoarchaeology #Middle-Eastern cultures #South-Asian cultures #Islam #writing with Islam #mehendi #cultural appropriation #areligious perspectives in writing #asks #WWC

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

hi!! do you have any good insecure/low self esteem Sherlock fics? thank you!

Hi Nonny!

AHHHH I’ve too many to count; I did a list back in 2019 that combined the both of them, but I get asked so often for one or the other that I think it’s time to make separate lists, and to do that requires me to re-tag a tonne of fics, so for now, I will give you all the ones I have tagged; I apologize if I’ve missed any, but I’m going through them slowly <3 Enjoy!!

INSECURE / AWKWARD SHERLOCK Pt. 2

See also: Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019)

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Alcohol / Drinking, POV Second Person Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Armchair Sex, Fluff, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture by grimmfairy (NR, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, Penguins and Pebbles, Nervous / Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John) – Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John's favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

Work On Your Balance by speculate (K+, 2,448 w., 1 Ch. || Embarrassed Sherlock, “For A Case”, Skating, Fluff, Friendship, Humour) – In which John is actually pretty good at ice skating, Sherlock's not and insists it's all for a case , and Lestrade is pretty amused by it all.

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John's bedroom is now a research library. It's not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They're friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it's not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It'll be fine.

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomalies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock's thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w, 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time, POV Sherlock) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Nothing So Sweet by alexxphoenix42 (E, 5,275 w., 1 Ch. || Shopkeeper AU || Beekeeping, Sussex, Alternate First Meeting, Awkward First Time Sex, Self-Consciousness / Body Insecurity, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – In an alternate universe, Sherlock is busy keeping to himself, tending his bees, and selling lovely jars of honey when a soldier limps into his life quite unexpectedly. Part 1 of The Sweetest Things

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

The Very Unlikely Existence of a Flightless Bird in a Tuxedo by cwb (E, 8,829 w., 1 Ch. || Poetry, Penguins / Animals / Zoos, First Kiss / Time, Blow / Hand Jobs, Sleepy Cuddles, Endearments, Friendship / Love, Adorable / Sleepy Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock Can’t Say Penguin) – A case at the zoo reveals something John finds cute about Sherlock. A conversation ensues, and so does happy endings.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

Understanding by rizandace (T, 13,268 w., 15 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, John Whump Then Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock's hiding something about his newest case, and John wants answers. Set post-TGG. Friendship fic, mostly, with brief entrances from Harry and Lestrade just for fun.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!)

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky Sherlock, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #insecure sherlock #my fic recs #Anonymous #long post #awkwardness

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

Another Round

Fic Summary: You and Colin have been avoiding each other ever since the two of you were interrupted the other night. However, when Mare calls you to come to the bar to pick up Colin, you’re left with no choice but to deal with a very drunk Detective Zabel. Love Exists Masterpost. The Evans Fics Masterpost.

Fic Rating: Mature

Pairing: Colin Zabel/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, mild spoilers

All you want is a quiet evening at home.

The investigation into Erin’s death had shaken everyone to the core in Easttown, and you are no exception. In a place where everyone knows everyone, to have such a sudden and violent crime happen is enough to put the citizens on edge. You are feeling it and you sure as hell know Mare is feeling it. You’ve been doing everything in your power to be there for her and do what she needs but it’s hard since you’re not a full-blown detective. At least, not yet. You hope to be one day once you’ve had enough training and gone through all the proper channels.

For now, you’re content on being Mare’s trainee. Well, more like assistant but technically you’re a trainee. Actually, your exact title is Junior Detective but it makes you feel like you should be wearing a badge made of construction paper attached to your shirt by a safety pin. So you stick with trainee. Though that hasn’t stopped Mare from calling you ‘Junior’. Whether it’s to keep you at arm’s length or she just enjoys annoying the shit out of you, you’re not sure. You assume it’s a little of both.

Anyway, back to the quiet evening thing. You’ve been home for a few hours, settled into your tiny apartment with a slew of snacks and the latest crime docuseries on Netflix when your phone goes off.

You see it’s Mare and immediately pick up. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.” You can barely hear her over the background nose. Tons of people are talking over each other with loud music thrown into the mix. “Sorry to call you so late but I need you to come down to the bar.”

“Do we have a lead?”

“Not exactly. It’s Zabel.”

Instantly your heart drops and you get to your feet, immediately scouring the floor for your discarded shoes. “Did something happen? Is Colin alright?”

In the background, you hear, “Heeeey, hey, Mare! Is that her? Are you calling her? Lemme talk to her.”

You hear her struggle for a moment before telling him to knock it off. “He’s fine. Just drunk as shit,” she says once she manages to get the phone back from him. “Can you come pick him up and take him home?”

“Oh, um…alright.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, not at all.”

“I just figured since you two—”

“Oh we didn’t end up…we haven’t…” You stop yourself from going any further and embarrassing the both of you. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Ever since Mare interrupted you and Colin about to go at it in his hotel room, things have been more than a little awkward. Despite confessing how much you like each other, neither you nor he has made another move. Before it was spontaneous and a spur-of-the-moment decision, fueled by passion and excitement. By now, you have lost yourself in your own head and you get the sense he has too.

The two of you can’t even make eye contact without him quickly looking away and blushing. It’s adorable, yet incredibly frustrating to say the least. But the case is more important and you’ve been more than happy to forget about the embarrassing incident.

When you get to the bar, you’re faced with a vastly different Colin than you’re used to. The second you walk through the door, he calls your name excitedly and stumbles over, beer in hand.

“Oh my gosh you’re here,” he slurs, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Mare! MARE! She’s here!”

“Yeah, I know, Zabel, I called her.” Mare’s face is as stoic as ever, and yet you can still see the corners of her lips twitch up into an amused smile.

“You wanna shot?” he asks you. “Yeah! YEAH, let’s get shots! Imma get you a shot!”

“No, Colin, I’m good,” you say but he’s already stumbling away. “Colin? Colin! Oi, whatever. How long has he been like this?”

“Since I got here,” Mare says, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Sorry, I thought you two were…I mean, the other night…”

“Nothing happened,” you say. “Since, you know, you interrupted. Things have kind of been awkward and we haven’t really talked about it.”

“Well, he’s certainly in a talkative mood tonight,” Mare says as you both watch Colin flag down the bartender and loudly ask for two shots. “Just make sure he gets back to the hotel in one piece, alright?”

“Will do, boss.”

“Thanks, junior.”

“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that.”

She smirks, patting you on the shoulder as she walks by. “I know.”

You make your way through the crowd to the bar where Colin is currently leaning. “Come on, Colin. I’ll take you home,” you say.

“Not before you do a shot with me!” he insists.

“Can’t, I’m driving. Besides, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Come ooooonnnn,” he slurs, nudging you with his shoulder. “Just’the one lil one? Then I’ll go…scout’s honor!”

You can’t help but chuckle, not used to seeing him so carefree and silly. After a moment of contemplation, you ease yourself onto the nearby stool. “Fine. Just the one.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Colin exclaims, sitting next to you. “Shottttsss!”

The bartender slides two shots over and you make a subtle motion for him to cut Colin off. He gives you a nod of acknowledgment, slyly swiping Colin’s half-full beer bottle as he moves on to take care of someone else.

“Okay, okay, okay, we need a toast,” Colin says, handing you one of the shots.

“Oh really? To what?”

“Hmmmmm…” Colin’s face scrunches adorably as he tries to get his drunk mind to think. “How ‘bout to us?”

You raise your eyebrow. “Us?”

Colin leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice dropping low. “Us. You know, me an’ you.”

“Didn’t know there was a me and you.”

“Could be. Should be. We did almost…you know.” He leans in close to your ear and loudly whispers, “Have sex.”

“Yes, yes we did almost have sex.”

“So?” he gestures with his shot, spilling some in the process. “To us?”

“To us then.”

You clink your shot glass against his before knocking the drink back, trying to hold in a cough as the liquid burns your throat. “Dear god that’s strong.”

“YUP.” Colin slams his shot glass down on the countertop, then winces when he realizes what he did. “Oops. Is’okay. S’not broken.”

“And we’d like to keep it that way,” you say, sliding the glasses off to the side. “So, what you say I take you home?”

“Wait, wait, wait, not yet. Let’s talk.” He puts his hand on your arm to stop you from standing. “We need’a talk.”

“About?”

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he apologizes, head slumping on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to apologize, Colin. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did. I did. I should’a talked to you about it after but I chickened out.”

“Yeah, well, I could have talked to you too. I guess I also chickened out.”

“Here’sa thing. I jus’…you’re soooo beautiful and I get all tongue-tied around you and say stupid shit and I know you’re going to realize there’s someone better for you, and I just…”

Realizing he was way too far gone to be having such a serious conversation in the bar, you slide your arm around his waist. “Hey, hey, let’s talk about it later, okay? Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“Home’s too farrrr.”

“I meant your hotel room.”

“I don’t like it there. Take me to your place.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t try anything. Swear. I jus’…I don’t wanna go back to my empty hotel room.”

Your heart aches at the puppy-dog eyes he gives you and you find yourself relenting. “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the sofa and I’m not cleaning it up if you get sick all over yourself.”

“Thas’fair.”

You help Colin settle his tab with the bartender and then you escort him out of the bar, your arm still around his waist. His arm goes around your shoulders again but it’s mostly so he can attempt to walk straight. Eventually, you are able to load him into your car before climbing behind the wheel. The shot didn’t do much of anything and with your place being so close, you know you’re okay to drive.

Colin reclines his seat back, shutting his eyes. As you make your way towards home, you’re sure he’s fallen asleep until you hear, “Y’know, y’er really pretty.”

You smile to yourself, keeping your eyes on the road. “Thanks, Colin. I think you’re pretty too.”

“Really???”

“Yes.”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid. Should’a called you for a date the day after all that happened.”

“It’s okay.”

“NO! No is’not. I ghosted you.”

“Colin, I don’t think it’s ghosting if the other person doesn’t reach out to you either.”

“It’s not?”

“Not really. Pretty sure that just ignoring each other.”

“Oh. Okay good. Well, not good we ignored each other. Good you didn’t think I ghosted you. Cuz I would NEVER do that to you.”

“Good to know.”

“And you won’t do that to me. I know you won’t. You’re too sweet. You wouldn’t break up with me two weeks before our wedding.”

Your heart sinks when he says this. Chancing a glance at him, you notice how sad his eyes are. Truth be told, you don’t know much about Colin, mostly because with the intensity of the case, the two of you haven’t had time to properly get to know each other. But his drunk words are way too specific to be a hypothetical scenario.

“Is that what happened to you?” you ask tentatively.

“Yup. Not sure how it happened. Or why. She just woke up and said, ‘hey, I’m not in love with you anymore’. And I’m like ‘s’ok, can I put my bagel down first?’…” he babbles, head rolling to the side so he can look at you. “Jus’ like that. Done. No more.”

You reach over to take his hand. “I’m sorry, Colin. That’s…that’s really shitty.”

“Isn’t it? I mean…I don’t know wha’ happened. But…whatareyou gonna do?” He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his lips so he can place a sloppy kiss on your knuckles. “We’ve been driving for a loooong time.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“Really?!”

“Just close your eyes. We’ll be there soon.”

“M’kay.”

Not long after, you pull into your driveaway, letting go of his hand so you can park the car and shut it off. You sit there for a minute, admiring his side profile as he lays there with his eyes closed. He is a handsome man. You can stare at him all day. Every time he greets you with that wide smile, your heart skips a beat and your stomach does a little flip-flop thing.

He must feel you staring because he opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile. “We there yet?”

You smile back. “Yeah, we’re here. Let’s get you inside.”

“Okaaay.”

With you guiding him and doing most of the work, you help Colin up the walkway to your place, pausing now and then when he sways and puts too much weight on you. Once inside, you dump him onto the couch before going back to lock your front door. Briefly, you pause to send Mare a text letting her know you’re both safe, before shutting your phone off and tossing it onto the counter. You shrug out of your coat and shoes before rejoining Colin in the living room where you left him.

“This is a nice place,” he says, sprawled out on the couch with his head nearly hanging off the armrest. “Looks homey.”

“If by homey you mean small, then yeah. It’s real homey. Come on. Sit up so we can get your coat off.”

“Tryin’a strip me down, you saucy minx,” he slurs, leaning forward as you try to pull the long coat off his arms. “I know your game and I accept.”

Laughing softly, you manage to wrestle him out of the coat before he flops backward. “No games tonight, Zabel.”

“Fine but at least a kiss?”

“That’s definitely not a good idea.”

“Jus’a lil one…come on, lil kiss…” he says in a soft voice, trying to lean in. “Jus’a peck. Lil smooch.”

Still laughing, you gently force him to lay back down. “Not while your drunk. Maybe in the morning if you’re feeling better we can have a little smooch.”

“Been thinking about kissin’ you for days,” he admits as you start to untie his shoes for him. “And picturing you on top of me. That was nice. I liked that. Let’s do that.”

You toss him a grin as you slide the shoe off his foot. “Like I said. Maybe…If you’re a good boy.”

His smile widens and he wags his eyebrows. “I’ll be’a good boy for you.”

After ridding him of his other shoe, you tuck a blanket around him. “Sleep it off, Colin. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t go,” he urges, grabbing your hand as you make a move to stand. “Not yet. Don’t go yet. It’s jus’…I wanna talk to you.”

“Okay. About what.”

“Everythin’. Anythin’. LIFE! Let’s talk about life.”

“It is way too late and you’re way too drunk to talk about life.”

“It’s just…the thing is…I’m getting to that age, right? I’m getting to that age where I’m starting to look at my life and I’m going…well, here’s what I thought it would be and…here’s what it actually is…” He throws his hands up with a sigh and a shrug, letting his thought hang there.

You’re all too familiar with that feeling. And yet, you have no idea how to respond. He’s not the only one looking at his life and wondering what the hell. There you are, living in the same town where you grew up, a detective in training living in a shitty, tiny apartment with neighbors who press their noses to the window every time you set outside. You haven’t had a relationship in years, mainly because you know every single guy in town and have grown up with them. The thought of dating and settling down with any of them does not appeal to you in the slightest. Never did. Not that that’s the only way to live your life but it’s something you would like to do someday. With the right person.

“Am I making any fucking sense?” he asks, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, yeah, you are.” You reach up to lay a hand on his cheek. “Get some rest, okay. I’ll be just in the other room if you need me.”

“Mmm, okay. Rest sounds good. Sleep good.”

He rolls onto his side, taking your hand with him and almost pulling you across his body. You manage to wiggle free with a chuckle. By the time you get up to shut off the living room light, he’s already snoring.

You have too many questions and not enough answers. This man, this big hero detective that is supposed to help solve the case seems just as lost and alone as you feel. You wonder if that’s why you were drawn together. Two lost, lonely souls who found each other among such darkness.

Too tired to go down that train of thought, you slip away to your room, wondering just how much Colin will remember in the morning.

#colin zabel #evan peters #mare of easttown spoilers #love exists

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amphtaminedreams · 3 years

Text

Why Ethical Fashion Doesn’t Need to be Boring (In the Words of a Shopping Addict): Lookbook no.14

Hi to anyone reading,

Arghhhh.

I never know how to start posts when I literally just uploaded the other week because I tend to follow the very formulaic approach of summarising what I’ve missed due to sporadic posting…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still posting sporadically, it just so happens I’ve had more content to get up recently-sometimes lightning strikes twice, ya know, and I have a brief, if chemically fuelled, reprieve from the permanent state of exhaustion. It’s not like there isn’t stuff to talk about- the last month has seen a horrific murder and public outcry in response. There are a lot of important conversations going on about women’s safety and misogynistic violence that I really cannot do justice to in a paragraph and feelings that have been brewing for a long time that I can’t articulate yet and will not attempt to offhandedly do so in this post. Right now I just wanna say that I stand in solidarity with all those with histories of experiencing violence at the hands of men, those who aren’t here with us anymore as a result of that violence such as Sarah Everard, and those marginalised women whose stories don’t make national news. It’s very telling the way Sarah’s vigil was responded to by the same police force that have allowed mostly male anti-mask protests to go ahead with protestors unscathed, and solidarity with the women who were treated with such an unjustifiable amount of force at the vigil too.

That being said, women’s rights are something I wanted to talk about in this post, with regards to the way it ties into ethical fashion. None of us are perfect and it’s easy living in a first world country to detach yourself from the issues stemming from fast fashion, especially when you don’t have the time or money yourself to be selective about where you buy from. Don’t get me wrong, I do treat myself to some new clothes from fast fashion companies like ASOS and Urban Outfitters a few times a year so this is NOT coming from a place of preaching, but I have drastically reduced that to buying about 90% of my new clothes either second hand from Depop or charity shops or clothing stores that are upfront about their outsourcing practices. I love putting outfits together and updating my wardrobe and I don’t want to abandon that as a medium of self-expression because it does bring me joy, but to continue to update my wardrobe with the frequency I do by buying from fast fashion retailers on such a regular basis I accepted was going against the things I care about; around 80% of textile workers on poverty wages in developing countries are girls and women (opensocietyfoundations.org), and whilst fast fashion companies in the West continue to outsource manufacturing to said countries to cut costs and there is little regulation enforcing employers to pay women the same amount as men or even adhere to a minimum wage, they will continue to be forced into these roles where they are subjected to horrific working conditions, impossible production targets and frequent abuse (according to an article published in the Guardian in June 2018, 540 incidences of abuse, often of a sexual nature, were reported by women working in factories supplying the retailers GAP and H&M when they were interviewed on the subject). There is no denying that the fast fashion industry depends on and perpetuates the subjugation of women and systematically prevents them from making steps towards gender equality in their countries, be it through greater financial independence or the freedom to pursue higher education; the popular current practice by western fast fashion companies of outsourcing manufacturing to factories unhindered by workers rights and gender equality laws by association condones the sexual and physical violence that occurs as a means of punishment for not meeting targets, the exploitative pay which affords women little independence from husbands and families dominated by patriarchal values, and the long, exhausting hours which women have little choice but to take in order to avoid their contracts being terminated and to put food on the table. No, one individual completely abandoning fast fashion isn’t going to put an end to these unethical practices but if all of us make a conscious effort to reduce our consumption at least a little and make it clear why we’re doing so, we put greater pressure on fast fashion companies to act in a more responsible way. There isn’t going to be any kind of miraculous change of heart, so to force them to change we have to hit the industry and the people at the top who benefit from such practices where it really hurts: their profit.

SO, for this post I thought I would highlight some of my favourite more ethical online clothing companies to buy from; the more popular these more socially responsible brands become, the more apparent it becomes to fast fashion companies relying on an exploitative business model that how they treat their workers is of growing importance to consumers. It’s all very well and good Missguided and PLT talking about empowering women and making “girl boss” slogan tees but we need to make it clear that we’re aware of the hollowness of the gesture, and that we want less hypocritical talk and more action to actually enhance the lives of the women that work for them, not just the ones they show in their flashy offices on TV. I’ve included my favourite Depop shops too, because if you can shop second hand, that’s even better; though I like to treat myself to new clothes now and again, I’m aware that the impact the manufacturing process in general, whether or not the company acts in an ethical way with regards to their employment practices, has on the environment is more often than not detrimental. Depop has really been my saving grace this past year-if you know what you’re looking for and have the time and patience, you can find so many gems, and at this point the balance of my wardrobe is tipped firmly in the favour of the reuse and recycle approach to shopping. In the vein of reusing fashion, I thought I’d also include a mini lookbook for a cardigan I got from one of my favourite online retailers, The Ragged Priest, just as a reminder that 1). The best way to be sustainable is to rewear and 2). That with tweaks, one piece alone can give you multiple completely different outfits. Like honestly, outfit repeating doesn’t have to be a literal repeat. Sometimes it’s worth spending a little bit extra on something that looks good with everything, and making that investment into your ability to fool people that you’ve got your shit together by wearing something cool as fuck.

Quickly before I get into it, I’m aware that some ethical companies are a bit out of the average consumer’s price range, and so I wanted to sort them into price point categories which will work as follows:

£= most of their stock is £40 & under ££= most of their stock is between £40-£100 £££= most of their stock costs upwards of £100

Now, in no particular order (and starting with online retailers before moving onto Depop shops), here’s the list!

1. THE RAGGED PRIEST

PRICE POINT: ££

Using recycled fabric to construct their pieces where possible and releasing clothing in small drops designed to sell out rather than following the typical fast fashion model of outsourcing the production of vast amounts of clothing overseas, the Ragged Priest is my absolute favourite clothing brand out there. It’s *semi* affordable and because they are all about those bold, in your face, your-grandma-will-probs-think-it’s-ugly kinda pieces, just one can do SO much for your wardrobe.

I recently bought this cardigan from their The Simple Life drop and had so many outfit ideas for it that I thought I’d put a few of them together for this post just as an example of how you can take the same piece over and over again and still make it interesting, even when you don’t feel like straying too far from your personal style preferences. While we’re at it, I also wanted to use this mini lookbook to point out how fucking great Depop is! Literally everything in these outfits is from there apart from the shoes and the jewellery, the leather blazer on the right I bought a few years ago and then the top and skirt in the outfit from the far left which are both from Ebay. The shoes with that outfit are from Koi Vegan footwear-I didn’t include them in this list because I wanted to keep it consistent and focus on ethical clothing companies rather than retailers that focus on one specific thing such as shoes or jewellery, but they are my favourite place to buy shoes from and focus closely on ethical production too so definitely recommend.

2. MINGA LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Towards the lower end of the ££ price point, Minga is probably the closest you’re gonna get to an ethical version of the Dolls Kill Deliah’s range. Their focus on being a socially responsible business is a huge part of their ethos and their pieces are put together in Portugal, where they're based, by a small in-house team; the majority of their fabric is sourced from local Portuguese businesses and even more amazingly, they recycle the fabric of the pieces they don’t sell in new designs. They are just a generally amazing company and I wish more people knew about them because their pieces are fucking adorable and wouldn’t be out of place (or overpriced) in your local UO.

3. ELSIE & FRED

PRICE POINT: £

A small, black owned business set up by 3 siblings from Coventry, Elsie & Fred have earned themselves a reputation as a staple provider of the festival season wardrobe. Being an independently owned business, they have strict standards that their manufacturers must adhere to and a close working relationship with the owners of the two factories who oversee production in Guangzhou, China, to ensure fair wages and a safe working environment. On the environmental side of things, Elsie and Fred are working to incorporate recycled fabric into their designs as much as possible and have this year introduced compostable mailing bags.

4. HOUSE OF SUNNY

PRICE POINT: £££

Follow enough British instagram fashion influencers and you are bound to have heard of House of Sunny in 2020-snagging what is probably my all time favourite coat from there in 2019 before all the hype is a humble brag I will allow myself on the basis that I haven’t been able to afford anything since, lol. Along with kooky, one of a kind designs, being decidedly anti-fast fashion is a huge part of their branding; HoS only drop 2 collections of limited stock a year, thoroughly screen suppliers and on their website you can find a tonne of information on how they’re working to offset their environmental impact too. If you can treat yourself to a piece from there at any point, the quality of the garments truly make the price point worth it.

5. JADED LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Similarly to The Ragged Priest and House of Sunny, Jaded London go the route of dropping limited collections on a less frequent basis intending to sell out (particularly popular pieces are occasionally restocked) rather than needlessly manufacturing vast quantities of garments to flog for whatever they can get and cutting corners with fair employment practices to offset any losses. By employing independent staff in the manufacturing plants with which they liaise to ensure fair, dignified working conditions and also by working closely with charities such as the Trussel Trust and Stand Up to Racism, Jaded London demonstrates a level of commitment to corporate responsibility that set them apart from a lot of similar online retailers. They are at the top of their game when it comes to daring and experimental yet wearable pieces and so it’s cool that they recognise the need to conduct their business in a considerate way too.

6. THE HIPPIE SHAKE

PRICE POINT: ££

Owned by UK based bohemian queen Naomi Hession, the Hippie Shake is not only a great small independent business to support but is also the definition of slow fashion. With a limited number of opulent 70s style pieces, I have always wanted to purchase something from here. I’ve yet to do so but I’m gonna make it my mission eventually.

7. VINTAGE HEARTS

PRICE POINT: £

An affordable, gorgeous array of quirky handpicked vintage pieces that would probably take you forever to find in a charity shop or that you’d be charged a small fortune for if you found it in a high street second hand store, Vintage Hearts is where you should go if you want a timeless statement piece that may have otherwise ended up in a landfill. The added benefit of vintage clothing is that it is, by its nature, great for the environment, but you can also look fab and groovy as fuck as you do your bit for the planet<3

8. WE ARE COW

PRICE POINT: £

Offering both original vintage pieces and reworked pieces using recycled fabrics, We Are Cow has both basic branded second hand items but also handmade streetwear style original designs all for a fair price. You can tell that it’s all high quality stuff consistent with their modern, functional aesthetic and it’s clear that the team behind the shop has a real vision in mind when they’re designing.

9. OUT OF THE ORDINARY CLOTHING

PRICE POINT: £

In the words of Corrie Davis, founder of OOTO "I start with the belief that fashion will be always be worn differently by the individual that wears it. Every collection from Out of the Ordinary is different to the last but undeniably Out of the Ordinary. I champion flamboyancy and embrace the cultures I've experienced around the world, merging the two and creating popular style trends in exciting textiles, prints and techniques to bring to you something a little Out of the Ordinary." That pretty much sums up the vibrancy, vivacity and bold elegance of the brand’s aesthetic perfectly, which is reflected by Davis’ commitment to ethical manufacturing based on relationships forged between the founders and family artisans and the sourcing of fabrics from textile markets around the world. Everything you need for a boujie summer holiday in the Mediterranean-when leaving the country is finally allowed again, lol, EVERYBODY GET YOUR FUCKING VACCINE-is here.

10. WILD THING

PRICE POINT: ranges from £-£££ depending on the brand

Probs the closest thing you’ll get to an ethical ASOS, Wild Thing brings together a host of sustainable and independent clothing brands and puts them all in one place to present to us all a collection of the sickest festival style fashion out there. Whilst it’s super cool that this already exists and a slice of humble pie for myself to remind me that I am not in fact the revolutionary marketing genius I thought I was, I’m bummed to know that my idea of said ethical ASOS style website is already out there. Fingers crossed for the next grand money making scheme that comes to mind that I can use to distribute some wealth (yeah, there probably won’t be any because very few original thoughts enter my head, clearly, tehe) xoxo

11. SHOPFLUFFY

PRICE POINT: ££

I know it’s 2021 and we all kind hate the idea of girl boss feminism and the connotations of privilege and exploitation that come with it but can we bring it back when we’re talking about women who embody what it was actually all supposed to be about? Because the owner of ShopFluffy, @lulutrixabelle embodies everything good about the term. Somebody who genuinely does (cue Ramona singer voice here) empower other women through her celebration of powerful female friendship and free spirited sense of personal style that should inspire every one of us to wear whatever the fuck we want (clashing patterns and over-accessorising be damned), Lulu handmakes all the designs on her site and very much places an emphasis on slow fashion by releasing only a few collections a year which you can clearly tell a lot of painstaking effort and talent went into. ShopFluffy is on the pricier side but the adorable crocheted coords LuLu specialises in, reminiscent of carefree childhood days and picnics in meadows picturesque enough to be the backdrop of a Jacquemus runway presentation, are a bold and beautiful expression of playful femininity worthy of departing with a bit more than you’d usually spend. After all, if you are gonna spend that money on a piece of clothing, supporting an ethical, independent woman owned business clearly built on carefully honed skill, passion and authenticity is the way to go.

12. SHOPEASYTIGER

PRICE POINT: ££

It feels correct to follow up the ShopFluffy mention with ShopEasyTiger given the friendship between the former’s owner with Tigerlilly Winfield (is that not the most wonderfully storybook character sounding name of all time?), owner of Easy Tiger. Up there with my most revered style icons, Tigerlilly’s designs are as flamboyant and glamorous and daring and dramatic as her own personal style, and again, they are ethically made! If you want to get that psychedelic rock n’roll groupie that’s actually way cooler than the band itself kinda energy too, her shop is the place to start.

13. HOTTTRAMP

PRICE POINT: ££

Founded by the incredibly hot Belle_hott_tramp on Instagram, HottTramp is a collection of both handmade pieces and carefully selected vintage finds that blur the lines between 90s Courtney Love style grunge and 70s summer of love hippy that make me want to start my own all girl rock band and hire a camper van to paint black and road trip through the American desert. Given my complete lack of hand eye coordination, I’ll most likely never have the instrumental skills to do that but I never said it was a realistic fantasy, okay?

14. LAZY OAF

PRICE POINT: ££

Is it just me that always thought Lazy Oaf was within the same kind of price range as The Ragged Priest? Because it’s a lottt more expensive than I thought. That being said, if you’re going for a playful, toned down Molly Goddard kinda look, anything bright and youthful, Lazy Oaf’s clothes 100% fit that brief. You are paying more, but part of that markup is reflected in their transparency when it comes to their ethical code, which includes ensuring that statutory minimum wage laws are adhered to in the supply chain as well as that all workers are of the legal working age for their countries and that their working hours do not exceed the legal limit. They are also steadfastly committed to donating a portion of their profits to charities dedicated to improving mental wellbeing such as Mind, Rethink Mental Illness, and Young Minds, something that is hugely important to me given my own experiences and the line of work I want to go into.

15. NEVER FULLY DRESSED

PRICE POINT: ££

Similar in their aesthetic to Out of the Ordinary, Never Fully Dressed is big on colour, print, and elegance. They have both specially selected second hand pieces on offer and original designs too and the about us section of their website clearly states how passionate they are about their ethical manufacturing process, which takes place both here in the UK and in China.

16. TUNNEL VISION

PRICE POINT: ££

Offering the dreamiest, one of a kind vintage 90s pieces, Tunnel Vision could just as easily be a grunge girl band come the craft themed moodboard as it is an online retailer. If the 90s isn’t for you-I mean, I don’t wanna question anybody’s taste levels but…-they also have the option of shopping by era, which I think is a really cool feature I wish a lot of irl vintage shops would incorporate.

17. LOVE TOO TRUE

PRICE POINT: £

Everything on Love Too True is fucking gorgeousss and it is no surprise that they manufacture their garments here in London because I feel their brand totally encompasses that stereotypical 90s East End punk vibe perfectly with a shit tonne of chunky boots and show stopping plaid pieces that makes my heart ache for a riot grrrl renaissance. Yes, when it comes to feminism’s place in mainstream culture, making sure the political goals and structural changes we’re aiming for are visible to all is by far the most important, but let’s have a resurgence of the grunge girl’s armour along with that and PLEASE let’s leave athleisure in the 2010s. No more Kardashian nude leggings, I beg (I AM being lighthearted, wear whatever you want! We’re not policing women’s clothes in this neck of the woods).

18. NINE LIVES BAZAAR

PRICE POINT: £££

Eurgh. Nine Lives Bazaar. I want it ALL. Their clothes give me all the Etro, Zimmerman, Torey Burch, modernised Stevie Nicks vibes on a slightly more realistic budget, though unfortunately for me said budget just isn’t realistic enough. You would think pieces being ethically produced is just a given when it comes to clothes within this price range but that’s not necessarily the case and Nine Lives Bazaar is one of the ones you can trust to actually be considerate of their employees needs when it comes to their approach to business. To anybody who can afford to shop here, I am insanely jealous. The rest of us, for now, can just browse the website n feel the fantasy, channel a Valentina level of delusion and pretend it’s just the import taxes from Australia that’s holding us back from making a purchase.

-DEPOP SHOPS-

1. @HOUSE_OF_EROTIQUE

PRICE POINT: ££

Everything handmade and latex and form fitting to make you the baddest bitch in the room, I’ve got myself a few pieces from this shop over the past couple of years. Customer service is a bit hit or miss and there’s been times when I’ve had to wait a while for my purchases to get to me but because they’re all one of a kind and custom made to fit, it’s worth it, and when they have messed up they were kind enough to add something to my order for free.

2. @SACREDHAWK

PRICE POINT: ££

If you picture raiding the wardrobe of a biker gang, snatching the Coachella bound suitcases of the Revolve ambassadors at Palm Springs airport, and then jumbling all those clothes together, that’s probably your best bet at getting an idea of Sacred Hawk’s aesthetic. Formerly an ASOS concession, the brand is now available on Depop and is a collection of the most lavish glam grunge pieces, all vintage or reworked vintage. Some things are a bit on the pricey side but I would say they are all priced fairly considering how unique and ornate a lot of the pieces are, and I reeeeally wanna be able to say I own something from there one day.

3. @IDENTITYPARTY

PRICE POINT: £££

I struggled with how to categorise this Depop shop in terms of price point because although there are some fairly low-priced pieces, the standouts are the vintage coats which are understandably a lot more expensive-if you want to fully immerse yourself in the Almost Famous Penny Lane fantasy, you’re gonna have to fork out a little bit.

4. @RETRO_RAIL

PRICE POINT: £££

Retro_rail is of a similar vein to IdentityParty, in that the standout pieces are the vintage coats which are usually upwards of £100-if you’re looking for one-of-a-kind statement outerwear to invest in, I can’t recommend this shop enough. If you’re like me and you’re looking for something more within the £ to ££ price range, Retro Rail is still worth a browse as inspiration for the kind of styles you might wanna try and find elsewhere on Depop.

5. @5THSEASON

PRICE POINT: £

Most of the quirky vintage pieces you’ll find on offer on this Depop shop are within the £25 to £40 price range and though you’ve got coats similar to those you’ll find on Identity Party and Retro Rail and they are sill slightly more than the tops and trousers and dresses on sale etc., they are more modestly priced than the other 2 listed.

6. @DREAMERSREBELS

PRICE POINT: £££

Another v pricey one, dreamersrebels specialises in the daintiest, most whimsical 60s style co-ords I’ve ever seen. Handmade upon purchase, which in turn guarantees little textile waste, you can find the kind of pieces you’d expect to see on a 21st century incarnation of Audrey Hepburn, all the soft pastels and timeless, retro silhouettes you could possibly wish for. I mean, wishing is pretty much all I can do rn but anyone with a near minimum wage retail job knows you need something to aspire to, lol. I managed to budget enough to treat myself to a Selkie dress so I’m manifesting that same level of self-discipline to get me a dreamersrebels piece next.

7. @AWKWARDPHASE

PRICE POINT: £

Very affordable vintage pieces that range from cutesy mid-century style dresses and coats to grungy 90s jackets, perfectly styled and presented too in a way that will have you wanting to order something for yourself to replicate that modern spin on old staples and give them a second life.

8. @EVIEHALLOWS

PRICE POINT: £

Another Depop shop where the clothes are styled so well, it’ll have you thinking you can make anything from a floral 1950s housewife style cardigan to a lycra jumpsuit look very intentionally on trend.

9. @JAHOOLI

PRICE POINT: £

There’s also Jahooli, which I will just say ticks all the same boxes as the other two aforementioned stores to avoid repeating myself.

10. @LOVELYANDLOVELESS

PRICE POINT: £

In terms of price, I would put Lovely and Loveless into the same category as Jahooli, Awkward Phase and Evie Hallows, the difference being that the clothes available are more on the dainty, classically feminine side. People who have a Pinterest board dedicated to the cottagecore or light academia aesthetic (whew, the gen Z is showing), this one’s for you.

11. @CHLOESTJOHN

PRICE POINT: £

Finally, we have the ChloeStJohn Depop shop and it’s definitely a good one to end on; picture the wardrobe of Carrie Bradshaw if she’d lived in Camden instead of New York in the 90s and hung out with a slightly edgier crew than Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha and there you have it, the vibe of the pieces on offer. Does it belong to a girl who probs lives near Primrose Hill and has access to all the boujiest second hand clothes shops available which she most likely routinely raids to resell on Depop? Potentially, but hopefully not because I am very here for this whole red wine in one hand and a cigarette in another back when people were allowed to smoke inside bars aesthetic. I’m sorry that the gen Z part of me once again jumped out in such an aggressive fashion with that last sentence, but I know you know what I mean.

And that’s everything!

I did wanna close off the post with a reminder of how nuanced a discussion this is-having the time and money to be more conscious about your ethical footprint when you’re buying clothes is in itself a privilege; fashion shouldn’t be an interest reserved for only those who have the means to pay extra or spend time scouring the internet. It’s also important to be aware of the lack of size inclusivity-a lot of the “trendy” sustainable fashion brands tend to not stock anything larger than a size 14 and attempt to deflect attention away from this by categorising clothes as either XS, S, M, or L, which is in itself a bit of a pisstake considering that 12-14 is the average clothing size here for women in the UK, and so in no way large. Shopping from Depop and Ebay is hard too when so many brands fail to understand how to fit a non-straight size body which in turn necessitates trying stuff on before you buy it, something that isn’t possible when you’re shopping second hand. A lot of Depop shops fail to offer returns and even with those who do, chasing up that return can be a time-consuming and generally all round frustrating process.

Basically, when we’re having these kinds of discussions it’s important to consider everyone’s situations and avoid sitting on some kind of high horse. I feel like things have become even more complicated lately- with the recent closure of once popular high street stores such as Topshop and Miss Selfridge, it has got me thinking a lot about just how many people’s income here in the UK is dependent on fast fashion retailers too and their popularity. The job scarcity resulting from these kind of closures, which are often all that is available to a lot of people with the demands of the job market seemingly becoming more and more impossible each day even for those who have been in higher education, is clearly an issue when the kind of support you can expect from the government as someone out of work is so woefully inadequate and likely to become even more so as the conservatives push for further cuts to UC and PIP. The past year has really shown us just how shaky the ground that an intensely capitalist society stands on is and how quickly everything can go tits up when we don’t invest in a safety net for those who are struggling. People seem to have realised more than ever the extent to which those whose jobs we deem “low-skilled” are actually the backbone of society, and yet even here, whilst the situation may not be quite as desperate as it is elsewhere, we still haven’t seen pay rises that reflect that. Turns out all the clapping WAS an empty gesture, who’d have thought it (for fuck’s sake)? Fair wages really are a global issue that starts with paying people enough for them to comfortably live on and in time should lead to a shift in consciousness away from the concept of profit before everything else and towards an equal playing field for everyone, something we should take every opportunity to speak up about and demand from our “leaders”, however shit a job so many of those leaders do. It’s frustrating how the focus on making ethical purchasing choices is so often on the overconsumption of things that women historically are more actively interested in such as clothes and accessories and make up when the reality is that the wealth of every industry titan on this planet, NOT just the ones who dominate the fast fashion sphere, depends on them continuing to get away with exploiting people-we should be looking at how we can show our dissatisfaction in all areas. Maybe I’m perpetuating that with this post, since a lot of the online retailers I mentioned only sell women’s clothing, but that being said, I’m not about to do men’s work for them, lol-they should make the effort, if possible, to research into sustainable clothing alternatives too.

Anyway, that’s the end of this post! If you read to the end, thank you so much! If I’ve made any errors in my research or there are more sustainable clothing brands that I could’ve mentioned, feel free to inbox me them too, and I can add them to this post if Tumblr allows. It’s usually a little bitch when it comes to editing long posts but I’ll try my best:) Again, thanks for reading! And if you are, I hope you are safe and well!

Lauren x

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nanami-says · 3 years

Text

Part V (2/3): chapters 58~60

Chapter 58

[About Sukuna’s fingers resonating with one another]

"The ones that possess an immense presence. The ones that are hiding. The ones that are already taken in by cursed spirits."

⇒ "1) The ones with too big presences. 2) The ones holding their breath. 3) The ones already absorbed by cursed spirits."

I added the numbers for explanation purposes, see below.

"One of Sukuna's fingers was hidden by a cursed spirit. When Itadori consumed the finger in June, it released its cursed energy"

⇒ "The Sukuna fingers that had been absorbed were holding back their power [while] inside cursed spirits. Then they unleashed their cursed energy with Itadori's incarnation [of Sukuna] in June serving as a trigger."

Whelp. On top of extremely simplifying the explanation, they mixed up the kind of Sukuna finger involved here - it was very explicitly stated in the text that it was number 3) "absorbed" (assimilated) fingers, and not 2) "hiding" fingers.

I guess saying that Itadori consumed the finger isn't wrong plot wise but it's actually referred to (here and many times more in the manga) as "incarnation"! The same word also gets used for the death painting brothers.

[Megumi remembering a conversation with Gojou]

"I was surprised you asked me to train you"

⇒ "It's rare for you to ask me for a practice, Megumi"

"To train you" wasn't wrong but Gojou saying "it's rare" here points to it either happening occasionally or having happened in the past and I'm not sure "I was surprised" quite conveys that.

"Are you feeling pressure because of Yuji's growth?"

⇒ "Did you get impatient after getting surpassed by Yuuji?"

Gojou actually says that Yuuji has surpassed Megumi here! Quite a different nuance from just "Yuji's growth".

"Megumi, your skill and potential are probably higher than Yuji's. All that’s left is the mental aspect"

⇒ “You know, Megumi, I think that both your real ability and potential are in no way inferior to Yuuji's. (...)"

Emphasis mine because pray tell, how does one reach the conclusion that "don't lose out to"/"aren't inferior to" equals to "are probably higher". “Skill” was fine btw but I’d probably go with “mindset” for the last line, personally.

[Gojou explaining why he thinks Megumi doesn’t know how to make a serious effort giving the baseball game as an example]

“Why did you bunt? You sacrificed yourself so that Nobara could advance. Well, good for you"

⇒ "Why did you make a sacrifice bunt? Did you want to advance Nobara to the next base even if it meant you'd be out yourself? That's commendable"

The nuance for the last line was just different - the word used there usually is just used as praise, either genuine or ironic but imo “good for you” has a different meaning. Also he says “out” but it’s written as “death” (although that is sometimes the case in baseball as well.)

“But no matter how many allies you have around you, you'll always die alone"

⇒ “(...) when you die, you’re alone”

I tried to phrase it a bit closer to the original because I feel like the nuance may just be different for this line but can’t quite put a finger on the how.

[Gojou to Megumi]

"To die and then win, and dying victoriously are two completely different things, Megumi"

⇒ "To win by dying and to win even if you die are completely different, Megumi"

Emphasis by Gege. Ngl, I had no clue what the English was trying to say here… This is most likely what the line actually meant.

[Megumi regaining his consciousness after he blacked out from getting hit]

"How long was I out? Was my divine dog destroyed? No, my technique's finished"

Actually "my technique got undone". Putting it as "has finished" is imo both unclear and misleading. Similar situation as in ch. 1 (refer to part I).

[Lead-up to Megumi using a domain expansion for the first time]

"A jujutsu sorcerer's growth never comes easy"

⇒ "The growth curve of a sorcerer isn’t always gentle"

Mostly, the line was more intricate in the original but also the grammatical construction used here that they mistranslated as "never" actually means "not always [necessarily]” instead.

"Here we go!!"

Not really incorrect but it's kinda generic and I guess something like "I'm gonna do it!" is closer nuance wise.

"With a firm base, skill and imagination, a person can change thanks to the slightest of events"

⇒ "A firm foundation, a handful of sense, and imagination. Then, [even] with a most insignificant opportunity, a person will change"

A pity they simplified "a handful of sense" into just "skill" here. Overall not really incorrect but I wanted to propose something that imo better conveys the original wording and vibe.

“Area expansion”

…”area”? What? Obviously this is actually “domain expansion”. I just don’t have words.

“Think bigger! My technique’s interpretation!”

First sentence actually referred to the second one, so it’s actually something like “Expand it!! The technique’s interpretation!!”

[Megumi to the cursed spirit after his shikigami deals it a finishing blow]

"Divine dog's claws even hurt it...You were no match!"

"(...) So something like piercing through you when you're not even paying attention was easy"

Less excitement, more dismissiveness, I’d say? Also, for the divine dog it’s actually specified that it’s “divine dog (totality)” and not just simply “divine dog”. The term appeared before in ch. 47.

Chapter 59

[Megumi talking about what he considers the basic rule for human interactions in a flashback to his middle school years]

"Basically, you shouldn't cross any line that violates another person's dignity. You should acknowledge each other's mutual existence. That's the rule. You ignored it and fed your stupid ego"

⇒ "In short, it's drawing a line in order not to jeopardise one another's dignity; [it’s] a process through which both parties can coexist. That's what the "rule" is”. You broke it, throwing your weight around and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around you”

For the first sentence, Megumi says “it’s drawing a line”, so the nuance here was probably closer to “creating boundaries” rather than “crossing boundaries” like in the official English release. For the second sentence, the original literally says “the process through which one another’s existence is achieved”, so rather than acknowledging each other’s existence the sentiment is probably closer to live and let live? For the last sentence, they once again simplified it to the barest bones.

"I'll definitely tell Ikezawa and everyone today that we're not their lapdogs"

“You got this, Aida!”

"But we might be the next punching bags, so don't go overboard!"

Should be “Ikezawa and others'' and definitely “that I’m not their errand boy” for the smallest boy’s first line. If all of them were already being treated as errand boys like the way using the plural form here implies, the other student’s reply wouldn’t make sense.

[After Tsumiki sees Megumi has beaten up delinquents once again]

“You said you wouldn’t pick fights anymore”

“You’re not my mom”

⇒ (...) “Don’t act like you’re my guardian”

Imo the distinction is significant because there’s a possibility that Tsumiki as the older of the two probably did feel responsible for Megumi to an extent and acted accordingly, as if she was his guardian.

Also, he doesn’t actually say “mom” - this is not the first time where the official English release opts for a gendered phrase where the original uses a neutral form. (Like making Yuuji say his grandpa was like a dad to him when he actually said parent all the way back in ch. 2.)

[Megumi’s thoughts from back in the middle school]

"I hate bad guys with no brains and zero emotional capability. Walking around feeling proud. Disgusting."

⇒ "I hate bad people. The way they act like they’re superior, with their complete lack of imagination or sensitivity. Disgusting”

I guess I really dislike the way they worded it here, especially the “no brains” part since Megumi wasn’t really talking about intellect or smarts here but about imagination (and sensitivity), which he literally describes as being akin to "vacant lot", "empty lot", "raw land”, which is much more evocative.

"I hate goody-goodies forgiving bad people, justifying mercy. Makes me wanna puke"

⇒ "I hate good people. The way they forgive such bad people and perceive that act of forgiveness as something noble. They make me sick"

Mhm, way to just simplify the heck out of the whole line. I’m extra bothered by their use of “goody-goodies” here since this is yet another appearance of a rather formal word for “good person” (善人/zennin) in the original and which I’ve observed to be a very important part of the world-building in jjk. I discuss it at length in various previous installments, with notable examples including: ch. 9 (Megumi about Yuuji and about the kind of people he wants to save - part I), ch. 31 (Nanami and Yuuji’s conversation in the aftermath of the Junpei incident - part III 2/2), ch. 36 (Panda about Yuuji - part IV 2/5).

“Tsumiki, you’re a perfect example of a good person.”

See, the word he uses here to describe Tsumiki is the same as in the line above (善人) but because back then it got translated as “goody-goodies”, you’d never guess it since the vibes are just that different.

[Megumi reminiscing about meeting Gojou for the first time]

"In the first grade, my dad and Tsumiki's mom got married and separated just as quickly"

⇒ "When I was in the first grade of elementary school my father and Tsumiki’s mother, our respective single parents, got together and disappeared into thin air"

The original doesn’t mention marriage OR separation. Heck, especially for the second one, it doesn’t even come close to mentioning it?? I have no clue where they got this from.

What I put as “got together” can also be translated as “to have a liaison with (a man or a woman)” (among others). Since Tsumiki’s surname is also “Fushiguro” in middle school, it’s possible that they were actually married and many Japanese fans seem to think that as well but it’s not explicitly stated, at least not here, so those are most likely speculations.

As for mysterious “separation”, the word used here actually means "disappearance (of people intentionally concealing their whereabouts); unexplained disappearance", so imo the whole section means their parents got together and at some point both disappeared. As we learn at one point in the manga Touji first and Tsumiki’s mum sometime later.

(Btw, one fan scanlation used “evaporation” here instead and while this is another possible translation of the word in question, imo from the context it’s clear that the intended meaning was the “unexplained disappearance” instead.)

Lastly, Megumi uses kind of formal expressions when referring to both his own dad and Tsumiki’s mum, which imo is indicative of the emotional distance.

[Tiny Megumi about teenager Gojou]

"A weirdo with white hair said"

⇒ "A suspicious man with white hair"

Needless to say, he doesn't actually call Gojou a weirdo.

[Gojou about Touji]

"But he's a loser that just works for me. He left the family and had you."

⇒ "He's enough of a good-for-nothing to take aback even me. Basically, he left home and then had you."

Emphasis mine. Again, I literally have no clue where they got the translation they went with for this. “Works for me” - just what?? (Btw, one of the fan scans available for this had the latter part of this line mistakenly imply that Gojou had Megumi leave his house. The bit definitely referred to Touji leaving the Zen’in family.)

"You're something your dad used against the Zen'in family. His trump card"

⇒ “You’re something your father kept as his strongest card against the Zen’in family”

A bit of a different nuance than “your dad used” suggests.

"The divorce money makes sense now. I was sold to this Zen'in family"

⇒ "The mystery behind the funds for their disappearance got solved. Apparently, I was sold to this Zen’in family or something"

Again, the word for “divorce” doesn’t make an appearance ANYWHERE in this chapter, least of all this page. ...How.

Once again - fan scans had this as money that also evaporated but neither it nor the official English release make sense, considering the line is followed up by “I was sold” as the explanation. So yeah, imo the first sentence definitely referred to the money Megumi considered necessary for Touji (and co’s) disappearance.

[Gojou referring to Touji basically selling Megumi off]

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's annoying. Especially your attitude."

⇒ “It pisses you off, doesn’t it”

“Yeah, it does piss me off. Especially that lack of delicacy of yours”

I mentioned it multiple times but imo repetition in the original text tends to be done on purpose and as a device and imo this was another example where this was the case. Megumi borrows Gojou’s words here. (Which mean “to be irritated, “to be angry” and not “it sucks”.)

[Megumi continuing about Gojou]

"But that annoying guy wrote off the situation with the Zen'in family. He made a promise that we would work as sorcerers in the future. We would be collateral and receive financial support from Jujutsu High in exchange."

⇒"This man pisses me off, but it was him who cancelled the deal with the Zen'in family, and made it so we would receive financial support from the technical college with me working as a sorcerer in the future [serving] as collateral for it”

I don’t know why they’d translate it as “we would work” here since who the “we” would be supposed to even entail other than Megumi himself? Surely not Tsumiki. Or Gojou. Also, putting the next bit as “we would be collateral” makes it sound kind of dehumanising to me, ngl, whereas Megumi was talking about his labour here.

Also, the same phrase for “pisses off” as above got used once again, which makes it three times in a row, so imo that was definitely a deliberate stylistic choice on Gege’s part.

“Jujutsu sorcerers. How stupid.

⇒ "Sorcerers, what even. How nonsensical"

Just proposing an alternate wording.

[Megumi about the curse Tsumiki got hit by]

"All we knew was that we didn't know anything. Tsumiki still sleeps."

The word used to describe Tsumiki’s state literally means “became bedridden”, which imo heavily implies she fell into a coma. “Still sleeps” is most likely a misunderstanding on the translator’s part since the word sounds like it’d mean that (but it doesn’t.)

[Megumi about Tsumiki]

"Always smiling and saying nice things"

⇒ “Always smiling and spouting lip service”

Another case where the translator seems to have translated the word based on the way it’s written as opposed to checking the actual meaning. (The “nice things” phrase.)

"It's not a bad thing to not forgive people. Megumi, that's your way of showing kindness."

⇒ “Not being able to forgive people isn’t a bad thing. That’s your kindness, Megumi”

It wasn’t just “not to forgive” but “not being able to forgive”! Which imo would imply the next line’s nuance was something similar to Tsumiki considering Megumi’s inability to forgive people to be something that stems from his kindness (e.g. because he can’t stand seeing injustice).

"Even spinning my short-comings in a positive light."

⇒ “She would affirm even my nature"

Imo this line was more of Tsumiki accepting Megumi as he is or at least that’s what the line says - makes sense with what I proposed for the line above too. Translating it the way they did in the official release kind of feels like overinterpreting.

"But even she would get upset when I hurt somebody. I was annoyed by the hypocrisy"

⇒ "But even such Tsumiki would get genuinely angry (...). I would get annoyed thinking she was a stickler to the rules and a hypocrite"

Emphasis mine. The phrase that the translators seem to have skipped here and I translated as "stickler to the rules" literally means "to play it safe", "to avoid trouble at all cost".

"Yeah, I know. I was immature. I'm sorry so please wake up already"

“I’m sorry, I was a brat. I’ll apologise so just wake up already, stupid older sister”

Just a different nuance and tone for the whole line.

"All I did was get rid of the Yasohachi bridge curse. My sister's sleeping curse is a separate matter."

⇒ "This Yasohachi bridge curse was probably only overlapping with it, and the curse that caused Tsumiki to fall into a coma probably hasn't been lifted"

The official English release makes it sound like sleeping (or more correctly, the coma) was the nature of the curse that Tsumiki was put under, whereas imo the original indicates it just as its effect, which is an important distinction.

“As for the finger and Itadori…”

⇒ “What should I tell Itadori about the finger...”

The “tell”, “say” is only implied here but it’s pretty clear from the context that was the meaning. Also, he explicitly says “to Itadori” here.

[After the Yasohachi bridge curse got defeated by Megumi who then retrieved the Sukuna finger from it]

"All of sudden I feel a presence. Did the finger get out of the barrier? Whoever took out the finger bearer is quite formidable."

⇒ “The huge presence that appeared all of sudden... Did Sukuna's finger get out of the barrier? If it was a sorcerer that exorcised the finger's host, they must be quite good......."

Emphasis mine on bits that got cut out in the official release. Because Esou was facing off Nobara, he probably assumed it’s likely there may be other sorcerers present and imo that’s what this line also suggests.

"Even so... The finger... Even if they fought against a special-grade and won, They more than likely didn't come out of it unscathed. I hope they're okay."

Just to clarify that the word used for “they” in the original indicates the speaker knows the people in question, so those were Nobara’s thoughts here.

Chapter 60

[Esou to Yuuji and Nobara after he activates his wing king technique]

“Start running and turn your backs to me”

“Run. With your backs turned to me” would fit better nuance and mood wise. (Esou didn’t want to show his back to anyone so now he’s’ forcing them to show theirs.)

[Nobara to Yuuji after he scooped her up because she couldn’t run as fast as he could]

“I got your back”

“Okay”

“Okay” isn’t incorrect per se but the word has the nuance of “I’m counting on you”.

[Nobara to Yuuji after he speeded through the forest while carrying her, allowing them to escape from Esou's technique]

"Well done, you deserve some praise"

“Yeah, yeah”

“Just kidding. Thanks!”

⇒ "You have my praise." (...)

Actually a set phrase! Spoken from a rather elevated/superior POV, which is why Nobara later reiterates that she’s genuinely thankful. Also, I probably would just go with a period for “Thanks”, imo nuance wise it didn’t require an exclamation mark and it’s not there in the original either.

[Esou after Yuuji gets splashed with Kechizu’s blood]

"There's no need to worry. My younger brother's blood isn't the same quality as mine"

Actually "doesn't have the same properties like mine”.

"You wouldn't even die from mine unless you were drowned in it."

Much closer to something like "unless you were to bathe your whole body in it".

"But it does hurt like hell"

⇒ "But it does hurt to death"

Not really wrong meaning wise but in the original it was “to death” instead of “like hell”, which combined with a previous line was probably a wordplay. "You won't die but it does hurt to death"

[Esou explaining how his and Kechizu’s shared technique works]

"If you take in one of our brother's blood and if one brother activates a technique"

Idk if it's clear here but it most likely doesn't matter which brother does which (could even be the same one). Also, definitely should’ve been “the” or “this” for technique, since Esou has just stated on the same page he’s now going to start laying out how a specific technique of he and his brother’s functions.

[Esou replying to Yuuji]

"Yes, the result is essentially poison. Our technique is 'decomposition'"

Should be “but what our technique is, is actually ‘decomposition’” nuance wise.

"It's activated now. In reality they'll be dead faster than that”

⇒ “Done with technique disclosure, so in reality (...)”

Emphasis mine. You know, the rule in jujutsu where if you explain your technique to your opponent, it gets a buff? “Activation” is just wrong here.

While it’s not phrased as such, the phenomenon is first explained in ch. 20 during Nanami’s explanation to Yuuji (refer to part II 2/2). It also gets mentioned by name later in the manga but oftentimes the official release would either skip it or word it completely differently so it’s hard to tell, like in ch. 51, when Hanami realises Toudou has lied to him (part IV 5/5).

[The history of how cursed wombs came to be]

"[In the beginning of the Meiji era] there was a girl with special genetic makeup who bore a cursed-spirit child"

Actually “with an idiosyncrasy that allowed her to get pregnant with the child of a cursed spirit”! Imo an important distinction since it’s not certain whether her first child that gets discussed here was born prematurely or not and the following pregnancies were all aborted.

"A child born of mixed blood - both cursed spirit and human.”

Skipped “grotesque child” at the end.

“It was a mysterious pregnancy. She would be ostracized by family and friends.”

⇒ "Starting from a pregnancy she had no recollection of, [followed by] the oppression from her kith and kin, it made her go insane"

This latter part of this section is filled to the brim with complicated language so I’m not entirely sure but I think this might’ve been the intended meaning of the line. The official translators were probably struggling with the vocabulary too, so they cut out some stuff entirely, to be precise - the go insane part. It’s the bit I’m not certain about myself but I scoured Japanese dictionaries and that’s the meaning that seemed to be the best fit among the options.

Anyway, to reiterate - the bit about the pregnancy actually says that the girl herself didn’t even know (couldn’t remember) how it came to be. The part about the relatives doesn’t mention friends, it’s actually a set phrase that means “one's relatives by blood and marriage (in blood and law); one's kith and kin” - I went here with the latter since it’s shorter and fits the overall vibe of the line.

“She would hold the corpse of the child and flee to a temple in the mountains. The temple was run by jujutsu sorcerers. However, her luck had run out."

⇒ “(...) However, this was when her luck run out”

Other than the nuance in the last line, this isn’t mistranslated but the whole section just flowed differently in the original and felt less disjointed.

Also! One of the scanlations I’ve seen had it misspelled as “Noshitori” but the evil sorcerer’s name is actually “Kamo Noritoshi” (and yes, it’s the same as the young Kamo but the “toshi” is written with different characters).

"The child born from a cursed spirit and human would become a prisoner of intellectual curiosity"

⇒ "His [Kamo Noritoshi's] intellectual curiosity would be taken captive by children born between a cursed spirit and a human"

Very much the other way around. It's very clear in the original that the subject of the sentence was Kamo's intellectual curiosity and not the child.

"Death painting wombs: numbers 1-3. Cursed objects worthy of special grade."

Closer to "cursed objects powerful enough to be classified as special grade"

"Did cursed energy originate from a mother's hatred? No..."

It's specified here as "did their cursed energy" instead (emphasis mine), and the question is actually left unanswered......................................................... So yeah, congrats on getting rid of this very intended ambiguity. It's something like "or was it maybe--"

[About cursed wombs]

"For 150 years, with only the notion of one another's existence, they would survive, sealed away"

⇒ "For 150 years, they endured the seal, relying only on one another's existence"

"The notion" just doesn't capture the sentiment of the line at all, which imo is most likely the follow-up to the narrator's musings about the origin of the death painting's immense cursed energy. (See above.)

"We're siding with that cursed spirit."

Actually "siding with them", read as "them" but written as "the cursed spirits" - probably plural as the original literally says "the side of the cursed spirits", so it possibly means cursed spirits as a whole as well, aside of Mahito and co specifically. Remember, the brothers are actually half-humans too. I explain in depth the “written as but read as” device in part IV 4/5 (ch. 48, Toudou’s “my friend” phenomenon).

"The future that the cursed spirits have painted is more suited for us. But that's it. Forget about what we owe for our freedom"

Not incorrect per se but Chousou actually says “forget the debt we owe them of our incarnation”, which would make it yet another instance where the official English release has cut out the term entirely. (Emphasis mine.)

[Nobara after stating that a technique that assures a win as long as it hits an opponent is indeed powerful]

"I'm a bad match for you!!"

Actually “the worst match [possible]” - more confidence in the line!

[Nobara to the death painting brothers after using Resonance on herself thus redirecting their attack back at them]

"Let's play a game of chicken, shall we?"

The actual wording is “contest of endurance”, I’m not entirely sure if the two have the same connotation.

[part v (3/3)]

#JujutsuKaisen #jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk translation #jjktranslation

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another-snape-story · 4 years

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the-velveteen-victorian · 3 years

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Hi Elle! I used to follow you on your old mega-popular tumblr. I really love your new one. :) I know that you've lived in a "super spiritual" community for several years now (not sure if you want me to publicly say the place). What is the community like? Is it more bad than good? What are some strengths and weaknesses of the place/people? Thank you! I've heard mixed things and really respect your insights.

Haha I knew I would get this question one day! If I could title my response, it would be, "Why I've Chosen to Keep My Distance from the New Age Community in the American Southwest." I info-dump and write novels, so get ready! =)

I think there is something to be said for defining things neutrally for yourself overall. Fortunately, I've been able to easily do that in this instance due to: 1. Being introverted and not "needing" a big community experience and 2. Having wonderful friends all over the globe that I am able to interact with all throughout my year. With that being said, if I am being 100% honest and real with you, I truly believe that the new age community where I am is more toxic than good. Here is why. I will have a positive note at the end.

A quick preface: I am not calling out any particular individual(s) and will not be naming names.... quite frankly, there are just too many and I'm not here to humiliate people. Secondly, these traits can take place in ANY community, spiritual or otherwise. But these are things that I feel a spiritual community should be more self-aware of... and sadly right now, they are not.

********ATTENTION: There is a big content and trigger warning here: There will be mentions of sui****, sexual *******, and gaslighting/narcissism, terfs, eating disorders, and other things that could be very upsetting. Proceed with caution and stop reading if you find yourself getting stressed, triggered, or deeply upset.*********

1. Malignant narcissism and community insulation from constructive criticism. I have never seen such a ubiquitous display of malignant narcissism in all my life in a collective, save for some conservative Christian environments in my growing up years. Go onto almost any youtube channel for the Sedona community and you will see very few negative comments… why? (And I have watched this for a long time) Almost ANY criticism of anyone’s channel or blog is instantly removed. There was a time when people who simply noted that some of these small “influencers” were saying toxic things were sent cease and desist letters. The community is very tight knit and displays many marks of a cult. One of these indicators is that they all protect each other and hype each other up on their channels and blogs, while labeling ANY criticism (healthy or not) as someone who is being “triggered.” The younger part of the community cares about looking perfect and having everyone worship them, but has very little spiritual substance. It’s always about who did the alien thing “before it was cool” or “who can do a backflip off of a steep cliff without breaking their neck because their synchronicity is on point.” One youtuber said once that she only wanted to hang out with “pretty” people because they were purer expressions of the divine. The older generation expresses narcissism by assuming they know more than everyone else. Good luck having a conversation on controversial topics with any of them. They are right, you are wrong. If you argue, you are “triggered” and “seeking for truth.” If you don't believe that there are reptilians on the moon with a secret base, you've drunk the kool-aid. Not a good environment to foster open sharing and knowledge. The men have a particular problem with this when it comes to topics of sex and intimacy. If you are a woman and don’t want to “surrender” to your partner (in a lot of vague and unclear ways), you are out of alignment with the divine feminine. Most of the men believe that they should be allowed to "hunt" (look for sexual partners/spiritual twin flames) and that women should do everything in their power to be softly feminine so that they can sync up and recognize each other's souls.

2. A full denial of science and medicine. Look, I get it. We all want to solve our own medical dilemmas and use herbs to cure all ills. I try to solve any (non life threatening) health issues I have the “natural” way first too… often, I have great success! The problem comes when the community rejects all western medicine, most science (that doesn’t affirm their beliefs) and any medical opinion that has… actually been to a real medical school. There is a strong anti-vaccination movement coupled with the belief in using yoni eggs religiously and doing colonics every week (though science tells us this isn’t a great idea overall). I used a different type of yoni egg for awhile to see what would happen, but trust me, your pelvic health is going to be better without them. You will be judged harshly for going to a “mainstream” doctor to get antibiotics for a serious infection and will most likely be gaslit into oblivion regarding “what you did to attract” your infection etc.

I have midwifed for many years now and have extensive “mainstream” training to be able to do this legally. Once, I was working with another midwife on a mother who was having her first baby. The laboring woman had an ideal birth in mind like most people do. Long story short, I discerned while she was laboring that the baby was in intense distress and that the mother was displaying very concerning signs of a life-threatening condition. When I insisted on calling an ambulance and getting the woman to the hospital, the other midwife said that I was interfering with nature. I explained simply that if we didn’t get said woman to a hospital, the baby would most certainly die and the mother’s life would hang in the balance. Her response was that: “Some babies don’t deserve to live and I shouldn’t invite karma by interfering with nature’s course.” I called an ambulance anyway and the mother was taken for an emergency c-section. The mother was very disappointed about not being able to follow her birth plan. However, after the birth (she and baby ended up being okay thank goodness) she sat down with me personally and thanked me for making the decision I did. She said that one of the doctors explained that if I had waited another hour, both she and the baby would be dead. Apparently, this other “midwife” had also had her license revoked a year before for endangering a different laboring person and child. This sounds like a stand-alone freak incident, but I can cite 15-20 other situations just like this one where life-threatening emergencies were viewed as opportunities for good karma and growth… and that western medical intervention would invite bad karma.

Regarding science, if you point to the fact that jade yoni eggs are likely to cause an infection, most of the new age community will scoff and say that they don’t trust science (the logic being that science once explained volcanos as angry gods or something and now cannot be trusted overall). If you don't wear blue-blocking glasses anytime you look at a screen, apparently you've already succumbed to mind control. You get my point… It’s so bad that the new age community is willing to endanger people’s lives and place the blame on the victims for being out of alignment with synchronicity. This one bullet point could be talked about for hours.

3. A lack of discernment and victim blaming. Many have heard about Bentinho Massaro and his crew from that time when they swept through Sedona a couple years ago. The core of the Sedona community started blindly following him… some of them wanted to boost their online platforms by being associated with a well-known figure. Others wanted a guru… and others were just curious and got sucked in by his charisma. All one had to do was google him. He has allegations of physically beating his followers, gaslighting people, torturing animals in his childhood, and ignoring the fact that an alarming number of his followers commit suicide. With all of this knowledge at our fingertips, the popular new age “influencers” went so far as to get in polyamorous relationships with him, validate his platform, and gaslight people who, sadly, committed sui**** because of certain things he said in his teachings. It was insane. Now, many of the people who followed him try to pretend it never happened or that they had no part in it. Many of them claim to have “gifts of the spirit” and to have stellar discernment.

One of the people who got into a polyamorous relationship with this person did an Instagram post where she basically said that if someone is being r*ped they should show their attacker love and surrender to what is happening so that they could experience unconditional love and come back to the "light." I honestly couldn’t believe what I was reading at first when I saw it. The part that was heartbreaking was when I read the comments and watched people (not just women and men) berate themselves for “fighting” while something terrible happened to them in the past. A few of them were teenagers. I made it a point to personally message the ones I was able to, and thankfully, a good number did respond positively. This exact issue has occurred on youtube channels, blogs, and in-person encounters. I’m just citing ONE online instance of this horrible, misaligned belief. Keep in mind that the person who did this post abandoned her disabled child with a family she barely knew to pursue a sexual relationship with Bentinho.

4. TERFS/anti-LGBTQ/anti-feminism. This falls under the categories of relationships, sex, autonomy, and social issues, but expands into much more overall.

A chain of videos came out a couple years ago where about 5 women in the new age community each did a presentation on what was wrong with the “divine feminine” these days. They were saying that women had been erased because they were not conforming to gender roles or seeking out conscious relationships. They all referenced that “women are angry” and basically said it was wrong for women to feel this way and that angry female energy was throwing our whole environment out of balance and even contributing to global warming somehow. They empathized with toxic people/men/known violent incels and said that women needed to get over their traumas and be more available for the divine masculine to show up. They dehumanized women by saying they shouldn’t be expressing anger, glossed over sexual a******, and blocked everyone in the comments who took a stand against what they were saying. The general consensus is that feminists are just angry women who need to get over their trauma.

Many people in the new age community also believe that if you incarnate in a particular body with certain biological parts, you incarnated that way for a reason. Changing it extensively is to erase “the spiritual lessons you were supposed to learn.” Basically, they stand against trans people, nonbinary people, gender nonconforming people… etc. I can go deeper with this if you want, but that is the gist of it without writing a novel within a novel.

Most of them take an active stance against intersectional feminism and use exclusive language to shut out anyone who doesn’t conform to the binary. A few of them are more passive-aggressive about how they do this: refusing to show any support for the LGBTQUIA+ community or mention social issues at all, even when someone is pointing out that they did something hurtful or offensive.

5. Appropriating Indigenous cultures and using past lives as an excuse. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard a white new age person say that something is their “spirit animal” or seen one wear Native American/indigenous headdresses to tight-knit community events, citing that they were “Native American” in their past life and that they are entitled to use these symbols, items, and cultural lexicons because of it. (Not that this is the main point… but they tell trans people that they shouldn’t be trans or insinuate that people should conform to the gender binary because they incarnated in a body type for a reason… but make an exception for themselves culturally? Super hypocritical.)

A couple of “woke” guys from the new age community walked around for awhile saying that the Hopi had adopted them into their “tribe” and that the were given Hopi names. I spoke to a few Hopi people about what was happening and they were shell-shocked. That is not something that they do for one thing, and for another, they had never even heard of these people! Thankfully, the behavior stopped after the two men were confronted about it, but this kind of thing happens all the time in various ways. There is a new age store here with a racial slur in the title… bring it up to the owner and she’ll kick you out and launch a smear campaign. Tell one of the white new age women that just because she studies “different traditions” doesn’t mean it’s okay to do rain dances or perform indigenous rituals (Native American, Australian, and others) without permission and they’ll blacklist you. I think many of the new agers operate within this Trojan horse of “I want to accept and validate all cultures”, but do not actually care at all about indigenous voices, feelings, or opinions. Many of them talked a lot about collective trauma in our nation during Black Lives Matter, but wouldn’t actively support it in any way themselves.

6. Let’s talk about mental health. This could go under the science and medicine label, but I think it deserves its own paragraph. Boy is mental health stigmatized in the new age Sedona community…. Real mental health professionals are painted as people who just want to “drug” you and keep you controlled. People with mental health struggles are instantly blamed. “Hell is just a state of mind, you need to change your mind,” is a phrase I have heard more often than not. Ancestral healing, umbilical healing, and random reiki sessions are somehow supposed to take the place of a licensed counselor.

A huge chunk of the “spiritual” community supported a pseudo-therapist who (without any scientific basis) was preaching that any woman who wasn’t sure if she wanted to have children or not by the age of 25 was toxic and needed to be ostracized because “something is wrong there.” A bunch of people believed it and re-posted/shared the teaching.

Another instance occurred where an unlicensed “hypnotherapist” without so much as a bachelor’s degree in anything was using questionable methods to hypnotize clients. During one session a person experienced a severe PTSD flashback and panic attack. She was not brought out of the hypnotherapy session properly or cared for. She ended up having a mental breakdown and having to spend time in the hospital. The charlatan who was treating her said that the client was willfully unresponsive to treatment and refused to confront her demons…

Anyone who is on anxiety medication, anti-depressants or anything else to support their well-being and mental health will be judged aggressively and most likely verbally confronted at some point if they are open about being on medication. The charlatans will throw essential oils into your space saying that they can cure anything. Others will try to get someone to talk to a new age leader in the “inner circle” and attempt to persuade the client that western therapists/psychologists just want to drug people and ignore the spiritual cause of unrest. They’ll cite earthing, crystals, vaginal wands, special teas, dietary habits, and color therapy as causes and answers to everything…. All while regarding victims of sui**** as unfortunate souls and lost causes etc.

7. A summary. I need to sum up other issues here quite quickly or I’ll be typing all day. XD Many of the women here are terrified of gaining weight or looking older. They hide behind the thinning veil of “health and veganism” to justify their worrisome habits to feel sexually appealing to supposedly “woke” men. Disordered eating and terror of eating one granule of processed sugar permeates the consciousness. You can be judged for anything from buying pokemon cards to eating legumes…. of all things. Most of the men are sexual predators who prey on younger women, rely on narcissism as a personality type, and don’t let anyone get a word in edgewise when their opinions are challenged. Many of the women validate these behaviors and blame themselves when they get hurt citing “spiritual growth” as a silver lining to cure all traumas. I would say that 95%+ of the people in the community present a perfect picture of themselves online while having crumbling relationships and failing inner lives. You might see a post or video about “conscious uncoupling” of a spiritual "power couple" and then find out later that someone was in a relationship with a narcissistic predator or was experiencing physical abuse. Sadly, many of the victims gaslight themselves in the uncoupling announcement. Many people here are predators in other ways… they might launch a health business that uses essential oils to replace therapy. There are con artists all over the place who can range from simply overpricing their wares in alarming ways to trying to entrap people in “business contracts” that devastate their lives. I have had personal UFO experiences here and do personally think that extraterrestrial life exists, but I would NEVER try to manufacture a fake experience… One of the UFO tour guides was having people hide out in the desert and flash lights into the sky while people on the tour wore special glasses. Then she was charging an arm and a leg to channel “spiritual messages” from the e.t.s for her clients and saying that if they didn’t receive the message, something bad would happen to them. This is the fluffiest and lightest post I could possibly do to communicate how bad it is in the “spiritual community” here. This is only the tip of the iceberg.

The good news? Sedona is so much more than a toxic new age community. It is GORGEOUS and it does have many good, healthy/normal people here. =) I have had such a beautiful experience in this place and can’t say enough good things about it. I have easy access to healthy foods, endless nature to explore and bask in, and a growing community of people who call the new age community out on its toxicity. I read what I want, play Animal Crossing without blue-blocker glasses, regularly enjoy going to listen to goth music at my preferred venue (I’ve been demonized for this lol), and eat what makes me feel good. My partner and I have had a beautiful and successful relationship for nearly a decade now and create amazing memories every day. We have good friends all around the world… and I have a solid, BIG group of academic colleagues/friends locally who DO ethically cite their sources and contribute positively to science and higher learning. If you’re into paleontology like me, you are in fossil heaven! =D If you love astronomy or astrophysics, we’re in a dark sky city! There are so many cool things to do from playing in LOTR-worthy waterfalls, to sampling delicious vegan creations, to playing DnD on red rocks with your friends while a *real* UFO passes by overhead. Get yourself a smoothie and organic wrap from one of our incredible food trucks and drive out into the desert while listening to Nightvale with your love or your friends. =)

If you ever want a list of must-do’s while visiting, let me know. I’ve got your back! The point is that I just harped on the negative above, but the good news is that you can completely avoid all of the junk. Keep it or scrap it when it comes to the Sedona new age community? I say scrap it. But you can still pursue your spiritual interests in healthy ways here while enjoying all the yummy creature comforts that the Verde Valley has to offer. I hope this helps and if just one person comes here and has a safe experience because of my thoughts, then every moment I’ve spent writing this was worth it. =) <3

#new age #toxic community #sedona #cults cw #trigger warning #red rocks #narcissismawareness #mental health #cult leader

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live-long-and-time-warp · 3 years

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It’s hard to leave your toxic friends... but it’s so worth it

I don’t normally do this, but as I sat in a Saturday morning meeting thinking about all of the things I felt this past Friday, I felt compelled to share my story.

A brief background: throughout college and for several years afterward, I considered my tight-knit group of college friends as some of my closest. In addition to my best friend of 20 years, some friends from high school, my work team, and some other dear friends scattered across the globe and throughout the U.S., this group of college friends was who I considered to be my foundation. This group of friends was extremely important to me, but it was not without its bumps in the road.

In my senior year of college, I had a falling out with one of these friends, the ringleader I’ll call her. I say this because she is quite honestly the source of 95% of my problems with this group. She is a master manipulator, and an expert gaslighter. There were a few others that contributed to this too, but she was by far the worst.

I can’t elaborate on every single thing that this person said and did over our 7 year “friendship” but a brief summary would be: asking me point blank if I thought I might be a lesbian after coming out as bi (to this friend group and in her presence, I might add) only several months prior; asking me how much money I spend on books about “Chernobyl” every month with the implication that she’s concerned about my finances; telling me that my resume may not be as impressive as I think it is (I’m the deputy director of a nonprofit with both state-based and national projects and had been for close to a year prior to this conversation); would clean up the crumbs from in front of me while I was still eating and comment on my messiness; told me that one of our mutual friends doesn’t like discussing politics with me because I get too fired up (again, I work for a nonprofit that deals with social justice); telling me that crying while comforting my friend who had just lost a loved one to suicide after they began crying was weird and that I “stole her thunder” (we were slightly drunk, I’m an empath, and she was talking about some deeply personal things that moved me and crying was my natural response... and oddly, she was appreciative of my tears because I was “the only person that actually stayed with her”); and so much more that I know I’m forgetting.

There were many other things more insidious, including gaslighting me about my inclusion in several group activities and why it should have been obvious why one friend disliked me enough to not invite me to her wedding after years of claiming cluelessness.

In our senior year, I left that friend for the first time after she humiliated me at a party by commenting loudly and with condescension on my weight. When I cut ties with her, I felt as if I had just left an abusive relationship, and for a while I didn’t want to seek a friendship with her again.

But the other friends in our group still hung out with both of us, so eventually I allowed myself to be sucked back in.

In the years after we graduated, I thought that this person had actually changed- I worked abroad for a year after college, and after returning I saw a marked difference in her demeanor and how she interacted with us. She seemed more self-aware of how her words and actions adversely affected other people, and I thought that maybe the ugliness of that horrible portion of my senior year was now just a faded scar.

But then things escalated very quickly. Over the course of several weeks at the beginning of this year, I started to feel myself questioning whether I had made the right choice in rejoining the group: I was so sure of how I felt after I left it the first time, I felt so empowered and free. So why did I allow myself to rejoin them? Was it really the right choice?

I got my answer a week after the insurrection at the Capitol. One friend who already had a history of saying hateful things about women (which I tried to put a stop to to no avail) finally went full white supremacist asshole, and instead of joining me in calling his comments unacceptable and defending me as he mansplained my job to me, the ringleader criticized me and told me that “I can work in activism and politics and be wrong”.

That’s the moment I finally woke up.

I left the chat that very moment. Every time they added me back without my consent, I left again.

Every time I got message from the ringleader that was full of gaslighting comments and false apologies, I didn’t say a word. Just deleted the message. Finally, I was able to gather the strength needed to block those toxic friends from all social media and my phone. One of these friends was someone I tried to make like me for years after I was told that she hated me for no reason, by her own admission.

Some may not agree with this approach, but I made the choice to cut contact and go radio silent on my own after consulting my friends, specifically my best friend who had been there for me during the incident my senior year.

As weeks went by, some of the true friends from that group reached out, and then immediately backed off after my polite request for space, indicating that I was welcome back at any time and they were always here for me.

The ringleader chose the opposite approach. She continued to gaslight me, made a group chat with myself, the white supremacist, and herself. She sent me messages from her second account, one that I remembered to unfriend but forgot to block. She told me that if I don’t “course correct” by a certain date she would block me on my account (too late, bro) and that “we wish you all the best”. This implies that it was on behalf of the entire group, something I know three of them would never do. However, at this point, I have had to distance myself from all of those friends so as not to give the ringleader the attention she wants from me.

I lost over half of my closest friends over night. It felt like my skeleton had been torn from my body. I considered giving in several times and reaching out to them. But now, over a month later, I understand how necessary it was to excise what was essentially a malignant tumor. The Chernobyl researcher in me wants to compare it to Acute Radiation Syndrome (ARS): an unseen poison that slowly infiltrates every part of your mind and body and rots them from the inside out.

2020 was an extremely hard year for me, as it was for so many. I am so lucky and privileged to have been in the financial situation that I was and had the support of my genuine friends and family.

But it was still the worst year of my life. I have suffered from pretty bad OCD for most of my life, and while I usually keep it under control, last year it became nearly impossible to do so. I also fell very deeply into clinical depression, and worked to the point of burn out and exhaustion. The primary thoughts I had during this depression were:

“Why aren’t you working? You’re lazy.”

“You’re a failure, you’re 26 and haven’t applied to grad school yet.”

“You piece of shit, still living with your parents? What a disappointment.”

“What is wrong with you?”

It was unbearable. I’m honestly not entirely sure how I survived it, but I think a certain 3-year-old goddaughter of mine and a few close, real friends had something to do with it.

I worked very hard with my friends, a therapist, and a psychiatrist to overcome this depression and get my OCD back under control. Now, I feel like such a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I still have depression, and the OCD will always be with me (like a bad habit... literally?); but I am so much more happy with myself and my life, as I should be.

And I am very, very, very well aware that therapy was not the only reason I have recently begun feeling this way. It’s very hard to see that you’re being manipulated while it’s happening. Because of my trusting nature, sometimes manipulative comments would be interpreted as heartfelt guidance.

It wasn’t until I started the journey away from them that I saw just how much this group and their negativity (because even the best of them weren’t always the kindest) impacted my mental health.

The event that made me want to share this story is this: yesterday was a rough work day. As a full-time community organizer, I am pretty much burnt out all of the time. Breaks are taken, but with projects addressing issues from COVID relief to systemic racism and police brutality, it never feels like enough.

I had to officially take a step back as a sole lead on an annual event that I organized for two years, and it was gut-wrenching.

Now, I cry often, but I don’t usually get to have therapeutic cries. You know what I mean? Like, as you cry, all of the tension that built up in your body by negative feelings is finally being released with every breath and sob?

Well, the dam finally broke in a team meeting on Friday. I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. And my colleagues were so, so kind. They let me vent, they let me cry, they would not accept my apologies for crying. They told me that I was strong for setting up boundaries, and that they were here for me.

We spent a lot of time at the end of the meeting each talking about our self-care routines. And as I sit here typing this, I am actively trying not to cry at the purity of their support.

This experience has taught me what real friends are. Real friends do not put limitations on your emotions and fears.

Real friends do not give you deadlines for processing your feelings.

Real friends do not criticize you for things that, while they may not agree with, do not affect anyone’s health or marginalize anyone.

Real friends don’t marginalize vulnerable communities.

Real friends help and support you with constructive criticism (when it’s asked for) and love, not patronization and manipulation.

I thought I knew all of these things before, but I know now that I am still learning... and that that is perfectly okay. I don’t regret most of the times we shared together. I am appreciative of the positive memories that their friendships gave me.

Three of the friends in this group are actually good people, and maybe one day when the dust is settled I’ll reach out to them and establish one-on-one friendships with them (if they want to).

And I have to thank my real friends, including @tryingtobealwaystrying, for all saying the exact same thing: you deserve so much happiness and fuck all of those guys.

So, the point of this post is to tell everyone this: you can leave your toxic friends. It’s incredibly difficult, stressful, and honestly traumatizing. And there’s no shame in needing time or feeling unable to leave those friends now. There’s also no shame in returning to those friends.

But please know, from this nerd to the reader: anyone that makes you feel any less than the beautiful, amazing human being you are and doesn’t want to help you become an even better human on your own terms is not a true friend. They don’t deserve you or the light you can bring into their lives.

And every agonizing step away from those friends is a step closer to a happier, healthier life.

#toxic frienship #mental health #living with ocd #depression #storytime

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silvokrent · 4 years

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Slings and Arrows

Some wrongs cannot be righted. It’s a lesson Pietro learns a lifetime too late.

[The rise and fall of Dr. Arthur Watts, M.D., PhD.]

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number—” The rustle of papers was followed by a sigh. “—test number sixty-four. Initiating.”

The monitor on his desk whirred to life. Pietro watched the numbers on the holographic screen climb as the program ran the simulation. Thirty seconds without anomalies. A minute. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but the longer the systems operated without rejection, the harder it was to suppress the mutinous optimism at the back of his head. Maybe, this time, he’d finally found the right—

The monitor let out a dejected-sounding beep, and the screen flashed.

Insufficient variables. Analysis results too unstable for implantation.

Only when he slumped back in his seat did Pietro realize how tightly he’d been gripping the arms of the chair. He tapped at his scroll and activated the audio function.

“Test number sixty-four was unsuccessful. The simulated Aura was deemed too structurally unstable to survive grafting to a biotechnic lattice. Recommend recalibrating the values for ω, λ, and ρ to increase viability. Describe what mistakes were made.” Pietro contemplated the scroll in his hand, before lifting it to his face and smacking it into his forehead. Repeatedly. “My mistake was deciding to pursue a degree in bioengineering, followed by the even bigger mistake of my alma mater handing me a diploma. All other setbacks are incidental. End recording.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Pietro called up the diagram from earlier. The hologram cast his office in various shades of blue light that, while it had a calming effect on him, unveiled the minefield of loose papers, folders, and post-it notes that had become his workspace.

For a moment, he considered setting aside a day in his schedule to reorganize his desk. Only when he couldn’t find his calendar did he remember why it had gotten so bad in the first place.

His calendar was buried somewhere underneath.

Brokenly, Pietro stared at the untamed bed of chaos before him. On one hand, he needed to clean his desk. On the other hand, incineration was faster, and the chemistry lab had a blowtorch.

“You look desperately in need of this,” said a voice from behind.

The unexpected drawl startled Pietro out of his thoughts. He swiveled around in his chair to the sight of Arthur Watts leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in each hand. Judging by the amused smirk, he’d been there for some time.

“Arthur!” Pietro minimized the program with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His friend stepped inside and carefully kicked the door shut with his heel. He strode across the room and reclined into the vacant chair opposite of him, ankle propped on his knee. He held out the second mug. “Kuo Kuana roast. Extra cream, and enough sugar to give you every cardiovascular disease known to man.”

Pietro accepted the offered drink, and for a moment simply held it to his face. The aromatic scent was blue water and white sand, and it never failed to make him nostalgic for the coast. He let out a long, quiet exhale that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, “but how did you—?”

“I saw the lights on under the door and took an educated guess,” Watts said. He took a draught from his own mug before continuing: “The janitors left at the end of the day, and no one else is unhinged enough to stay after hours.”

Pietro arched a brow. “Apart from you?”

Watts snorted. “I had a meeting that I couldn’t reschedule.”

“At ten o’clock at night?”

“I made the mistake of postponing one too many times. They couldn’t be dissuaded.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. Pietro indulged in his coffee while Watts picked up a folder and flipped through it at random.

The company was a welcome respite, and not just because it came bearing gifts.

Their office arrangement had started off rather unextraordinarily, all things considered. Handing off paperwork, returning a piece of equipment, passing along department memos—the sort of banal normalcy one would expect between colleagues. Pietro hadn’t begrudged the unexpected interruptions from Watts (quite the opposite, in fact), and Watts never protested when Pietro ventured into his space long enough to drop something off.

Only a few months after becoming acquainted did Pietro notice the shift in their interactions. It had been subtle at first: an animated conversation during a faculty meeting that led to Pietro following Watts back to his office to continue the topic. A request from Watts for a second opinion on a patient chart, which led to Watts loitering in Pietro’s office long after he’d humored him. A day where Watts had cleared his schedule to allow Pietro to vent about his latest experiment following an incident in the labs.

It hadn’t taken long for the intrusions to devolve from legitimate reasons to half-contrived pretenses. The reed that broke the Dromedon’s back had been a memorable afternoon where Pietro’s office door swung open, and Watts—bag strap slung around one arm, a stack of documents tucked under the other—announced that he needed somewhere to hide from his interns, and no one would think to look for him here.

There were, admittedly, more unconventional ways to start a friendship, though Pietro hardly minded. Especially not after Watts had treated him to dinner as an apology for the inconvenience.

It was an aspect of their relationship Pietro was both fond of and deeply appreciated, though he was tactful enough to not comment on it aloud. Watts wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. (Though the steaming mug in his hand begged to differ.)

He watched as the other man returned the folder to its original spot in exchange for a file.

“No luck, I take it?” The question was as much rhetorical as it was a tacit invitation to brainstorm. Pietro gladly accepted.

“I had a thought after yesterday’s meeting: ‘What if it’s quantitative rather than permutational? Maybe we only need to adjust the inputs rather than the sequence.’” He shot a rueful glance at the monitor. “You can imagine how that went. It feels like the answer’s staring right at me and I’m too stupid to see it.”

“If you were stupid”—Watts turned the page, not bothering to look up—“we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” He took another sip from his mug. “Sleep-deprived, on the other hand…”

“Can you blame me?” Pietro asked.

This time, Watts did look up.

“We’ve been at this for six months and have nothing to show for it. We’re running out of time.”

Watts set the file down. “James never stipulated a deadline,” he murmured.

“No,” Pietro agreed, “but he’s not the only person we have to justify ourselves to.”

“If this is about the lien, I wouldn’t fret. As long as our funding comes from the military, they’re not going to pull the plug.”

Pietro frowned at the drink in his hands, at the contemplative reflection that mirrored his own. “James may have greenlit the project, but that doesn’t change the fact that the military budget comes from tax revenue. The other councilors get a say in how that money is allocated. And if they think our research is a waste of public resources…”

An uneasy quiet fell between them, and it was telling that Watts didn’t immediately refute him or attempt to assuage his concerns.

For lack of anything constructive to say, Pietro sighed. “For thousands of years we consumed willow bark as an analgesic. When people learned that salicin was the culprit, a chemist learned how to make it from scratch. Pharmacies around the world now manufacture and distribute that medication to millions of people.” He leaned back into his seat. “How is it that we figured out how to make an artificial compound, but we can’t figure out how to make an artificial Aura?”

“Well—” Watts motioned with his drink in a vague sort of gesture. “That might have something to do with acetylsalicylic acid being a synthetic chemical, and Aura being the manifestation of the soul. They’re not exactly analogous.” He stroked his chin. “It would also be remiss of me not to point out that up until a few centuries ago, pneumatophysicists were regularly executed for heresy. It’s not as if we have the breakthroughs of our predecessors to build upon.”

A weak, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Reflexively, Pietro combed through his hair.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Frustrating might have been putting it charitably. Pietro still had half a mind to fetch that blowtorch.

A knowing look crept across his handsome features, though Watts deigned only to shrug in response. Obstacles and setbacks were held in a similar estimation to success; they seldom bothered him. Nonetheless, he offered, perhaps by way of consolation, “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for possible,” said Pietro, “and right now, we’ve hit a dead end.”

The holographic diagram from earlier rematerialized over his desk—a simulated Aura field superimposed atop the three-dimensional render of an android. He parsed through the accompanying schematics with a wave of his hand, calling forth and highlighting relevant segments of data.

“We know that Aura is related to the sum product of a person’s neurological pathways, because it’s the same system responsible for generating consciousness.” Pietro activated the synaptic filter. A branching web of neurons lit up the hologram in tandem with the Aura field. “Here’s the problem. Functionally and behaviorally they’re similar, so you’d think replicating one system would mean the simultaneous generation of the other, right? But it doesn’t work like that.” His brow furrowed. “Not only is Aura’s reliance on this system facultative, but it verges on metaphysical. It means that we’re missing something. You can break down the physiology of the CNS and PNS into all the various electrochemical signals, but the second you try to do the same thing with Aura—”

He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist, and slumped in his chair.

“I’m starting to think James picked the wrong proposal,” he quietly admitted. “At least yours didn’t hinge on reconciling a decades-long conflict between pneumatophysical models and—”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

The brusque statement startled Pietro out of his rambling. It only took a second of being subjected to Watts’ flat, unimpressed stare before Pietro ducked his head.

Watts snorted under his breath. “For better or worse, the general picked your proposal. You have an obligation to not fail, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

Embarrassment quickly faded to mild annoyance. “You’re as sobering as a cold shower. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Watts’ expression softened. “Sometimes a little cold helps to clear the head.” There was thoughtful pause before he unhooked his ankle and leaned forward, elbows braced against his legs. “You know,” he began, “success isn’t always contingent on understanding.”

Coming from the man who actively condemned ignorance, that surprised him. Pietro stilled with the mug halfway to his lips. “True,” he conceded, lowering the coffee back to his lap. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to trip over the answer like it’s a sleeping cat.”

Another pause followed, longer than the one that preceded it.

“What if we had a way to circumvent it?”

“What do you mean?”

With a soft thunk Watts set his mug on the desk. “Your proposal requires grafting an Aura onto a mechanical vessel. It never specified where that Aura came from,” he said. “Whether it was artificially created…or acquired from somewhere else.”

He laced his fingers together.

“Someone else, perhaps.”

He’d been told more than once that he had a terrible poker face. Clearly that hadn’t changed, if the way Watts pursed his lips was anything to go by.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not suggesting we go abduct people and harvest their organs in a back alley.” He rolled his eyes. “I would hope you’d have a somewhat higher opinion of me.”

“You have a way with words, Arthur. A questionable and slightly terrifying way with them.” Pietro fidgeted with his tie. “Let’s, for the moment, ignore all of the potential obstacles involved. Like receiving an extension on our funding to cover any unanticipated costs. Or getting approval from the Atlesian Ethics Committee to perform an unregulated and untested surgery on a patient. Or even finding a candidate who would willingly consent to such a procedure. Even if we hypothetically resolved all of those issues, we’d still be left with a problem.”

“Only the one?” asked Watts. He arched a slender brow. “Very well, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Another frown tugged at his lips. “Even if we found a way to perform such a surgery, removing even a fraction could be fatal. You can’t survive without Aura.”

“That’s not, strictly speaking, true.” The mug had made its way back into his hand. Watts idly traced the rim with a finger. “I’ve treated patients with Chronic Aura Degradation before. It’s not uncommon to see cases where up to 45% of the Aura was eroded. And in every one of those cases, the patient survived with weekly EMF-DS therapy.”

Pietro shook his head. “You, better than anyone, know that ‘survived’ isn’t the same thing as ‘cured.’”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Forgive me if I insinuated otherwise. I only meant that regular treatments resulted in a negligible impact on their quality of life.”

“I’m not denying that.” Only when Watts stilled his hand, and began circling the rim in the opposite direction, did Pietro realize he was staring. He snapped his head up and cleared his throat. “But that’s an archotheronotic disease. You’re talking about using Auratic intercision to create a manmade version of CAD. There’s no telling what that would do to the donor, or if the amount of Aura donated would even be enough to sustain an entirely new person.”

Watts conceded with a sigh. “It’s just a thought.”

It wasn’t the most outlandish thing Pietro had heard—the staff breakroom regularly churned out weirder ideas on a weekly basis, and gods knew he’d contributed to quite a few of those himself.

Still…

“I’m not opposed to alternatives,” he replied at last, “but I can’t imagine anyone condoning a surgery that mimics a Grimm-based illness. The controversy alone would be a nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.”

Watts made a noncommittal noise as he stood.

“Scientific progress has always been controversial. What matters is how we deal with it.” He lightly clapped a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The residual warmth from the mug lingered; it was oddly soothing. “Do me a favor, and try to get some rest?” He smirked, and the hand retreated. “Sleep on my suggestion. See if you’re not better disposed to it in the morning.”

Pietro sipped at his coffee, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll pass on the sleep for now.” He motioned with the cup. “Keep these coming though and you might just persuade me.”

Watts let out a low chuckle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned on his heel for the door, tossing a parting glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro smiled into his drink. “Good night, Arthur.”

“—has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

“We could give the pneumatograph another go. Run the Dust vortex generator with different configurations.”

“And waste more Dust in the process. Repeating the same tests isn’t going to get us any closer to generating an Aura.”

“Okay. Well, what about Grimm exposure trials? We could map out field fluctuations and look for any biopenumatic discrepancies.”

“After what happened last time? We’d be lucky if the Grimmoire loaned us a bloody paperclip, let alone a Boarbatusk. Try again.”

Will pulled a face as he crossed out a line on the clipboard, before tossing the pen back to Watts. He cast the cages lining the wall a glum look. “I guess we could go back to rodent models,” he said.

The mice Pietro was feeding began to squeakily protest. He lapsed into momentary silence before agreeing, though not without some reluctance. “It couldn’t hurt.” Not in the technical sense, anyway. But if the thought of their work regressing back to animal trials didn’t sting a little. Given the dwindling list of alternatives, however, he wasn’t about to object.

One of the mice nosed at his hand, and Pietro obligingly scratched it between the ears. “I’ll fill out the requisition forms. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get the approval.”

“As long as the technicians remember to give us an Aura-active batch,” Will added. “Last time they forgot.”

Their conversation petered out, replaced by the high-pitched din of the mice and the clink of the pellets in their food bowls. Pietro sealed the latch on the enclosure and placed the dispenser on the nearby counter, thinking.

“Even in a worst-case scenario, if the rodent models end up not working out, we could always repurpose our findings for later studies. Once the Penny Project is over”—though whether or not they succeeded, he chose not to theorize on—“if we can get the grant money for it, well, who knows? Apothymetics is relatively uncharted territory, and it’d be a shame to see all those mice go to waste…”

Watts slowly lowered the chart in his hands, and pinned him with the full intensity of his stare. “You want to run tests…on the mice…to see if you can unlock their Semblances,” he said. He broke apart his sentence as if he were running it through a translator.

Pietro shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. If an animal can unlock an Aura, by extension it should be able to acquire a Semblance. Haven’t you ever wondered what that would look like?”

Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to speculate on the possibilities of the hypothetical. Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to see what sort of face his friend would make. Watts had yet to disappoint.

He watched with delight as Watts squinted his eyes, as if the mere idea were an affront to common decency. “No,” he said, “I haven’t wondered what that would look like. Perhaps my imagination isn’t as vivid as yours, but I’d rather not contemplate the horror of a 700-kilogram polar bear learning how to run at Mach 1, let alone a lab rat.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur,” Will chimed in, in a voice far too casual to be anything but. “Think of all the possibilities. Telekinetic service dogs. Self-cloning chickens.”

“We could solve world hunger,” Pietro said. This time he was unable to suppress a grin.

It took a second for Watts to register the look on his face; his expression evened out, and he let out a loud sigh. “Stop enabling him, Will. He doesn’t need a co-conspirator.”

“I thought you were my co-conspirator,” said Pietro, feigning a look of wounded betrayal.

“No. I’m your impulse control. And I seem to doing a rather poor job as of late.” Watts jotted something on the chart in his hands, his brow momentarily furrowed in concentration. “Those mice are supposed to be euthanized anyway. I doubt they’d let you repurpose them for another project, even if you pitched it as a financial incentive.”

Pietro considered. “I can be persuasive.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

Will set the clipboard next to the dispenser and leaned back, his amusement tempered with intrigue. “I know you were kidding—mostly—but eventually, someone else is going to ask the same question, and they won’t be. Sooner or later, it’s going to be proven or disproven.”

“With any luck, they’ll disprove it,” Watts replied. “It’s already bad enough when people unlock their Semblances.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Huntsmen need those.”

“Huntsmen, certainly. Their line of work requires it.” Watts glanced up from the chart. “The average person, on the other hand, would frankly be better off without.”

“Come off it, Arthur. I know we’re supposed be scientists and demystifying this stuff, but…” Will shrugged. “You can’t deny that it’s a little exciting for someone to try and imagine what their Semblance might be.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. It’s very exciting when someone with no training accidentally unlocks their Semblance, only to discover they now wield the power of fire, and proceed to give themselves a second-degree burn.” He clicked the pen, and pocketed it in the folds of his lab coat. “That was last Tuesday, by the way.”

Will crossed his arms. “I take it you wouldn’t want to find out what yours is?”

“If I was going to do something that permanent and that irrationally stupid, I’d get a tattoo on my left—”

A scroll dinged. Will jumped like a tasered cat, and fished through his pockets until he found it. “It’s Meg.” The sudden tension eased from his shoulders as his eyes darted over the screen. “She just wanted to let me know how the appointment went.”

Pietro’s eyes lit up. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s due in another nine weeks.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his scroll. “Since I need to call her, now seems like as good a time as any to take a lunch break.” He started for the door. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Do either of you want anything?”

“Pastrami on rye. Toasted,” Watts called after him.

“If they have any tuna salad left, I wouldn’t say no,” Pietro added.

Will gave a parting wave as he slipped out the door, the scroll already held to his face.

There was a brief silence, filled by the squeaks of tiny mice.

“So.” Pietro side-eyed the other man. “Where did you say you were putting that tattoo?”

Watts swatted him with the chart.

With nothing else to distract them for the time being, Pietro dug out his scroll and consulted his schedule.

“Busy this afternoon?” Watts prompted.

“Nothing too exciting. The hospital wants me to review some patient files and see if I’d be willing to consult on them. And around three I’ve got an appointment with a new client needing cybernetic optimal implants. The insurance company approved her for a fully-integrated interface, similar to the model James has.”

“Which reminds me…” Watts turned his attention to his own scroll. “I need to notify him about his follow-up. His prostheses are due for inspection.”

“Good luck getting him out of his office.” At his inquiring look, Pietro elaborated: “The Vytal Festival’s next month. He’s been busy overseeing the travel arrangements for his students.”

“Damn it. I forgot that was coming up.” Watts pinched the bridge of his nose, before skimming back over his calendar. “Well, at least I’ll have one appointment today that won’t be akin to pulling teeth.”

“Oh?”

“A new client by the name of Rainart. It seems he needs treatment for acute Dust poisoning.”

“Collier?”

“He didn’t say.”

Pietro tagged a file on his scroll and dismissed it from the queue. “We’ll need to meet with the rest of the team and make sure our schedules are coordinated,” he stated. “I think tomorrow would—”

“Hold on.” He hadn’t realized Watts was reading over his shoulder, and didn’t register the proximity until he felt a puff of air on the side of his neck. The sudden presence startled him. “Go back to the last tab.”

He shot him a puzzled look, but obliged him all the same. “This one?” He tapped the screen and enlarged it.

“Why did you pass on this case?” asked Watts.

Pietro peered at the text. “‘Name: Mia Atelier. Age: 19. Patient is in a hypothermia-induced coma and has been unresponsive to all attempts to resuscitate.’” He frowned. “There’s nothing I can do that the hospital staff haven’t already tried, I’m afraid.”

Watts took a step back, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he returned to his scroll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number seventy-one. Initiating.”

The monitor gave a powerful thrum as the simulation booted up. Other than the pneumatic hiss of the internal fans, their silence was uninterrupted. A hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder, though Pietro didn’t bother to find out whose it was. He didn’t dare look away.

As quickly as it began, the program aborted. An all-too familiar error message flashed counterpoint to the readouts on the screen.

The team let out a collective sigh.

Pietro willed himself through the motion of activating the audio function on his scroll.

“Test number seventy-one was unsuccessful. The recalibrations based on the gravid murine analysis didn’t provide the missing variable for the Aura simulation. It’s possible that the in-utero pneumatographic scans failed to identify the unknown factors necessary for generating and implanting an Aura. Recommendations for subsequent tests are…” It dawned on him midway through that he didn’t know where to go next. “…The team will reconvene to discuss further options. End recording,” he finished.

For lack of anything better to do, Pietro buried his face in his hand. Around him the voices of his colleagues stirred, their chatter sounding strangely far away.

“I really thought we had it that time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We modeled it after a gestating animal. What the hell could we have possibly missed?”

“Maybe the issue is what we’re modeling. What if we replicated the scans on a more complex organism?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure the guys in obstetrics would love that. ‘Can we borrow one of your patients for nine months? We just want to run some non-invasive tests.’”

“Hey, Will, how do you feel about offering up your firstborn child in the name of science?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest we go down to the pub on Baker Street and put our funding to good use.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do that after you succeed, not before.”

“What about you, Arthur? You’re being unusually quiet.”

Pietro peered up from between his fingers to where Watts stood, inspecting the hologram of the simulated Aura field. Light from the projection struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows.

“I think,” he said, “we should consider alternatives.”

It wasn’t an opinion shared by the majority of the faculty, but Pietro liked the distance between the buildings.

Admittedly, there were drawbacks to the layout. For example, when back-to-back classes were scheduled on opposite sides of the campus, it was fairly common to see students and professors alike sprinting between lecture halls.

Personally, Pietro enjoyed the sweeping courtyards. The altitude of the city meant a steady supply of brisk air, along with an unobstructed view of the stars that no amount of light pollution could diminish. If nothing else, the long walk between buildings gave him a chance to declutter his thoughts after hours spent cooped up in his office. Given the excuse, he gladly jumped at any opportunity to walk the grounds.

Not that he really needed the excuse, he mused, as he approached Watts’ office.

Pietro went to knock, only to be stilled by a snippet of conversation that filtered through the door.

“—understand your concerns. Rest assured, the surgical theater is still reserved for then. I spoke with the administrator at the medical center this morning, and received confirmation for the private transport. Everything else has been taken care of.”

Pietro was careful not to cause too much of a disturbance as he slipped into the chair across from him. Watts greeted him with a nod, before turning his attention back to the call.

“Certainly. We can discuss your daughter’s treatment plan afterward. I’d rather not burden you with undue stress in the meanwhile. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He set aside the scroll on his desk. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he noted. “Either something went extremely well, or horribly wrong. Which was it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” The joints in his shoulder popped as Pietro stretched. “Remember those parts I ordered? The shipment was delayed another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I presume there’s a silver lining?”

“Well,” he said, “the original plan was to spend the next three days working on the rotary cannon for the Colossus prototype. But seeing as that’s no longer possible…” He leaned forward, hands clapped on his knees. “I know you’re not usually a fan of ‘that hideous blood sport,’ but the doubles rounds start tonight and the matches have been pretty good so far. Everyone’s getting together later in the staff breakroom to watch. The betting pool this year is pretty sizable, too.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

Watts smirked. “Of course not.”

“But—if you’re still opposed to watching the Tournament—” Pietro shrugged. “My weekend’s free. We could make plans to do something. If you’re interested.”

Watts inclined his head, green eyes half-lidded in thought. After a pause he averted his gaze to his hands, neatly folding them atop one another. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I have a flight this evening. I’ll be out of the capital for a day or two.”

That caught him off-guard. “You didn’t tell me you were heading down to Mantle.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m heading to Argus.”

“You’re leaving the country?”

“Hardly. With how much the city relies on trade with Atlas, it might as well be part of the kingdom.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But, yes. I’m overseeing a procedure there.”

It took Pietro a moment to conceal his disappointment behind a consolatory smile. “Well, what can you do.” He scoured his brain for any recent mention of traveling during the last few conversations, and surprisingly drew a blank. “I’m guessing this was last-second on your part. A new patient, I take it?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Well”—Pietro hopped to his feet—“if you’ve got an airship to catch then I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you want to get out of here and pack.” He quirked a brow. “Just so you know, I’ll be very upset if you don’t bring me back a souvenir.”

Watts rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop at the hospital gift shop on my way out,” he drawled, without a hint of sincerity.

Pietro laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He made it as far as the threshold when a voice called him back: “Pietro.”

Watts was shuffling a stack of papers on his desk—a pointless gesture, with how meticulous his workspace already was. He spoke without meeting his gaze: “When I return, I’d like to discuss some ideas I had for your project. I might have found a solution.”

His pulse quickened. “Are you—are you sure?” Pietro asked.

The rearranged stack was pushed off to the side. “I will be after tomorrow.”

When he got the news a week later, Pietro stared out his office window, and didn’t move for a long time.

“That girl’s blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t you dare say I took a choice away from her.”

Pietro hesitated outside the imposing metal doors. Announcing his presence would have been the right thing to do—something he should have done ten minutes ago—but a sense of dread, morbid curiosity, and some other nameless instinct stayed the impulse. Instead he leaned closer, only just able to discern the pair of muffled voices on the other side.

“She was dying. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the hospital board to convene and debate the ethics? They would have wasted precious seconds wringing their hands and fretting over indemnification, while I had a chance to save her life.”

James’ voice was taut with the tension of a fraying rope. “And you failed.”

“People die from surgical complications every day,” Watts snapped. “We can’t save everyone. But we can try, and I did. She may be dead, but the contributions her death made have advanced our understanding of—”

“‘Contributions’? Do you hear yourself?”

Pietro nearly forgot to breathe in the deafening silence.

“You didn’t do this out of some misguided altruism,” James said. “You did it to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“I did it because she was running out of time and options. A transfer of consciousness by incising her Aura and siphoning it into a receptive vessel was the only way to ensure her survival. What other options were there?”

“Hospice.” The word was ground out through clenched teeth.

“If you’re waiting for me to grovel to you for clemency,” said Watts, “then you’ll be waiting for some time. I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? Is that you why you had your patient shipped to a hospital in another kingdom so you could perform an illegal surgery?”

Pietro flinched.

“As I’ve explained to you numerous times, the procedure is illegal under Atlesian law. Mistral, on the other hand, has no such qualms when it comes to the implementation of pioneering medical research.”

“Hiding behind a loophole doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated her emotionally-compromised parents!” A fist slammed against the desk. “You knew they were desperate, and you knew they would say yes if there was even the slightest chance they could get their daughter back. Their consent was based solely on the premise that your theoretical procedure might work.”

“It’s not theoretical anymore.” The words saturated the air, like the ozone that preceded lightning. “I proved that it can be done. My efforts, while unsuccessful, weren’t a failure. We can take what I learned from her death and repurpose it—”

“That’s enough.”

Pietro recoiled from the shout. Then he realized what he’d done, and quickly repositioned himself next to the door.

“Did you know…” Shoes scuffed over the tiled floor, across the sunken dais. “During the height of the Great War, Mantle oversaw the detainment of captured soldiers. In time, their wardens saw little benefit in expending resources on them if there wasn’t some use for all of those people.” The pacing stopped. “Eventually, Mantle did find a use for them. They were experimented on. When the war came to a close, hundreds of people had perished. The textbooks never fail to recount that.”

Watts took a steadying breath. “What they often conveniently omit is that many of the technologies we have today were born from those experiments. Analgesics, psychotropic drugs, new surgical tools…and neuroprostheses.”

A pause.

“The metal grafted to your body exists because prisoners of war bled for it. You can’t ridicule my work and absolve yourself of hypocrisy.”

When James’ reply came, it was dangerously soft: “For better or worse, we have that technology.”

“For better or worse, we could have had one more,” Watts retorted. “How does condemning my choices justify yours?”

James exhaled through his nose, and his tone evened out into something approximating his regular speech. “Because I don’t condone the loss of lives, or the dehumanization of people. I didn’t participate in the atrocities that brought us those advancements.”

“No. You only benefited from them. Tell me, James. How many more people do you think will suffer needlessly in the future because you stymied my research? Inaction will deprive future generations.”

“Whereas action will slaughter the current one,” James shot back. “The ends don’t justify the means. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gambled on asking for forgiveness over permission, had the girl actually lived.”

Neither man spoke into the yawning chasm that filled the space between them.

“…I didn’t want her to die, James.” An unfamiliar emotion crept into his voice.

James sighed. “I didn’t call you here to debate your motives. What’s done is done.”

When Watts spoke again, the question was accompanied by unease: “Then why did you arrange this meeting?”

“To discuss the consequences with you.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not presently, no,” James said. “The Council hasn’t formally issued any charges, and they won’t until they meet to discuss the matter in-depth.”

“If I’m not being arrested,” Watts ventured, “then what consequences are you talking about?”

The general’s reply was delayed. “I spoke with the Medical Board. Your license has been suspended.”

Pietro’s blood ran cold.

“On what grounds?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Malpractice.”

“You can’t place me on probation for a law I didn’t break—”

“Arthur.”

The interruption killed whatever momentum he’d gathered. When no more protests were forthcoming, James continued: “It wasn’t my call.”

Another gap in the conversation followed, shorter than the ones before it.

“If the Board’s intention was to simply strip me of my license, they could have easily done so without involving you. If the Council plans to do nothing yet, then this meeting is a waste of our time.” His confusion faded, replaced with wariness. “Why am I really here, James?”

“…I want you to understand,” James began, “that I arranged this meeting as a courtesy. I didn’t want you to be in the dark about events going forward—”

“Why am I here?”

Pietro could picture James steepling his hands, tightening his jaw.

“As you’re aware, the Penny Project is a classified military project. Your surgery appropriated that research, and you performed it on a civilian.”

“My research”—Watts bristled—“was based on an archotheronotic disease. Where I drew my inspiration is irrelevant.”

“The other councilors might not have letters after their names, but they’re not idiots. They saw the parallels. It’s not a coincidence that your procedure and the project both focus on Aura.”

“The difference,” Watts spat, “is in the intent. The project’s goal is to create an Aura from scratch. Mine was to separate and transfer an already-existing one. If we can separate a host’s Aura and place it within a new receptacle, then that proves we can also remove a portion of it and do the same.”

“Even if you’re right, that doesn’t change the fact that the girl’s parents went to the media and took their story public,” James said. “Soul-based research is already controversial. How long do you think it will take for people to start asking questions? That’s a scrutiny we can’t afford right now.”

The chair legs scraped over the ground as James stood.

“The reason why I called you here is because the Council believes that your actions jeopardized that secrecy. The unauthorized disclosure of classified military intelligence is a potential security breach. Which is why, until they conclude their investigation, your passport is being revoked and you will be confined to the Kingdom of Atlas.”

James sounded tired.

“The charge they intend to level against you is treason.”

Nervously, Pietro rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

“Arthur? May I come in?”

Watts stood with his back to the room, an outstretched hand removing several books from their shelves. At the sound of his name, he stiffened. “If you must,” he answered flatly.

“Thank you.” He was careful to avoid tripping over the boxes stacked by the entryway as he closed the door behind him.

The other man had never been particularly materialistic, but even so, his decorating was far from sparse. Awards and accreditations had hung from the walls, while shelves with medical tomes lined the perimeter of the office. Occasionally, projects from the lab migrated into the room, and had taken up tablespace by the windowsill where a lone bromeliad sat.

It was jarring to see those possessions packed away.

Watts didn’t immediately turn to face him. Instead, his head sunk between his shoulders. “…Are you here to yell at me as well?”

“Yes. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. A thousand different thoughts colored his mind like a fractured kaleidoscope. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, each worse than the last. Pietro ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. “Look, I’m upset, but right now you need a friend, not another detractor.”

“How considerate of you.” His words were devoid of inflection.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how you’re feeling right now, but I still think you should—” Pietro glanced at one of the cardboard boxes on his desk, only to do a double-take. “What are you doing?”

“Vacating the premises.” Watts resumed packing. “Seeing as I’m no longer tenured, the institute felt this room could be put to better use.”

“I already know that. That’s not what I meant.” Pietro gestured to the lacy scrawl on the side of the box—Free to whoever wants it. “Why are you getting rid of your things?”

“I have no reason to keep them. It’s not as if I’ll be able to use them again for another employer.”

“You don’t know that—” Pietro began to protest.

“No one in their right mind would hire me. And that’s assuming I won’t be spending the rest of my life behind bars.” He folded the box flaps with slightly more force than necessary. “Seeing as you’re already here, help yourself to whatever you like. I’ll be taking the rest of these downstairs to the breakroom, once I’m done. I know Will was always partial to my microscope.”

“I’m not taking your things!” Pietro let out a long, deep exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to talk to you.”

“Very well.” Watts finally turned to face him, and Pietro was struck by how ill he looked. A gauntness clung to his features, though whether from a lack of food or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t say. Stubble had begun to creep in below his jaw, and his clothes were far more disheveled than he could ever recall them being. “Talk.”

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“And what good will that do me?” His eyes were dull. “Even if the odds weren’t overwhelmingly stacked against me, what lawyer would touch my case?”

“I’m sure someone would, if you asked around.” Pietro hated the idea, but he willed himself to say it: “What about Jacques Schnee? You’re acquaintances, right? The SDC settles lawsuits all the time, so they’ve got to have legal experts on retainer. Maybe you could arrange something with him—”

“If you think I’ll let myself be indebted to that myopic narcissist—” As quickly as it flared, the fire in his eyes faded. Watts’ posture folded in on itself as the anger drained from him, leaving only fretful cinders behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard blink. “I was out of line.”

Pietro worried his lower lip. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Do you want to go out? Get something to drink?”

“I—” Watts cut himself off with a sigh, and shook his head. “No. Thank you. I have plans to meet with one of my former patients later. He wants to discuss alternatives for his Dust poisoning, seeing as his treatments have been…discontinued.”

Pietro cast his gaze helplessly about the room, trying to think of something. With an unpleasant lurch in his chest, he realized that he couldn’t. “I’ll leave you to it, then?” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to protest, Pietro turned to leave. He stopped with his fingers on the door handle, and glanced back. “You’ll come and get me if you need anything, right?”

Watts opened another box, and began writing on the side. “Of course.”

Save for the occasional fleeting glimpse, Pietro saw little of his friend over the next two weeks.

While his presence on the campus was a necessity, Watts seemed to be doing what he could to minimize it. Only the administrators—who refused to speak about it—and his former clients—who spoke too much about it—spent any length of time with him. His public avoidance did little to deter the gossip, which varied in accuracy and failed to account for all the details, given the clandestine nature of his termination. It didn’t help that Pietro staunchly refused to contribute to it, and told off anyone bold enough to press the subject.

When their paths did cross, Watts didn’t linger long enough to chat. He had a faraway look on his face, and his appearance was unkempt.

It worried Pietro that he no longer seemed to care about himself.

It was early into the evening when Watts visited his office.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” Pietro glanced up from his paperwork to see Watts hovering in the doorway. Strangely, he was carrying the bromeliad. “Might I steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly!” Pietro pushed aside the document stack and gestured warmly to the chair. To his dismay, Watts remained standing. “What can I do for you?”

Watts adjusted the potted plant in his arms. “I was wondering,” he began, “if I could ask for a small favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Pietro didn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly calm expression on his face, so at odds with his recent emotional state.

“I need someone to look after this for me.” Watts took a step forward, and set the plant on the edge of the desk. “If it’s left unattended for a day or two it’s not an issue. Any longer, though, and it begins to dry out. The care required for it isn’t overly involved; the soil simply needs to be misted with distilled water every so—”

“Wait a second,” Pietro said. “Why does it sound like you’re going somewhere?”

Watts hesitated. “I’m travelling to Evadne for a few days.”

Pietro started to rise. “Arthur—”

He held up a hand. “I’m forbidden from international flights, not domestic. The southern coast of Solitas is under Atlesian jurisdiction, is it not?”

Slowly, Pietro sank back into his chair. “It is,” he agreed. “But why are you travelling now?”

Watts closed his eyes. “I want to see the coast one last time.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

His friend didn’t comment. He merely stared at him.

“Fine,” Pietro relented, “I’ll watch it for you. But just so you know, I’ve killed plants before.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s quite all right.”

Pietro reached forward to move the pot, only to be taken aback when his hand was intercepted by Watts’. The contact startled him, so much so that he didn’t react when Watts lightly squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Pietro forced his jaws to move. “For what?”

“For more than I care to admit.”

The hand retreated.

“Enjoy your trip, Arthur.” Pietro tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Watts opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He dipped his head in a polite nod, before turning on his heel.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

It was the second day after Watts’ departure for Evadne. The office was unrecognizable without any of its usual décor—walls now stripped bare of his possessions, floorspace empty save for the generic chairs and desk pushed off to the corner. The open space was dissonant with Pietro’s memories of the many times he’d spent in this room, either with other members of the team, or by himself. Almost as soon as the thoughts formed, they were accompanied by a pang of nostalgia. His fingernails dug into his palm.

Adjusting to the new normal was a prospect he dreaded, not just for the uncertainties at play, but simply because he didn’t want things to change. In truth, Pietro didn’t know what the Council’s verdict would be.

And he would have been lying if he said the thought didn’t keep him up at night.

It was as he was looking around the room that he noticed something glint in the waste bin. Intrigued, he bent down and pushed aside the crumpled papers partially obscuring it. When he lifted it from the bin, Pietro was surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the plaque’s glassy surface.

The Atlesian Institute of Technology is honored to present the Rigel Award to Arthur Watts in recognition of his contributions to the fields of archotherology and pneumatophysics.

“I know things are bad right now, Arthur, but you shouldn’t just throw things like this away…” He’d been at the reception where the award had been presented; it had been a milestone in Watts’ career.

Carefully, Pietro wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. A stubborn resolve seized him.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the spare key,” Pietro told himself, as the lock clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as the apartment door shut behind him, was the immediate onset of cold. Ice cold. The sort of chill that settled in a person’s lungs, and caused their breath to fog as they gasped for air.

“Gods above.” Pietro wrapped his arms around himself. “I know you like it cold, but this is ridiculous. What’s the temperature in here?”

Not intending to trip his way through the room, Pietro reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

“The bulb must have blown out.” He resorted to the flashlight on his scroll. Mindful of where he stepped, Pietro moved into the hall where the thermostat was. The last thing his friend needed was to return to a drafty apartment.

Understandably, he was confused when he tapped the screen, only for the thermostat to not respond.

“Surely this isn’t broken too…?”

A nagging suspicion prompted him to reach for the next light switch in his path. The hall remained dark, even after Pietro flipped it several times.

Something wasn’t right.

The next three lights he tried remained unresponsive to his attempts. Pietro stopped in the kitchen, his scroll in one hand, the glass plaque grasped loosely in the other. What else wasn’t working?

His gaze fell to the sink. With a slither of incredulity, Pietro turned the handle on the faucet.

It was cold, granted, but not cold enough to freeze the pipes. And he refused to believe that all of the utilities simultaneously stopped working. Even if they did, Watts would never have knowingly allowed them to remain in disrepair.

His mind discarded one possibility after the next, trying to identify a pattern, an explanation.

Pietro lifted the plaque to eye level.

For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d want to get rid of something so important. It was a question he’d have to ask him when he came back—

His eyes widened.

Glass skated over the tiles as the plaque shattered against the floor. Pietro fumbled with his scroll, cursing, as he bolted back down the hall.

James answered on the second ring. “Pietro? What—”

“Where are you?” he gasped.

“The Academy,” he said. “Is something—”

“Meet me in your office!” The door slammed shut behind him. “We need to stop him!”

“And you’re sure about this?” James gravely looked on as Pietro paced.

“Why else would he have gotten rid of his things?” He gestured wildly. “He already believes his life is over. He had no reason to keep them.”

Those words had taken on an entirely new meaning, one that made Pietro feel sick.

“I understand, given the circumstances, how you would've arrived at that conclusion. But is it possible you’re wrong?” He spoke with the calm, patient authority of his rank, with a pragmatism meant to ease. All it did was agitate Pietro even more. “Arthur is a lot of things, but suicidal? It doesn’t seem—”

“You haven’t seen him the last few weeks!” His voice shot up an octave. “He’s hardly eating, barely sleeping, he isolated himself from nearly everyone. I knew he was depressed, but I didn’t think…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “James, please. We need to do something.”

James leaned back into his desk, hands braced against the edge. “We should consider every possibility before we act.”

Pietro halted in his tracks. “What other possibilities?”

“Consider what you’ve just told me. He disposed of his personal belongings—things that would have encumbered him. He distanced himself from other people—social contacts that would have tied him to the kingdom. He canceled his utilities—lien he no longer has to waste.”

Pietro turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Given the pending criminal charges, it’s possible that he’s trying to flee the kingdom.”

Pietro tensed.

“Think carefully about your last conversation.” James watched him closely. “Did he indicate that he planned on coming back?”

Mutely, Pietro shook his head.

“If he wanted to leave without drawing attention to himself, Evadne would be the logical choice,” he said. “It’s a small town on the water frequently used as a stopover between the interior cities and Anima’s northern coast. It has a comparably smaller military presence, and most of its visitors are tourists. He won’t look out of place. And if he’s brought lien with him, it wouldn’t take much persuasion to stow away on an airship or a boat. Dust smugglers regularly make use of those tactics.”

Pietro started to shake.

“Both possibilities are upsetting in their own right, and I’d prefer for neither to be true. But the evidence isn’t something we can just ignore. Right now, the latter seems more likely. I didn’t notice—”

“Of course you didn’t notice!” Pietro shouted. “You were so busy trying to end his career that you didn’t realize you were ending his life!”

His words echoed around the room. In the stunned silence that followed, Pietro continued to yell.

“‘I want to see the coast one last time.’ That’s what he said to me when he left! He didn’t mean before he was arrested; he meant before he died. And why wouldn’t he? What did he have left? Either he was going to waste away in a cell, or he was going to spend the rest of his life unable to rebuild it. No one in the medical community will speak to him, no one on the team will look at him—” He doubled over with a strangled cough. “I know what he did was wrong. I think it’s wrong. But I don’t want him to die because of it! I don’t want to be right, but with everything I’ve seen we can’t wait around to find out if I’m wrong. James, please, we have to—”

A hand fell on his shoulder. Pietro wheezed.

“We’ll find him.” James’ grip tightened. “I can have an airship ready in ten minutes.”

The night was alive with the weaving bands of the auroras.

A distant part of his mind tried to find comfort in the emerald and indigo light, as it rippled through the sky amidst a backdrop of stars.

“We should be there in a few hours.” From the seat across from him, James consulted his scroll. “Our ETA will be about 6:00 AM.”

Pietro turned away from the window. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“I have a special operative who’s currently stationed in the area. Her name’s Caroline. I radioed her as we were boarding. Her team’s going to meet us when we land and help with the search.”

He nodded.

“Before Arthur left”—James glanced up from the screen—“did he tell you where he was staying?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “He didn’t.”

“That’s all right.” James returned to his scroll. “If he checked into a hotel, the transaction will be on his bank statement. I should have access to his account history in a minute.”

“James.” Pietro steeled himself. “If I’m right…about…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “How are we going to handle this?”

“It depends on what we find, and what—condition he’s in.” James’ face was pinched. “The plan is to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else.”

“‘Anyone else’?”

James’ expression darkened. “I’ve seen situations like this before, with soldiers and Huntsmen. Sometimes they lash out.”

Suddenly, Pietro was grateful for his friend’s long military career, and the experience that came with it.

That went doubly so a second later when his scroll chimed, granting him clearance.

James read over the information as it poured in. “Well, this confirms what we already suspected—he canceled his utilities a few days ago.”

“Did you find out where he’s staying?”

“Let me see—got it. I have the name and address. It’s…” He scrolled through something on the screen. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Pietro leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “What is it?”

“Right before he left, he emptied his account.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hang on. I might be able to trace where it went—” James trailed off.

“What is it?”

“He—” James peered at the records. “A large percentage of it was made out as a check. To the Ateliers.”

Pietro didn’t speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d vomit.

“The remainder appears to have been withdrawn, though I’m not sure why.”

The cabin was mercifully silent as James immersed himself in parsing through the records. With nothing to do and only his thoughts to preoccupy him, Pietro returned to the window. It was several minutes before James spoke again:

“It’s going to be a while before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

When he trusted himself to not be sick, Pietro answered. “I’m okay, James.”

It was a lie. And judging by James’ expression, he didn’t believe it either.

“General Ironwood.” A woman of remarkably short stature saluted them. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

She fell in step beside him while her two subordinates took up positions at the rear. For every one step James took, Caroline had to take three.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“We’ve been monitoring the building from afar for the last half hour. We haven’t seen Dr. Watts enter or leave.”

James didn’t comment. Rather, he quickened his pace.

“Do you have any orders for us?”

“The manager will be expecting us, although she wasn’t fully informed as to why. I want you and your team to start in his room, then sweep the premises while we interview the staff.” He stopped with his hand on the glass doors, and gave her a hard stare. “Do not, under any circumstances, harm him. If the situation becomes dangerous, you are to either deescalate it or wait for me to join you. Do I make myself clear?”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

A woman with a sheet of long, violet hair stood waiting for them in the lobby. “Welcome, General Ironwood. Dr. Polendina.” She offered a shallow bow. As she rose, she registered the accompanying operatives, and her eyes flickered with unspoken questions. “How may I assist you?”

“We’d like to speak with you, along with any staff that may have interacted with one of your guests.”

The manager glanced at Caroline. “Are we in danger?”

“No. Not likely,” said James.

The manager didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t protest. “Very well. Please follow me.”

She guided the small group to the front desk where the receptionist sat, their eyes wide in bewilderment. “May I have the guest’s name?” she asked.

“Arthur Watts,” James said.

Without prompting, the receptionist keyed in the name. “Uh. He’s in room 3A.”

James turned to the manager. “May I have your permission to send my team upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded. At once Coraline and her subordinates dispersed.

The manager waited until they’d filed into the elevator before she spoke: “You said you had questions for me?”

“Along with any staff that interacted with him,” James clarified.

“I’ve interacted with him.”

The receptionist seemed to regret that decision the moment three pairs of eyes turned on them. Nevertheless, they continued: “The guy with the mustache, right?”

Pietro’s pulse stuttered sharply. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning. He left over an hour ago. Said he was going for a walk.”

It took every shred of willpower Pietro had to not run out those doors.

“Did he leave with any belongings on his person? A bag, perhaps?” James asked.

The receptionist shook their head. “No, sir. Just his wallet and his room key, like he usually does.”

Pietro swapped a look with James, before turning back to the receptionist. “What do you mean by ‘usually’?”

“This is the time when he usually goes out. He stops to talk to the receptionist—well, me, I guess—and then heads out for a few hours. Comes back around noon, grabs lunch in the dining hall, heads back upstairs. Goes out again around five o’clock, and comes back some time after seven.” They gave a helpless shrug. “I—I guess he has a routine.”

Some of the tension left James’ shoulders. “It’s possible Arthur did in fact come here just to destress,” he said.

What should have been a reassuring thought made Pietro want to sink into the ground in mortification. He could only imagine what Watts’ face would look like when he returned to the hotel, to find that Pietro had brought along the entire cavalry. All because he assumed his friend had a death wish.

Pietro was dragged out of his pity party by James’ next question: “Do you remember anything specific about his behavior? Anything that might have looked or sounded strange?”

To his surprise, the receptionist looked guilty. “Well…” They glanced at the manager.

“Whatever it is, you’re not in trouble,” she said.

The receptionist hesitated a second longer, before heaving a reluctant sigh. “You get a lot of guests in a place like this, right? So you don’t always remember all of them. Not unless they stand out in some way. He…” They paused. “He’s been nothing but polite and friendly to all the staff.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly noteworthy,” James observed.

The receptionist fidgeted. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just that. He tipped us well.” They swallowed. “Like, really well.”

The lingering dread from earlier resurfaced. “How much did he tip you?” Pietro asked.

They averted their gaze. “Ten thousand lien. Each.”

The dread beat savage wings against his ribs.

Out of his periphery, James stepped off to the side with a finger pressed to his earpiece. A second later his face went unsettlingly blank. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to speak with my team.”

Pietro dimly registered his departure. He looked between the two hotel staff, his mind frantically scrambling for an explanation other than the one he didn’t want to hear. “Did he say anything?” he asked. Begged. “Anything that you might remember could help."

They considered his words with renewed thoughtfulness. “When he’d come back from his walks, I’d ask him how he was—the regular sort of small talk you’d make with guests. He told me that he went down to the beach. When I asked him, ‘Did you do anything while you were there?’ he said, ‘Not today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.’”

“Pietro.”

James had returned.

Coraline and her team hurried through the lobby; he could just make out “mobilize search-and-rescue” being barked into her earpiece as they rushed past.

He regarded Pietro with pale, haunted eyes, before slowly holding out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A note hung from his fingertips.

After four days of searching, Arthur Watts was declared dead.

James scrubbed at his face. “I already told you, Camilla,” he sighed, as the doors slid open, “I’ll have it resolved once I—oh, Pietro. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Pietro managed a weak smile. “Disappointed to see me?” he asked, as he strode into the room.

“Relieved, actually.” James set aside some manner of document he’d been working on. “I was half-expecting another lecture.” Pietro accepted the tacit invitation to join him, and eased into the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Pietro tapped his fingers against the armrest. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Why do I get the impression I won’t like what you’re about to ask me?”

“Because you won’t.”

Predictably, James wasn’t amused, but he didn’t try to bodily throw him out of the room, so that was a good start. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

This conversation had sounded so much easier in his head. Pietro contemplated which option to take, before deciding on the direct approach: “Did you ever look over the report Arthur wrote after the surgery?”

It was brief, but Pietro didn’t miss the flash of regret James very neatly concealed behind unwavering calm. He steepled his hands. “I did,” he answered.

“Did you see the post-op notes?”

“I did.”

“But did you read them?” he pressed.

There was a hint of humor in his reply: “I read them to the extent I could understand them.”

Pietro braced himself. “I took another look at his work on Auratic intercision. He did it, James.”

When the other man said nothing, he hurriedly launched into his speech. “Even though the initial attempt failed, he managed to deduce what went wrong during the procedure. I won’t waste your time with all the technical mumbo jumbo, but I did the math. Split-Aura transfer is possible.”

He held James’ gaze. “We can finally build Penny.”

For a moment that stretched into eternity, James remained silent. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “You want my permission, to use the same research that nearly got him arrested, to complete your project.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Pietro said.

“I can certainly appreciate the irony, if nothing else.” He narrowed his eyes—thoughtfully, not in anger. “This wasn’t an idea you came up with overnight. It’s been nearly two months. Why did you wait this long to bring it up?”

“It’s as you said: it’s been two months. The last of the journalists have retired the story. People are no longer fixated on the proceedings. No more controversy, no more public backlash. The scandal died with him.” It hurt to say, but Pietro pushed onward: “Synthesizing an Aura has proven impossible, but now, we have a viable alternative. We can’t bring Mia Atelier back. But perhaps we can give someone else a chance at life.”

He waited.

At last, James nodded. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

“There’s just one problem.”

James regarded him intently. “The procedure requires a donor, does it not? You need a volunteer.”

Pietro straightened. “You’re looking at him.”

It had been a while since he last had the chance to sit and diagram.

A combination of blueprints, tablets, and holographic projectors were scattered about the desk. Other than the sleepy hum of the generator, and the scratching of pen against paper, his office was silent. The ambiance gave Pietro a pleasant rhythm to work to as he alternated between mediums.

He was in the middle of diagramming the thrusters when a voice spoke up from behind: “Burning the midnight oil?”

Pietro gladly accepted the mug James offered him, as he occupied the empty seat. “Just getting a little more work done before I call it quits.” He grinned. “I just finished the template for her skeleton. It’s on the tablet to your right if you want to see it.”

“This one?” James picked up the tablet in question.

“Swipe left, it’s the first file.”

The device lit up in his hands. James made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as his eyes darted across the screen.

“What do you think?” Pietro asked.

“I think”—he continued to skim through the files—“I picked the right proposal.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. He tried to discreetly dab it away.

Not discreetly enough, it seemed. James shot him an inquiring look.

“Oh, don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive right now.” Pietro ducked his head. “It’s not every day you get to become a father.”

James wore a knowing, if somewhat bemused smile, but he was considerate enough to not say anything. He turned his attention back to the files in his hand.

“A lot of those are aesthetic mock-ups. I haven’t finalized anything, so if you want to throw in your two cents on the design input, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did he know?”

Pietro’s hand stilled over the parchment. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he lifted his head to deduce one for himself.

His pulse beat painfully beneath his skin.

The file on the screen was one of the earliest drafts for Penny’s design. It was also one of the only files to have received a color palette. Red hair hung in thick curls about her pale face. Her cheeks were flecked with freckles that contrasted just enough to be visible, just below her eyes.

Eyes that were a very familiar shade of green.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. He debated saying anything at all.

But there was no judgment on James’ face, no hint of contempt in his voice. Only sympathy.

“No,” Pietro answered. He let out a tired sigh, and set the pen down. “And he never suspected. I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?”

“I wanted to tell him for a long time." He closed his eyes. "I’ve spent the last four months regretting every day that I didn’t. And on every one of those days, I wondered if telling him would have made a difference.”

“It’s not your fault,” said James.

“I know.” Pietro reached for the photo on the edge of his desk, and gently lifted the frame into his hands. It was the last picture the team had taken together. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

He lifted his eyes to the file in James’ hands, to the image of the young girl staring back at him.

“But maybe, through someone else—someone new—he can still be here.”

“Dr. Watts?”

Watts lifted his head from the chart he'd been reviewing.

At the entrance of his lab stood Hazel, his expression as impassive as ever.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Watts smoothed down the front of his coat. “Tell Salem I’ll be right there.”

Guess I've got some explaining to do. For anyone curious about my RWBY worldbuilding and headcanons:

Pietro not being disabled prior to the start of the series - We have no confirmation of this in canon, but I think that donating a percentage of his Aura to Penny has slowly chipped away at his health. I based this partly on the fact that in the show, the areas on his body where his Aura has been excised most prominently are over his legs and lower torso. If donating too much of his Aura is fatal, then it stands to reason that there are intermediary complications between points A and D - loss of mobility in his legs, chronic respiratory illness, worsening vision, and so on.

Archotherology (Gr. archo-, ruler, + -thero-, beast, + -logy, study of) - The study of Grimm.

Pneumatophysics (Gr. pneûma, soul, + -physics) - The study of the soul and its physical manifestation, Aura.

Apothymetics (Gr. apo-, derived from, + -thym-, soul, + E. -ics, from [?] Gr. -ikós, pertaining to) - The study of Semblances; a subdiscipline of pneumatophysics.

Auratic disease - An adverse condition that typically affects a person’s Aura, and by extension, their Semblance. Auratic diseases are generated by plague-type Grimm, and then transmitted to people through proximity. Watts' research simulated an Auratic disease, which is why Pietro later acquires a manmade version of CAD. You can click here to read more about them.

Evadne - A coastal city in southern Solitas. Named after the Greek figure Evadne, the wife of King Argus.

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