#for the record my opinion is that this is sort of true but obviously no Elf would think of it in those terms

[starbuck]

oh my god, i was trying to remember the couple of mountains goats genius annotations that made me really mad a while ago and i couldn't remember them, but i was just listening to zopilote machine so NOW i remember one of them.

it was for That Black Ice Cream Song on the lyric "i knew i was living in a long, long dream / when you fed me the black ice cream" and the annotation was essentially "the narrator realized it had been a dream because black ice cream isn't real" like. What if i stomped you to death with my hooves?

#i need to start a collection. i'll call it 'overly literal mountain goats annotations' #bc that was 100% also my issue with the other one i can't remember #just like. #That Black Ice Cream Song is such a *song* and you're gonna reduce it to THAT?? #how DARE you #obviously i'm being a bit silly here - no offense to the annotator on any personal level #i just personally don't feel like all mountain goats songs are meant for that sort of literal interpretation #it's highly-emotional vibe-based poetry set to music #just go with it #(for the record i have mainly listened to the older stuff so maybe the newer stuff is different idk) #(but it certainly holds true for the particular songs i'm discussing - in my opinion anyway) #who cares what it's 'about'? just FEEL it

[communistkenobi]

Obviously art does not rest on methods, media, or the amount of effort a person exerted in making it, but I think AI art is yet another way that capitalism is changing the form and function of art (separating artworks from their original meaning on a different and even larger scale) and given that it is made by exploiting workers (the original artists and the people they pay pennies to sort through it to remove disturbing images) it makes people feel yet more powerless in the face of corporations so there is a big negative reaction to it. This negative reaction may not be articulated in the way you want but I think it's very understandable that people have reactionary feelings about large scale corporate exploitation.

just for the record before I respond, I am replying to this ask in good faith just as you are asking in good faith, I’m not angry at you and many of these questions I’m asking are rhetorical, for the purposes of reflection. So please no slapfighting in the notes, thank you!

First: I’m not disputing exploitation. in fact privileging AI as uniquely exploitative handwaves away the massive amount of exploitation that artists already endure and have endured for a very long time, as well as the horrific amounts of labour exploitation involved in mass producing the ‘tools of the trade’ so to speak.

But this is, again, a non-sequitur to my argument, which is that art produced under exploitative, destructive, “lazy” or politically repugnant conditions is still art. MCU films are art regardless of the fact that they are 3-hour long informercials for the American empire and require massive labour exploitation from CGI animators, actors, film set workers, and everything else: advertisements are art: AI art is art. Horrifying, trite, unoriginal, bad, socially destructive, maybe all of those things are true and we can talk about the merits of those claims (I certainly have strong opinions about them), but what is politically gained from saying bad, unoriginal, horrifying, or trite art isn’t art? Whose definitions are we using here, and if those definitions should be universalised, what does it mean for artists who are only unoriginal, only bad, only whatever else?

I return to my original example: are children not qualified to be artists if they only make “bad” art? I used to trace movie stills from Harry Potter photo books as a child because I loved the characters - am I a fraud for doing so? Am I given grace for my incompetence and “theft” on the basis of me “still learning how to do real art”? When does this grace period end? If we argue that only struggle can produce art, what level of struggle? Struggle for whom? Drawing isn’t difficult for me because I was taught how to hold a pencil, read, write, and draw by a western industrial publicly-funded primary school by a teacher paid with public tax dollars, supplemented with help every night from my mother and father, two married cishet middle class people in a mostly stable (if miserable and verbally abusive) marriage - all of which is resting atop stolen indigenous land. Under what historical conditions can arguments for artistic struggle be made? When we argue for struggle(/hard work/whatever) as the basis of art we are pre-supposing a universal subject whose struggle is globally standardized and calculable - which in all of these discussions on here is (implicitly, though sometimes explicitly) a white able-bodied settler living in a western state who benefits from universal primary education that teaches them the foundational skills of how to make art. You can probably add university educated to that too, given how many of these arguments seem to be swarmed by undergraduate students.

Arguing that there needs to be some threshold for method, labour, intent, or message for art to ‘actually be art’ is politically reactionary and is what I am responding to. It requires transcendental claims about the Artist as a unique labourer set apart from and superior to all others, one whose skills are universalised and whose intent is always observable and present in their work. So if people want to talk about exploitation they should talk about exploitation, not the definition of art. It’s not my fault people can’t stay on topic!

#asks #ai art #<- tagging for blacklisting purposes #sorry I should’ve done this earlier lol

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 45: Absence

Summary: Loki takes a trip abroad and longs for what he left behind.

Word Count: 2,059

Author's Notes: Hey everyone. This chapter of Thrown will be the last one posted until January. Holidays are taking their toll and my writing speed has slowed considerably so I'm going to take a little hiatus. My current plan is to start posting again on January 11, 2024, and hopefully returning to the once-a-week schedule at that time. Thanks again for your patience. Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates, and take care.

Thrown Masterlist Loki Masterlist

Loki didn't care for it, the Avengers compound. It was all much too pristine. Clean lines and straight edges. Crisp white and chrome and glass. Sterile. It felt lifeless, when compared to the meandering streets and stone buildings back in New Asgard. Perhaps worst of all, it was full of Avengers.

The tower had been superior, Loki felt. At least the tower had a certain element of grandeur going for it. He kept this opinion to himself. Something told him that may be a sore point.

This trip had been mandatory. There were things to discuss regarding New Asgard, but chief among them was the fact of Loki's continued residency. They called it a "review of progress", but obviously it was a check in to make certain he hadn't been using his freedom to plot some sort of coup. The euphemism was laughable. Loki wouldn't deny that he had progressed, in many ways quite drastically, since he came to this realm, but in what way could these men hope to measure it?

Moreover, he found it insulting that they believed if he had been plotting a coup, that they any hope of detecting it.

There had been interviews and meetings and endless questions. Thor had, apparently, written very detailed reports regarding the goings-on of New Asgard, and particularly Loki's contributions. While the descriptions in the reports were true, Loki felt they portrayed his actions in an overly-generous light.

Throughout the assessments and interrogations, Loki hadn't mentioned you. There were a number of reasons, of course. They would not be likely to understand the way he cared for you, and even less likely to understand the way you cared for him. They would wonder how it was possible that someone like you might love him. He didn't have the energy to explain that he wondered the same thing. They would suspect he had bewitched or corrupted you somehow. Possibly, they might insult you for your folly, which was certainly not something he would be able to tolerate. More than any of that, however, describing you to them simply felt wrong. You were something more precious than this. This trip here was a direct result of the most terrible period of his life. A punctuation on his misery. Even drawing the concept of you into this mire felt like it would sully you somehow.

And so he refrained from mentioning the source of his most drastic changes while here on Midgard. Thor followed his lead, and only brought you up occasionally, and then he only described you as their friend. Loki was grateful.

The days dragged on. Any time he felt that surely he had answered every question of every authority, there was someone new with something else they had to ask, just to be sure. And still that was not the most unbearable part. The most unbearable part was being away from you. This absence made him question how he had ever gone so long without putting his hands on you. It was ridiculous, in the basest sense. He had gone much longer than this without seeing you. He had gone a thousand years without seeing you. He had ached for you for months while standing by your side, but somehow this ache was stronger.

Thor relayed messages by text, and even offered to facilitate a call, which Loki accepted only once. The walls here were listening, quite literally, and there was little he wanted to say to you that he was comfortable having recorded by Stark. Still, hearing your voice had buoyed his spirits and made the rest of this trip moderately more tolerable.

One night, Loki dreamed. He was aware of the dream immediately. He was on the mountain terrace that your hiking trail led to, standing by the stream. The moon was bright and the stars were out, as they had been this past winter when you had brought them here. You were there, standing near the edge, looking out over the landscape. He breathed your name. You looked back over your shoulder, a smile breaking immediately. "Loki." It was only his name, but it carried with it all the longing that he felt. The two of you met and embraced and it all seemed so real; the air, the sky, your skin. It was an illusion, yes, but it was true enough for now, and he held you in his arms for the rest of the night, if only in his dream.

**

This morning was to be their last here at the Compound. There was another meeting, supposedly the final one, where Loki would be interrogated. Thor insisted that "interrogated" was not the right word. Loki felt certain that it was the right word when he found himself sitting at a glass table in some conference room, his brother beside him, with Stark, Rogers, and Fury seated across. Stark and Rogers seemed to be amiable enough, but Fury kept a stone-faced expression. Loki realized he had never seen the man look anything other than angry, or at best mildly irritated. It could be that his face simply looked that way. Perhaps having just the one eye was naturally limiting in expression. He and Thor should exchange notes, he thought. He was not foolish enough to say it out loud.

"I gotta hand it to you, Billy Goat Gruff, you're earning all the gold stars here." Stark wore that insufferable smirk of his. "What he means to say," Rogers, ever the peacemaker, cut in, "is that we think you've been doing very well in your time in New Asgard." "I'm grateful that my existence meets your approval." Loki fought to keep his teeth from grinding. "Oh come on, don't be like that." Stark closed a folder in front of him with a flourish. "You know why we feel the way we do. Before you showed up here in your TARDIS, the last time we met you were blowing us up and tossing us off buildings. I mean, you cut out a man's eyeball for god's sake. Completely unnecessary move, I might add." Loki looked away with a scowl, fighting back violent memories. "And now," Stark continued, "now you're carrying groceries and building homes and teaching underprivileged kids magic algebra or whatever." He leaned back in his chair. "I think it's understandable that we're impressed. You've worked so hard to overcome your natural tendencies." "Perhaps you've mistaken what my natural tendencies are." Loki muttered. "And we're willing to accept that." Rogers offered. "But you understand why we've had to take these measures." "Certainly." "That being said," he glanced at Stark and Fury, "I think we can agree that we can lighten up a bit. Less surveillance. Fewer reports. You've put in the work and you've earned a bit more trust." Loki was annoyed with himself for feeling appreciative of such a meager gesture. But he did, all the same. "Thank you."

Fury spoke for the first time. "I have a few questions first, before we loosen the leash on this would-be mass murder." Thor scowled at the title, but didn't respond otherwise. Loki nodded. "I am happy to oblige." Fury leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, lacing his fingers. "We've spoken at length about your past; the good and the bad. I want to talk about your future." "Of course." "What do you see in your future? Are you really content living in a small town on the coast of Norway? Ruling over nothing in particular? Do you truly think a prince, a god, like you won't get bored? Crave something more?"

Images passed through Loki's mind. The winding streets of New Asgard, the road that led to the mortal town, your farm nestled in the bend. He saw your studio, your kitchen, your face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I can say with absolute certainty that everything I crave can be found in New Asgard. Even now, all I wish is to be there again."

Fury's eye bored into him, perhaps trying to judge if he was sincere. He seemed to find what he was looking for and leaned back in his seat.

It was silent for a moment, Stark cut his eyes from one person to the next and drummed his fingers on the table. "Okay, so we're done here? The wonder twins are free to go?"

**

If Loki had his way they would have made for the hangar directly from that conference room, but there were hours still to pass before departure. Thor had to pack, he had farewells to bid, and even had lunch with some of his teammates. Loki caught word that the Widow would be there and he was certain his presence would sour the mood. He abstained, and had a meager meal in his room instead. He fixed his mind on the promise of seeing you again and whiled away the hours until finally, finally they boarded the quinjet. The flight was tolerable enough, knowing that every minute brought him closer to you. When they landed he didn't bother going home at all. He said his goodbye to Thor and immediately set off down the road from New Asgard.

He opened your door and was met with the smell of baking. You were in the kitchen, one tray of cookies cooling on a rack and another about to enter the oven. His ache was soothed at seeing you, but it wasn't enough. He called your name as he crossed the room as quickly as he could.

You glanced up at him as he reached you. "Oh, hey Loki." It was much more casual than he expected. Not deterred, he leaned in to kiss you but missed his target as you turned away to place the tray in the oven. "How was your flight back?" He was stunned for a moment, but took a step closer. "It was fine." He leaned again and once more you took no notice and turned at the last moment to another counter. This time he narrowed his eyes. "No fights with Thor?" He didn't answer, instead he placed himself in your path and his suspicions were confirmed when you casually turned from him and reached up to open a cabinet. You startled when his arm shot out and snapped it shut. His eyes were burning as he loomed and growled. "If you don't kiss me immediately I will burn this realm to the ground." You considered this for a moment. "Where would you start? There are a couple places I would-" You were cut off as he looped an arm around your waist and pulled you close in a crushing kiss. He was gratified when your hands immediately found their place at his shoulders.

Once he was satisfied he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours. "You are, without question, the most irritating, petulant mortal I have ever had the misfortune of loving." A smirk curled your lips. "How many mortals have you loved?" He chuckled softly and kissed your cheek. "Just the one." "Sounds like I'll be winning a bunch of titles, then." "Yes. Superlative in all respects."

He was pleased to notice that your hands didn't leave him, winding their way around his neck. You leaned your head against his shoulder and sighed. "I missed you." "And I, you. Desperately." "How did it go?" "Very well. For several days I refrained from throwing Stark out of a window. A resounding success." You laughed. "I'm so proud of you." "And how were things here?" "I wasted away, pining for my lost love." "I should expect nothing less." He stated solemnly. "I do have the remedy."

Without notice, he bent and grasped your waist, effortlessly tossing you over his shoulder. You squealed. "Loki!" He started carrying you toward the bedroom. You kicked and wriggled, to his absolute delight. "Loki wait!" "Oh, I have waited long enough, I think." You reached away from him, toward the oven. "The cookies!" "You should have considered that before you gave that insolent performance at my homecoming." You struggled some more, laughing. "At least let me turn the oven off!" He waved a hand and there was a click of a knob. With no more excuses, you relented.

He stepped into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

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[daisyblog]

Capital FM Interview

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry talks about his new music and opened up about some of his other massive projects for 2022; movies My Policeman and Don’t Worry Darling…and of course YN.

"Please welcome to the show Harry Styles" Roman announced, after explaining he was wearing a dressing gown on the show today because Harry wore a purple one during his last interview on Capital FM.

Harry and YN have just flown into America for Harry to prepare for his Coachella shows later in the week, so Harry was doing the interview over a Zoom call.

"Duh duh duh duh...duh duh duh...duh duh duh duh..duh duh duh" Harry begins to chant, waving his arms in the air, through the screen, wearing a white t-shirt and his earphones dangling from his ears. The presenters joined in with his chant.

"Mate It's been ages how are you?" Roman asks.

Harry gives the biggest grin "I'm very well thanks..yeah..I'm very well..I-its uh..thank you very much for the dressing gown reference"

"No it's okay..well..well..I mean I was upset that you didn't turn up in a dressing gown on my screen but I'm sure everyone in the world would be upset if you didn't turn up in a dressing gown-"

Harry interrupted Roman "I can run and get one"

"Just do it" Roman encouraged, but Chris the other radio presenter explained they haven't got enough time, so Harry pulls his t-shirt over his head slightly to pretend he was wearing one, causing the presenters to laugh.

Roman continued the interview "You're back..you got your brand new song As It Was..so many people absolutely love it..we love it in here..the video is super cool as well-"

"Thank you so much" Harry politely said, as he played with a piece of his hair.

"There is obviously...the best thing about this is that people have waited so long to hear your voice once again...on a brand new song but it's not your voice that we hear first..isn't that right?" Roman questioned, still wearing his dressing gown and headphones placed over his hood.

"It is yeah...it's the voice of YN's little sister-" Harry began to explain before Roman and Sian is heard 'awwing' at his confession.

"Her and YN's little brother used to try and call us before bedtime every night so..uh..one time I don't know..YN's phone didn't ring or something..so they phoned mine but I missed it and she sent me that and I kind of dug it out at some point while we were in the studio..and put it in front of the song for some reason and I kind of just fell in love with it so..it stuck" Harry explained how Doris and Ernest would phone their oldest sister and Harry each night to say goodnight to them.

"It is really nice but I do think that..that does mean she's officially a recording artist now-" Roman spoke.

"True" Sian agreed, interrupting her colleague "She get's a percentage"

"Yeh..she's a recording artist..you've got to share a grammy with her" Roman continued to explain his opinion.

Scratching the back of his head, Harry joked "Oh yeah..she was asking..she was asking for a big fee" causing Roman and Sian to roar with laughter at his sarcastic comment.

"What did Louis think..you know was he annoyed that you'd thought of the idea first of using his sister's voice in a song?" Chris continued to ask questions.

Harry thought before answering "Uh..no I don't think so..I think he was proud to be 'onest"

"We are loving this..it's the lead single from your upcoming album Harry's House..the artwork is you in like an upside-down room..all the furniture's glued to the ceiling..now I don't imagine this is exactly how your house looks but do you have anything weird and wonderful in your house like that-"

"I'd say at the moment it's kind of just..uh..piles of things which we're kind of sorting through-"

"What have you just moved?" Sian asked the singer.

"No we haven't-" Harry smiled shyly.

"You've just got piles of things" Chris laughed along with Harry.

"I'm trying to kind of empty out a little bit and kind of clear..uh..the space that I'm living in a little bit..get a little bit clearer" Harry explained.

"Are you a messy person then..is this the problem?" Sian questioned.

"I don't think I am..but YN would probably disagree" Harry laughed "That's why there are so many piles of things..because she'll be like c'mon let's have a clear out and then literally pile my stuff up..and uh..I don't always get the chance to sort through it..so yes and no"

"Oh she's one of them..a big clean and clear out" Sian commented.

Chris began to ask Harry about his home, location and accent "Speaking of..uh..homes..you're not actually at home at the moment you're in..you're in America..um..but we've seen some pretty wild accents from the 1D boys recently and specifically from um..Mr Liam Payne on the Oscars red carpet..um now I've got to ask you have you sort of started to get like a transatlantic accent from America at all?"

"Well I don't think in the time that I just got here 'cause we only got in yesterday for uh Coachella rehearsals..so uh..in the space I've been here this trip I think I've survived..I think it's a little bit all over the place" Harry began to explain his accent "I'm from up North and I've lived in London for ten years and I've spent a lot of time in America and stuff so..I think uh..I think when I'm with Americans they don't think I sound American at all and then I think sometimes when I'm with English people they expect me to sound American..I don't think I do but maybe I you know pick up some..a couple of bits along the way but I-" Harry let out a chuckle before continuing 'I have to translate for people sometimes..because they don't have a clue what YN is saying and it's so funny" Harry continued to laugh.

"Yeah she definitely hasn't lost her accent has she?" Roman joined in on the joke.

"No and I think it's more noticeable when we're in America" Harry continued to explain his girlfriends accent.

"You've been working so hard recently yeah...and we said you know-" Roman began before Harry interrupted.

"Thank you Roman"

"No I appreciate it mate I do appreciate it...um but look it's been a while since we last spoke to you and...the movie thing we've got to talk about that because I don't know whether to call you an artist..I don't know whether to call you an actor..what would you call yourself?..Are you an artist first or are you an actor?" Roman questioned Harry.

"I mean I think I'm a musician first" Harry explained before adding how lucky he felt to be able to do the jobs he loves and how grateful he is to be able to explore acting. Harry then went on to say how he was able to step out of his comfort zone with acting.

Roman continued with his questioning "Yeah and talking about comfort zones as well because I need you to..uh..sort something for me right because obviously I'm gonna go see both you're films that you've been doing recently..so you've got Don't Worry Darling and..uh..My Policeman..my question Harry what is the film that I can safely watch with my parents...because I've heard that it is getting racy"

"I don't know if you can watch either with your parents" Harry confessed, making the three presenters gasp with a 'what'. Harry made a joke saying he's going to have to do another film that Roman would be able to watch his mother. "Do you want to know something funny...well It's not funny for me but you'll find it funny"

"Of course mate" Roman eagerly nodded.

"YN said to me the other day" Harry let out a little chuckle before continuing "Shall we host..like uh..um..movie night with our families to watch the two films" Harry along with the presenters roared with laughter at YN's idea "I was like no..no let's not do that"

Sian still laughing spoke "That's absolutely brilliant"

"Hey maybe me and Shirley could join..it won't be so awkward for me then" Roman joked before thanking Harry for joining them all today.

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[vickyvicarious]

(spoilers)

For some reason, Jon saying how "resistless" Dracula is, how Dracula says oh so politely I'll take no refusal, reminds me of Mina.

Mina will send a telegraph to Van helsing about him coming to breakfast in more of a demand than a request, but so politely. Seward not wanting to share his records and making up excuses on why, and Mina not having any of it (politely).

Jonathan notes how "charming" Dracula is, how he talks to him in "his smooth way", how "resistless" he is. Seward also talks about letting Mina visit his violent patient because he "couldn't resist her" due to her being so appealing when asking.

Both Dracula and Mina use charming assertion to get what they want.

Hm... You raise an interesting point.

I do think there's an important subtext that shouldn't get lost here... namely the threat lying just beneath the surface for Dracula at all times. His charm is not only resistless for its own sake, but because Jonathan knows that if he challenges it, that might peel away the thin skin of polite friendly smooth talk and reveal the true danger beneath. We can't forget that any more than Jonathan. (And of course, Mina has no such threat - if anything, it's still more the fear of the threat cause by Dracula that's a possible option if people refuse her, when there could be said to be any threat.)

That said, Dracula's charm can be genuinely powerful in its own right. He is good at talking around or past things he doesn't want to mention (without having to outright shut them down; he did pretend not to hear at times but also was able to steer the conversation away), or just speaking with confidence that he will get his way and that everyone else agrees with him and will naturally fall in line. He's good at framing things in a way where arguing back makes you look like the one in the wrong ('obviously you won't want to go anywhere that's locked anyway', etc.). That "is it not so?" which he repeatedly uses sounds like a question but it isn't, really, it's phrased in a way to make you agree. It always comes after him stating things as facts to ensure you do agree. And by doing so, to make you become complicit with and approving of what he's doing. He has a kind of mastery of language that includes these sorts of tricks, but also he's just a genuinely good conversant. He talks well and interestingly, his conversation is engaging and can be entertaining. Maybe to compensate for the many ways he is instinctively (or otherwise) creepy, or maybe just as a holdover from his living days, Dracula is good at wielding his words and charisma. I think you can see in his treatment of Jonathan how much he's missed having a good conversant to play off of, and while he obviously does mix in lots of tormenting and being scary, he also plays the role of Charming Host well when he genuinely wants.

It's all the more interesting since this entire aspect of his character vanishes in London as he recedes to the edges of the narrative, becoming a largely offscreen menace. His speech against Mina showcases much of his power over words, but she is able to pick out the key information to use against him. And his blustering to the boys in the house later that day is hardly up to his usual standards in my opinion; it may sound kind of tough but is pretty much immediately proven to be flimsy with him fleeing right away. There's certainly no attempt at charm in it.

...but I digress. Back to the point, with Mina. I think she is very good at manipulating people when she wants. The telegram to van Helsing I don't think is the best example, because both the medium being used (paid by word so short and to the point) and the circumstances (a reply to his letter asking if he could come see her) make her message less demanding, even if politely so. It's more just letting him know she is available and giving the go-ahead. But she does get Seward to show her his audio diary as well as let her visit Renfield, and she is able to establish a very quick bond with him and the rest of the suitor squad, as well as van Helsing. I mean, everyone packbonds quickly but Mina especially is good at charming people right away. She also does this later on, convincing van Helsing to let her come along to chase Dracula, convincing everyone but Jonathan to promise to kill her if she turns fully, etc. Just because I say she's good at 'manipulating' doesn't mean I think she is being Machiavellian about it; she's not conniving or evil or merely using people for her own ends. But she is good at ensuring she gets her own way when she feels strongly enough about it, because she knows the right arguments/emotional appeals to make.

I think there are two pretty distinct differences between Mina and Dracula in this regard. First: honesty. Mina genuinely believes in what she's doing, and in fact the idea that she would deceive Jonathan to manipulate him into bringing her along is a particular fear of hers about turning further. All of her 'resistless charm' comes from a place of genuine feeling and care. It's most often motivated by consideration for others, and in fact she tends not to speak up if its only for her own sake. Dracula, on the other hand, is fundamentally dishonest, especially when he is at his most charming. He plays the role of a friend or at least someone friendly, but he doesn't genuinely care for anyone else over himself and at his variant of 'resistless charm' is entirely about what he wants you to do or not do. (Not to mention, at the end of the day he views people as prey.) Mina is motivated by outcomes she wants to achieve to aid others. As a result, Dracula's charm is inherently more something he has to intentionally put on while Mina's may be more instinctive or at least more connected to genuine feeling.

The second big difference is connection. (This overlaps a little with both the idea of honesty and also motivation, but I chose this term to be more distinct from the above point.) While both of them may be very charming, and you may give in to both of their words, the type of words they use are different. They both sometimes use a kind of logical framework to make a request sound like the answer yes is only sensible, even, but the type of framing logic is based on different premises. Without getting too much into all the specific examples, the types of charming words Dracula uses to ensure his way tend to rely on duties or social structure (your master/employer said you'd obey me, you are a good guest). Mina on the other hand justifies herself through people (I know you through Lucy and you'll know me from this journal soon, you have to stop me lest I harm you all). Mina's method of appeal tends to remind people of the connections of trust, respect, and love between her and themselves/others. It kind of harkens back to the importance of 'recommendations' and letters of introduction and such, but not so formally. Even when she doesn't specifically ask for the sake of some other person, like when she wanted to see Renfield, her reference to Seward's diary is a reminder of the intimate exchange of trust and comfort accompanying her listening to it. Again, I don't think she is thinking all this out to figure out the best way to make people listen to her, but she really cares strongly about people, and as that is her motivation it also naturally informs how she talks and appeals. Compare this again to Dracula, who doesn't trust, respect, or love anyone else really, and his words based on more external structures make sense. His charm is a power-play while Mina's is reaching out to others.

(I have thought about vampire!Mina weaponizing her charm before though, and I think that would bear more in common to Dracula's style of doing so for sure. At the very least in the more malignantly intentional/dishonest way. But as it is their styles of charisma are different at the core despite both being charmingly irresistable at times.)

#dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #count dracula #mina murray #anonymous #replies #jonathan is also pretty good at being charming to achieve a goal but it happens in more specific circumstances #and i don't think is as easy/natural for him #but he does manipulate conversations with dracula and connect with various workers for box info... aided by bribes yes but still #sorry this took a bit to get back to you i had to percolate on it

[aniron48]

Love Letters - Day 3

Omg, that last VOTE, you guys. ::Takes a drag of an imaginary cigarette:: You have no idea how frantically I was drafting a contingency conference call scene to try to cover a potential tie. But not today, chaos muppets. Not today.

Anyway, welcome to Day 3 of Love Letters, a 00q choose your own adventure! If you're joining for the first time, you can catch up here: Day 1 Day 2

As a reminder, there will be a post around this time (9pmish EST) every night through 2/14. Day 3 starts below the cut!

In fact, he might need to talk to Felix.

“James,” Felix said, answering the phone the following morning. “To what do I owe the singular pleasure of you waking me up an hour before my alarm goes off?”

Bond looked at his watch. “It’s 6:00 there.”

“Exactly.” There was a rustling sound as Felix got out of bed. “Espera un momento, mi cielo, ya regreso.”

“If you have company, Felix, I can phone you again later.”

“No, no, I’m up. I can give you five minutes.”

“Is that what she—“

“James, I will hang up on your ass.”

“Fine, all right, hang on. Look, it’s ah—it’s a bit personal.”

“Personal, huh? Don’t you have an entire medical unit for that sort of thing?”

“Christ, Felix, thank you for the vote of confidence. No, it’s nothing like that. I wanted to ask—let’s say, hypothetically, that you wanted to send a love letter to someone who had never received one before. Someone who didn’t seem to think they deserved one, despite the fact that they deserve one more than anyone you know. And suppose you wanted to remedy that. Romantically. What would you say to them?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes, obviously. Hypothetically.”

“Love letters,” Felix mused. “Brings back some memories. Look, if you really want my opinion, I think it comes down to honesty. You and me—we’re professional bullshitters, my friend. And anyone who loves us enough to stick around is going to know we’re bullshitters. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’ and that sort of flowery shit is for people who make an honest living. But giving the person you care about something true—something real—that’s the good stuff. Be honest about why you love him and why it’s important to you that he know. It is a ‘him,’ right? Because if it’s not Q, I’ll shoot you and throw your body in an Amsterdam canal with all the goddamn stolen bikes.”

“That’s oddly specific, Felix.”

“Yeah, well, two guesses where I just went on vacation. And another two guesses what happened to my fucking bike.”

“Noted. But for the record, yes, it’s Q.”

“Good. You two deserve each other. Be good to him. I like that snarky little shit.”

He could do honesty easily enough, Bond thought as he hung up the phone. Q already knew more true things about Bond than anyone else living, which, admittedly, was not something Bond had ever let himself examine too closely. But he needed more than honesty to work with, if he was going to write Q a love letter that rivaled Captain Wentworth’s. Significantly more. 

**Partial authorial credit for this section goes to the entire sleeve of Girl Scout cookies I stress-ate while waiting for the poll to close! 😘

#Love Letters #Love Letters Day 3 #00q #choose your own adventure #00q choose your own adventure

[velmautism]

The Dreamlike Tint to the Shades of Secrecy

...Or, the rewrite of Witch's Ghost, if it took place in the Inception universe that I wrote for funsies.

Synopsis: Famous horror writer Ben Ravencroft finds himself the mark for a little-known but notoriously proficient group of information gatherers. Little do they know, he knows exactly who they are and what they do– after all, what author hasn't happened across sketchy information before?

What do they want? Can he make them help him find some information he's looking for, after he's had his fun running them in circles?

Word count: 12,097

Ben Ravencroft blinks back to awareness, having seemingly been lost in thought. He shakes his head to clear the lingering cloud of confusion around him and drums his fingers on the surface of his writing desk, which helps to bring back his clarity of mind. Was he writing? His keyboard is pushed off to the side, as if he needed the space clear for something.

"Before we begin our interview," one of the women in front of him says, and he raises his head as she extends her hand for him to shake, "I just wanted to say it's a dream come true to be here, Mister Ravencroft."

He recognizes this woman immediately, with her auburn bob and oversized square-framed glasses. An eager smile lights up her rounded features, and the redhead next to her rolls her eyes good-naturedly. Both are seated across from his writing desk, and the redhead seems to be armed with a handheld audio recorder.

He knows who both of these women are, but the pretense they're presenting him with obviously means they don't know that. They probably don't know he suspects he's dreaming, either.

Despite being dressed in professional suits and behaving otherwise, they're not journalists.

They're thieves.

Well, not the typical sort of thief he'd expect to see in his mansion– they're not after wealth. They're after something much more valuable. They're after information. He knows something they don't, and they're here to coax... no, extract it out of him.

What they're after, he isn't sure of yet. Better to play along and figure it out, rather than immediately lay his cards on the table.

"I am a huge fan of your work," she continues as he grasps her hand and shakes it firmly. "I've read all your books, which, in my opinion, are the best horror stories ever written!"

"Er, thanks," he responds easily, playing right into her ruse. He wonders why he's finally face-to-face with this particular group, and what they want to know. "That's very kind, Miss..."

"Daly," she asserts with ease. "Linda Daly." The name rolls off her tongue as naturally as it would if it had really been her name all her life, and he knows she must use this particular false name with everyone.

But he knows better, and he knows her name is not Linda Daly.

Her name is Velma Dinkley, and previous curiosity has led him to research as much as he can about her and her friends.

She's a mastermind in every sense of the word, plotting and planning the finest details of every job she runs with ruthless efficiency. She operates similarly to how he's already handled her, and has likely researched him extensively. He wonders if she knows he knows her. It's too bad he's made a larger public name for himself– she probably knows more about him than he does about her. Well, hopefully that's soon to change.

Velma is rarely, if ever, seen apart from the sort-of leader of her little team of thieves– Daphne Blake, the motivating drive and task manager behind extraction who allegedly knows everything there is to know about getting into someone's head. Even working as a pair these two are formidably deceptive according to past clients, but he knows that somewhere nearby their cohorts, Fred and... Shaggy, was it..? may be around. Maybe they're here in the dream as well, but he suspects they're up above.

That's why, he resolves, he's going to keep his mouth shut. Why ruin their attempt at secrecy before he knows exactly what they want from him? Why ruin Linda's Velma's expectations for him, if she thinks he's in the dark?

Plus, they're good at uncovering secrets. If he plays along, can they help him?

"Just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Daphne asks, blue eyes twinkling mischievously, and it's then that Ben realizes Velma's comment on his books being her favorite is genuine. "I'm Kelly Kensington," she lies.

Interesting! He can work with this, he thinks.

"Oh, I find it quite flattering," he responds easily, patting Velma's hand once before letting go. "I've admired the supernatural and the occult for a long time, Miss Daly. Research on them led me to try to unearth all of the secrets of the supernatural world, and that inspired me to start writing horror novels."

"And I have to say, they're a hit," Daphne says, and he knows what she's doing. She's the extractor– she's trying to use her tricks to keep his attention with her, to get deeper into his head. "With more people than just Linda, that is. They say you're reshaping the horror genre as we know it, with gruesome frights and often-graphic depictions of the supernatural, as well as fantastic characters. Plenty of authors of fiction, regardless of genre, claim they create their best characters when they use real-life muses as inspiration. Is that true for you as well, Mister Ravencroft?"

Interesting question, he thinks. She must be dancing around the heart of what she actually wants to extract, so he starts to formulate what she might be looking for– information on someone he knows? Could she even be alluding to Sarah? If he's going to pry the reason they're here out of them, Velma might ironically be the weak link. He wants to keep his attention on her, he decides.

He smiles. "Oh, absolutely. One has to draw inspiration from somewhere, right? I often find myself taking small traits, habits, and quirks I've observed from others and pepper them into my characters. It's a good way to breathe life into a story, to make the frights they experience that much more gripping for the reader. People-watching is probably a writer's best time investment. Now, if you don't mind me asking a question, I'm curious to know if you have a favorite character I've written, Miss Daly."

She flushes a bit pink at that, clearly not expecting him to try to hold her attention. He's set a trap, and she seems to be falling right into it. Since he's certain of who she is, he suspects that the detail-orientedness intrinsic to her job will help him deduce her motives. He just has to pick up the clues from her.

"Oh, how could I pick just one?" she starts. "Well... if I had to, I'd probably say that creepy jewelry store owner from 'The Dead Mall.' I just couldn't put it down until I understood her motives, she was an incredibly complex character!"

So she likes enigmas, he figures. She likes puzzles, and enjoys trying to solve people.

That's absolutely fascinating to him.

He enjoys the very same thing.

It's too bad, really, that she's trying to solve the wrong side of him...

"Oh, a marvelous choice. She was one of my favorite characters to write, but I was never sure if she'd be well-received. I'd think that since you work with the general public, you journalists would be fairly good at understanding people and what motivates them. If I kept you guessing, I'll take that as a compliment on my writing."

He means every word of that, too. If her job is research and deep-dives on her marks, keeping her guessing is a tribute to his writing ability.

She falls prey to flattery quite easily, he starts to suspect as she titters. At the very least, she obviously enjoys the chance to really be able to speak with him. Everything he's dug up on her only speaks for her skills and abilities– meeting her, he's gone in completely blind to her actual personality. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he's finding himself more and more fascinated by this analyst the longer he interacts with her.

"Wow," Daphne says, and her smile is just a little too tight-lipped to be genuine. "Who would have thought the author of such dark stories would be so charismatic? I would have thought you darker and more... well, brooding, being a famous horror writer."

He responds good-naturedly, "Aw, just because I write gruesome stories and happen to be fascinated by macabre subjects, that doesn't necessarily mean I have to be edgy and morbid."

Daphne laughs shortly, and it's almost blatantly apparent she doesn't entirely like dealing with him, nor does she entirely believe in this facade he's putting up.

"I agree, but I'm curious now that you've brought up your interests– what sort of research into, as you put it, 'macabre subjects' do you usually do? Do you do any, in order to make your stories more realistic?"

Of course he does. It's how he knows about them in the first place.

Velma shoots Daphne a look, one Ben can't decipher the meaning of.

"Well, of course I do, Miss Kensington," he responds. "Any author realistically would. After all, I can't very well write horror if I don't have an appetite for it."

The slightest hint of a knowing smile stretches across Daphne's lips, and she leans in closer to him.

"And have you ever come across anything... particularly dark or disturbing? Something no one would expect to find out, with any level of depth of research?"

If Ben's hunch is accurate, they are poking at the secret he's thinking about. Not like he's particularly ashamed of it, but he can see why it would seem particularly scandalous. But if he's going to play a single card, he has to make sure he has his 'in.'

"You two sound like you're getting at something," he says simply, then he lets that hang in the air. It works as intended– both tense, and Daphne leans back defensively. They share another quick glance at each other, but neither speaks. He chuckles, dissipating the tension in the air. "I'm an open book- whatever is on your mind, you go on ahead and ask."

They both look relieved, and Daphne looks to Velma again– a question without asking it. Velma nods once, very quickly and very briefly.

"Mister Ravencroft," Daphne says softly, as if informing him of very dire news, "there are rumors going around that you have... a bit of a dark family secret concerning your lineage and ancestry. Is this true?"

Bingo.

They aren't the first people to try to dig up that dirty little family secret, but they're certainly the most clever. But now he has the advantage of knowing exactly what their gambit is. He rarely gets asked about it anymore, and while the honest answer is yes he's always been very careful about keeping his lies vague.

Of course he knows about it– only the Ravencrofts do. It's a wicked family story, the story of the Scourge of Oakhaven. All public accounts and records of the incident were buried hundreds of years ago when she was imprisoned, in order to maintain and preserve the integrity of the family name. The Ravencrofts are an old family in Oakhaven, and even without the aid of evil sorcery they're very powerful.

Influence mixed with the passage of time has done wonders for the memory of the nightmare the town had faced at her hands. As years have passed, they've all forgotten what had happened.

But the living Ravencrofts haven't.

Ben ignores the tape recorder in Daphne's hand and gives a quick conspiratorial glance around the room, as if making sure nobody else is listening in. Then he leans in, folding his hands on his desk. His display of secrecy works, and the two women draw closer.

"Well," he murmurs, "as a matter of fact... I have an ancestor who lived here hundreds of years ago– Sarah Ravencroft." He pauses for effect, and the two wait silently for him to continue with rapt interest. "She was persecuted in the 1600s, here in Oakhaven... as an evil witch."

Velma gasps softly, but Daphne looks relatively unfazed by this confession.

"I don't believe a word of it, though," he continues, in order to lure them further in.

He can't quite give them what they want, not without getting something in return. By leaving them in suspense, he hopes he'll inspire them to do a little more digging to uncover the full truth. If this is a dream, he's willing to let them prod at his subconscious if it'll help him find what he's looking for– it's evaded him in the real world for far too long.

"The notion that she was an evil witch is ridiculous. Sarah Ravencroft was a healer, a medicine woman. She practiced natural remedies for patients who couldn't see a doctor, for one reason or another. Matter of fact, it's even said that she kept a journal of all of her patients and remedies."

Daphne and Velma share another look.

"Could we see this journal, Mister Ravencroft?" Daphne asks.

He laughs shortly. "If I had it, I'd be only too happy to show it to you, Miss Kensington. Sadly, she was found guilty of sorcery and sentenced to death by execution. All of her relics were lost. It's a shame– that journal could be instrumental in proving her innocence, but it may never again see the light of day."

Velma thinks this through for just a moment.

"Lost or destroyed?" she finally asks, and Ben can't help but grin.

"Only lost," he responds innocently, and if the spark in their eyes is any indication this was exactly what they wanted to hear. This is what they've been looking for.

Good.

Him, too.

~☆°~•~°☆~

These people are good, Ben thinks as he meanders alongside them, at what they do.

He'd expected them to be put off by his insistence on wandering Oakhaven after they had conducted their "interview," but now he sees exactly why they've taken him up on his offer.

If he hadn't known he was dreaming from the get-go, he'd have fallen right for it. He knows this with absolute certainty. Every landmark and point of interest he's passed thus far is exactly where it belongs– Molly Parken's Bed and Breakfast, Jack's restaurant, the post office, the bakery, the landmarks. The layout is nearly identical to the town he grew up in. But there's a subtle twist right in the details, something he wouldn't have caught if he wasn't looking: anything commercial and not of note; specifically skyscrapers and buildings where he'd expect to find a law firm, office, or other general business setting; is left completely bare and nondescript. His eye is automatically drawn to the points of interest, strategically placed so he's meant to ignore everything else.

He isn't sure if this is a strength in the design or a weakness. If it's a weakness, it's blatant why it would be– an entire town is difficult to replicate, even a small one. If it's a strength, he supposes it may serve to remind the dreamers they're dreaming. Either way, he's absolutely certain he isn't supposed to be looking this deep, with the way Daphne and Velma are struggling to hold his attention as they make their way to the town square.

He can only attribute this level of detail to their architect, Fred Jones. According to his sources, the man's aptitude for building entire dream worlds is legendary. Knowing what he's researched, it's likely that even if the lack of description in the town is a weakness, he's found a clever way to work around it.

All around them, there's more foot traffic than he's used to seeing in town. He wonders if it's their doing, or his. Every face looks unfamiliar but vaguely familiar, and occasionally one or two turns to stare at Daphne and Velma with what he can only describe as wary curiosity. They look completely unbothered by it– must be part of the job. But he notices the stares, and his eyes catch on everything they try to divert his attention from.

The idle chatter they engage him in is opposite to how what he's decided to call Faux-haven is laid out– mundane enough to keep him off his guard, but occasionally peppered with points of interest: Sarah, the history of the town, the record of her execution. Velma bombards him with idle chitchat about his books, and Daphne waits for the right times to ask the right questions.

It's a clever ruse, he thinks, but it's too bad he's seen right through it from the very beginning. Daphne is starting to look rather frustrated with her fruitless attempts to get answers out of him– he's good at dodging the truth without flat-out changing the subject. Velma, however, looks happy as a clam.

She doesn't look at all guilty of what she's trying to do, though.

Then again, he's sure he doesn't either.

This back-and-forth continues all the way up until they reach the City Park, and Ben spots a face he finally has every reason to recognize.

What's he doing here? Is it because of Ben, or because of them?

"Mayor? Mayor Corey?" he asks aloud, and the mayor turns around.

"Ben, my boy!" he exclaims as a grin stretches across his face. "I thought I recognized your car– I'm glad you could come home to help plan this year's Autumnfest! It's gonna be extra spectacular this time around, you just wait!"

Right, he thinks, Autumnfest. The biggest thing little-old-Oakhaven is known best for, but 'big' may be too nice a word to describe the event. It happens, the second weekend of every October, and draws in maybe a few extra leaf peepers looking for some spectacular fall color.

It isn't a bad festival by any means, and it's a nice tradition for the town. But it's... not the most popular.

Plus, it looks like it's currently late spring.

Mayor Corey has always been a little too excited about Autumnfest and the meager tourism it attracts, but never enough to try to plan the event six months in advance.

There must be a reason they've intentionally programmed Autumnfest into the dream. He just has to wait to figure it out.

"I see you brought some..." Mayor Corey pauses. His eyes land on Daphne and Velma, and then narrow slightly as they shift from the women to Ben, then back to the women. It's obvious he's just as suspicious of them as Daphne seems to be of Ben.

"Journalists," he responds calmly, and Corey seems to relax just slightly. "And hopefully future guests at Autumnfest. This is Linda Daly, and Kelly Kensington," he introduces them.

With Ben's willingness to let them in, it seems the figures in his mind are somewhat content to stay calm. Mayor Corey laughs it off and extends his hand, which Daphne takes first.

"Well, welcome! The more, the merrier!"

"But I have a question– what's going to make Autumnfest 'extra spectacular' this year?" Ben asks, just to skip past their farce and get to the heart of the matter. "Don't you think it's a little too soon to be thinking about something that won't even begin until October?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked," he says. "We've been working on a little project, in order to bring in more tourists year-round. We've begun construction on a recreation of a Puritan village, and we've been been digging up relics left and right. We finally found it– something big. We found Sarah Ravencroft's grave marker."

"Her grave marker?" he asks, feigning interest. Clearly, this information is entirely fictitious. Sarah's grave marker, in the real world, has probably been lost beneath centuries of mulch.

Velma and Daphne have added Mayor Corey to this world on purpose, as a means of benefiting their narrative. They must simply be depending on Ben and his memories to fill in the blanks on Corey's personality.

At least it makes sense now. They're using Autumnfest and the spookiness associated with Halloween to continue to drag on this Sarah business.

Still, it does work to his advantage.

"Aye-uh, we sure did!" He pauses. "...But nothing else, I'm afraid. No bones."

"What about a book?" he asks again, just to continue to appear like he's in the dark.

"A book?"

"You know how long I've been searching for Sarah's journal, Mayor, to..!" He pretends to compose himself, and takes a deep breath before lowering his voice. "To officially clear our family name."

He's been searching for that damned book for a long time, that much is true. But his reasoning certainly isn't.

"Well, hold on a minute, Ben, this secrecy about Sarah's true nature might be a good thing. Because that's what's going to make Autumnfest a better attraction– a publicity stunt, courtesy of the appearance of the Witch's Ghost!"

Ben almost doubles over with laughter, then and there. It's so absurdly like the real Mayor Corey, thinking of creating a hokey publicity stunt as a means of boosting popularity. It absolutely must be his mind supplying Mayor Corey with his personality– there's no way either of these two would be able to capture just how ridiculous he can be.

Instead of laughing himself silly, Ben falls back on his old standby of feigning ignorance and absolute innocence.

"Witch's Ghost?!" he asks indignantly. "That's ridiculous– I thought we'd gotten past all of this witch nonsense!"

In reality, they haven't– it's one of the biggest things he's still at odds with Mayor Corey about. Mayor Corey is right, of course, but admitting to it would lose Ben any sympathy he has in Oakhaven. No one in that pathetic town can possibly understand the true power he's capable of wielding, and it's such a mortal response to fear what can't be understood.

Mayor Corey has no idea that the truth is buried right there in the very town hall he occupies every day, the truth that was finally buried in the mid-1660s. The truth that Sarah was evil. The truth that Ben's potential power far outweighs what Corey believes his mayoral status carries.

All Corey has is his superstition. And superstition, even if true, is for fools.

"What can I say, Ben? It's undeniable that she was persecuted as a witch in 1657!"

"Unjustly persecuted!" he doubles down, taking a step forward just to drive his point home. "Sarah Ravencroft was a medicine woman who practiced natural healing, and was unfairly accused because of her eccentric ways!"

"Just like the Salem witch trials," Velma interjects, smiling calmly in spite of the tension Ben's pretended to create. "Many men and women who were a bit different, or didn't conform to the codes of the colony, suffered the same fate. As a matter of fact, Massachusetts legislature is even working to pass an act to exonerate the thirty men and women who were found guilty, and name them innocent. In the meantime, the descendants of the victims have been working to establish their ancestors' innocence. It's no wonder you've been searching for that book for so long, Ben. Whether or not Sarah was alone in this town in standing trial for witchcraft and sorcery, Oakhaven may never get the public recognition Salem did."

Ben's completely stunned by her spouting off this much information– does she actually believe him? Is it working out in his favor that he happens to be her favorite author? Or is it simply her will to pursue knowledge and fact manifesting in how she behaves?

Either way, he thinks, he can really use this to his advantage.

He was smart to keep his attention on her. He intends to keep it up.

"I'm impressed, Velma," he says, just to watch her eyes light up. It's almost adorable, just how wrapped around his finger he has her. Daphne rolls her eyes. "It means a lot to have someone on my side." He casts an annoyed glance at Mayor Corey, who feigns offense.

Real or not real, every iteration of him Ben has ever crossed has been insufferable.

Daphne gets over her annoyance.

"Well, I never knew that Oakhaven had its own witch trials," she says. "Is there anywhere in town to commemorate or acknowledge what happened? A public statement? It would make a good attraction to bounce to after visiting the Puritan village, I think."

Oh, interesting. His memory must reflect off of the people in his dream. Mayor Corey knows what she's talking about, but he looks a little torn between the two truths Ben knows. He knows what Ben knows, but Corey's not supposed to know.

"There sure is, my girl!" he finally exclaims cheerfully. "I'll walk you there, if you'd like."

"Would I ever," Daphne responds with just as much enthusiam. That's cute, Ben thinks. She thinks she's going to get any better information out of Mayor Corey than she's gotten out of Ben, and she thinks this is a good thing. But he figures working at suppressing what he knows has worked thus far, and he wonders if he can limit what she'll find even further.

But this does present him with a slight problem. She'll have to realize, eventually, that he knows what's going on. The clock is ticking faster, if he's going to have any hope of learning what he wants to know.

He's going to have to improve his tactics, he concludes.

He's going to have to work harder at cracking Velma.

This analyst has been so eager to demonstrate her intelligence. It's high time Ben gives her the chance to show him what she can do.

"Do you want to go too, Linda?" he asks, purposely addressing her more personally. "Or, I'm going to Jack's for lunch. You're welcome to join me, if you'd like. We can talk more about Sarah there."

A small inkling of him wonders if she'll forgive him for what he's planning to do.

Then he quells it.

What use is there in wondering about something so useless? Why would he need her forgiveness or understanding, if he has all the power he could ever want at his fingertips?

Her eyes light up again, but there's a distinct look behind them that catches him completely off guard. She looks thrilled, but in the same way he would think a spider would if something crawled into her web.

Then she beams, and the feeling is lost on him.

He's getting nervous, now that he's so close to getting what he wants. Velma isn't the people person. Velma isn't the experienced liar. Daphne is. Ben is.

"Would I ever!" she exclaims, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I'll meet up with you later, Kelly!"

"Okay," Daphne responds with total ambivalence, and then she's off with the fake mayor.

Ben steals a quick glance back at Velma.

The sunlight shines across her dark brown eyes completely innocuously.

Exactly the way he expects it to.

~☆°~•~°☆~

While the other people in his dream have been rather short with Velma and Daphne at first glance, Jack is his usual bubbly cloying self.

Ben has never thought of Jack as the sharpest tool in the shed. All he thinks about is cooking and generally acting a little too sycophantic for his own good.

So it's either that, or his conscious decision to continue to allow Velma to poke around in his mind has helped his subconscious, on some level, acclimate to her presence.

Either way, his influence completely shapes just how welcome she is in his dream.

He finds that completely fascinating. If he really wanted to, he could probably snap his fingers and see her torn to shreds by several angry faces.

But he doesn't want to.

He wants her to be completely off her guard, and comfortable enough around him to give something vital away.

So Jack's warm welcome is nothing but a boon, as well as his insistence on seating them near the back of the restaurant– his V.I.P. area, he's always called it.

The restaurant is immaculate, much like the rest of the hotspots he's seen within Faux-haven. Everything is just the way he remembers it– down to the ring stains on the tables he passes as Jack guides them to the booth in the back.

"Order anything you want," he tells her as she sits across from him. "It's on me."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "That's alright, I can foot my own bill."

Of course she can, he thinks with mild irritation. This isn't a real restaurant, after all. And even if it were somehow real against all odds, he supposes the work she does keeps her plenty stable financially.

But he's determined to keep playing to her good side, just to dig in a little deeper.

"No, really," he says, reaching across the table for her– he doesn't exactly grab her hand, that's far too intimate. He just rests his on top of hers, then pats it for emphasis.

Her eyes meet his, and he hits her with his most disarming smile. She seems to be trying to read his intention for a long moment.

While he keeps smiling at her patiently, he can't help it when his eyes flick downward very slightly and land on her slightly-parted lips– she's uncertain, in territory she's not used to being in. There's a certain appeal to throwing curveballs at her in an environment she's probably usually quite comfortable in. There's appeal in testing the limits of what she can control.

While he very much enjoys pushing her out of her comfort zone while in her own damn element, he knows he can't keep it up any longer than a few seconds. So he lets go of her.

"I insist," he says.

She's silent for another beat, then she finally shrugs.

"Alright, if you insist," she says, as casually as she would have if she hadn't been trying to solve him just a few seconds ago.

He can't explain why, but her dismissive attitude is mildly irritating. There's something about Velma that appeals to him much more than the other dreamer, and it's not just that she's likely to provide him with more information.

He doesn't just want to get into her head. He wants to get under her skin.

He wants to know what makes her tick.

But he exhales softly, then lets it go.

He can't have it both ways, and he wants that journal a thousand times more than he wants to figure her out.

He just smiles back at her. "I do– Jack always knocks a bit off my bill, anyway."

"Oh," Velma says, and he's not quite sure why she's using that tone. It sounds like this is news she wishes she'd have known. "That's awfully nice of him," she continues brightly, but he still can't help but wonder what's going on in that head of hers.

The two sit in silence until Jack comes by to drop off glasses of water for each and take their orders.

An idea crosses his mind, and he clears his throat as Velma lifts her water glass to her lips.

"I'll just have my usual, Jack," he says jovially, and Velma freezes mid-sip.

There is something going on with Jack that she's worried about. But what?

"Oh, quit kiddin' around, Ben," Jack says, leaning over just to nudge him lightly with his elbow. "Unless it's a cup of black coffee, you don't have a regular order with a rotating menu!"

Then he laughs heartily, and Ben's suspicion immediately dissipates. He had honestly been expecting this manifestation of his subconscious to make something up, but this is exactly how Jack would respond.

Velma seems to relax as she sets her glass down, and Ben can't help but wonder what that was about.

Maybe she had been more confident in Mayor Corey acting like himself– he does have a more distinct personality, and is a much more prominent figure in Oakhaven.

It makes some sense, at least. But if he's meant to fill these manifestations of people he knows with their personalities, why would she have any reason to worry?

Maybe it has to do with Ben himself, he figures.

But now that he's put himself slightly on blast for acting out of the ordinary, it looks like she's watching him more closely. So he just has no way to ask her about it, or figure her out.

That's fine– he has bigger fish to fry.

They both order, and Jack leaves them alone so they can finally start conversing again.

"So," Velma finally says after a moment, "tell me more about Sarah. She sounds like she was a lovely person."

"Oh! Where to begin?" He thinks on what lies he hasn't told her quite yet. "Well, she was lovely. Of course, she wasn't very popular with the town's doctors. Sarah was untraditional in her approach to medicine. She was a Wiccan."

Velma nods in understanding, and Ben can't help himself.

"I take it you know a good bit about them?"

She nods again, smiling. "I've done a good bit of reading about them. So when you said she was a natural healer, you weren't kidding. I take it that not only did she use natural and herbal remedies, she also practiced energy work– however that manifested back in the 1600s."

"Exactly. She believed in the power of the Earth and its gifts, and used it to heal the sick. She helped many people who simply couldn't afford, access, or abide by medical treatment. She practiced under an ancient oak tree, which she believed to have potent magical properties."

Velma's eyes light up brightly for a second.

"Well, I saw a huge oak tree in the town square. Would she bury her journal in a place like that, if she thought she was going to be persecuted?"

She's caught on to the possibility of the book being buried under an oak tree faster than he ever did, in spite of knowing Sarah frequently used the tree to draw power.

For some reason, her suggestion draws the attention of everyone sitting in their vicinity, but she completely ignores their burning stares while her eyes remain on him.

"I've already searched that very tree," he responds truthfully, "but never found anything."

At that, she falters.

"Oh..."

She sinks into her seat, and finally seems to become aware of the eyes on her. He isn't sure of what exactly she's done, but she must have jumped the gun in some respect and drew their attention without having all of the facts.

It was a good try at helping him, he thinks, even if she was a little too eager. She seems to be just as full of anticipation as he is, and now the two are watching each other with equal levels of suspicion. But unlike Velma, Ben has the added benefit of being able to enjoy watching her squirm under the hateful eyes of his own subconscious.

While Ben wishes he had his hands on that spellbook already, he's really beginning to enjoy this delightful game of cat-and-mouse with Velma Dinkley.

When all is said and done, he's going to savor every moment he's spent with her.

~☆°~•~°☆~

In spite of conversing with Velma the entire time, the meal proves to be no more fruitful in coming up with ideas of where that damned spellbook could possibly be.

That, and in spite of behaving normally otherwise Jack never knocked anything off Ben's total.

Which is fine, it's not as if it affects him in any real sense. But it's quite strange, all things considered. Everything else was perfectly right, save for that one little thing he missed.

Ben wouldn't have even thought to double-check his receipt, if Velma hadn't inadvertently brought it to his attention.

But that isn't the only thing.

While the other patrons in the restaurant had regarded Velma with an air of hostility, Jack had acted even more oblivious than Ben would have attested to him.

While he can't help but wonder why, he's still completely wrapped up in trying to pry answers out of Velma by answering her questions about Sarah.

And answers still aren't forthcoming.

As the sky begins to darken in anticipation of nightfall, he can't help but feel as if his time is nearly up. Surely, Daphne has found something by now that incriminates him, and that will give her a reason to back out and withdraw from her mission.

A double failure.

It would count as a success on Ben's part, he supposes, if he prevents the group from revealing the truth he's worked to bury... but it would be a bitter success, if he also ends up with nothing to show for their little visit.

But on the other hand, the more time Velma spends around him, the more it seems like she's buying into his Wiccan Sarah story.

He wonders if there's some level of personal attachment in it for her. Maybe not– he's heard that while her loyalty toward her friends in that extraction group isn't at all questionable, she's not as invested in finding what her clients want as much as she is in finding truth.

If he thinks about it from a logical standpoint, there are a lot more Wiccans in the world than there are spellcasters. So, in spite of what she's here to do, she's... on his side. She believes him, and she's almost as eager to find the book as he is.

Almost.

He's truly made the smartest choice in getting in good with her.

As the two exit the restaurant and start to wander back toward Faux-haven City Park, another voice he recognizes grabs his attention:

"Hey, Ben!"

He and Velma both turn around at the same time.

"Hi, Mr. McKnight," he greets the pharmacist, just as he casts a withering glare at Velma before deliberately stepping straight between her and Ben.

Velma steps behind him and shrugs at Ben, but makes no further attempt to approach him again.

"Welcome home! Mayor Corey said you were back, and I was hoping to catch you to say hi. Here, want to look at the t-shirt design I commissioned for this year's Autumnfest? I think they're going to be a hit!"

McKnight unfurls a sheet of paper, which he passes to Ben– it's the gaudiest design for a shirt he's ever seen, and he immediately knows it would absolutely turn a killer profit. A green ghost is drawn casting a fireball on the city below, with text above her reading 'I Met the Ghost of Oakhaven- And Lived!'

Ben silently folds the paper back up and hands it back to McKnight.

Velma looks amused from behind him, and Ben can't help but share it in silence.

"Didn't Mayor Corey already tell you I don't want you using Sarah's image as part of a publicity stunt?" Ben asks, feigning frustration.

"Ben..." McKnight sighs. "Please, just reconsider. The tourist trade has gotten so slow– haven't you said before that the supernatural always grabs people's attention?"

He sure has, once upon a time. But only to Mayor Corey, when he was still writing his early novels.

"Then make up a ghost that doesn't use Sarah's image."

"But Sarah is the only real tie we have to the supernatural in our town history," McKnight presses.

This is like him, Ben thinks wryly. Following along with Mayor Corey's stupid ideas, just because he can't think up anything better.

"You think I'm going to abide by you lining your pockets by dragging her name through the mud? After I've spent years searching for her journal just to clear our family name?"

"Her journal?" McKnight asks before shaking his head. "Ben, you've searched everywhere for that thing and come up with nothing!" He breathes in deeply to compose himself. "Maybe it's time to give up the search– if that book even exists, it could be anywhere from Miller's Creek to the Stumps!"

Ben knows this much is true, but hearing it from his own subconscious is absolutely infuriating. Before he has any time to process his frustration, let alone respond, something very visibly clicks in that head of Velma's and she gasps before straightening at the waist. Ben can practically see the gears in her brain turning, and he wonders what she's thinking.

"The Stumps?" she finally asks.

"Yes," McKnight says curtly. "The Stumps."

She turns to Ben with a questioning look in her eyes, and Daphne decides that moment is the perfect moment to zip out of the town hall with what looks like papers in her hands and Mayor Corey right on her heels.

"What does he mean, the Stumps?" Velma asks, oblivious to her cohort making an appearance behind her.

"Oakhaven used to turn a profit from the lumber in our forest, back in the 1800s. In 1973 the town finally voted to put a stop to local deforestation," Ben explains. "We never cleared that area, so we just starting calling it the Stumps."

"Well, Ben," she says as if she's made a revelation, just as Daphne rests a hand on her shoulder from behind. "You don't think..?"

"Hold that thought, Linda," Daphne interrupts. "I just got a memo from..." she decides to drops the ruse right then, and Ben can see it as she casts him a glare before shoving a the papers into Velma's hands. "Oh, forget it. Just look."

As Velma examines whatever is on those papers and Daphne stares down Mayor Corey, who stands by as if ready to pounce, Ben takes the opportunity to try to follow her train of thought.

Deforestation, the Stumps... OH.

Of course, it's so obvious! The answer strikes him like a freight train, how stupid he was to never consider that he had been searching around the wrong oak tree for years!

But it makes perfect sense– there must be remnants, somewhere in the Stumps, of what had once been an impressive oak tree.

And he had never noticed it, all along, because it had been cut down hundreds of years ago!

His mind starts to race at a thousand miles per hour.

If his thoughts have any influence on the dream, he can't let it warp to show them what he's thinking about. His memory of the forest will only give the book's location in the real world away! He needs to resurface, fast, before they get the information he wants. If Velma hasn't even heard of the Stumps, there's no way she'll know how to get to it!

He forces himself to slow down. This is a dream, and it's in his mind. That means he ought to be in control of it.

And control means leaving, now that he's ready to. If he wants to leave before time is up, he knows exactly how to go about it. That's the second-biggest piece of information he knows about dreamsharing, and none of his sources have been wrong.

Well, that's not entirely true. The only thing his sources have been wrong about thus far is just how versed in matters of the mind this team of thieves is. He's pulled the wool right over their eyes!

He closes his eyes and focuses his thoughts. He needs a way to "die," quickly. Cold metal finds its way into the palm of his hand, and his finger curls around the trigger.

There's no need to allow them to remain welcome, he decides, and it's as if a switch is flipped. From all sides, his subconscious turns toward Daphne and Velma and begins to converge on them.

There's going to be someone up above when he wakes up, he knows. Someone who administered whatever was allowing Daphne and Velma to tap into his dreams. He'll have to play this carefully.

"I have to hand it to you, Miss Daly," he sneers.

Daphne and Velma meet his gaze as their shoulders are gripped firmly by multiple angry projections, and Ben grins triumphantly at them.

"That information you've given me will be most invaluable," he says. "Thank you– you two have been so very helpful."

Before her face is obscured by the faces of an angry mob swarming around her and Daphne, Velma's eyes lock on Ben's.

Then he could almost swear she smiles at him. A pleased smile, one that matches the downright predatory stare she had hit him with earlier.

No. He can't let her continue to distract him.

He raises the gun to his head, and he wakes up.

~☆°~•~°☆~

His eyelids flutter before his consciousness snaps back to him, and he remembers to pretend he's still under.

There's a fire burning in his vicinity. Flames crackle softly, and the smell of wood smoke permeates the room. He's laying on top of a flat surface, but there's thin but plushy cushioning between him and solid ground.

He cracks one eye open ever so slightly, just to peek and see if anyone is awake in his vicinity.

Through barely-open eyes, he spots a head of yellow hair hovering right above him... that must be Fred Jones, in the flesh. It's too bad, he thinks, that the architect of Faux-haven never got to bask in the attention to his own detail!

He peeks off to the side, and sees the device they must be using to share dreams– a briefcase-shaped device, with a cluster of circuitry and tubing running out of it. One such tube runs directly out of the device and into his arm.

Fred must notice something off, Ben realizes as he looks back up. His sharp blue eyes snap over to focus on Ben, and he moves until he's hovering over him.

Fred crouches down, reaching right over Ben and fiddling with the drip line in his wrist.

Ben uses Fred's lack of preparedness and position to strike straight upwards with the heel of his palm. The hit lands directly on the underside of Fred's jaw, and stuns the architect unconscious.

Velma and Daphne groan softly as they both begin to wake up, and Ben quickly rips the tube out of his arm and sits up.

He's in his own study!

Daphne's quick to alertness, but as her eyes snap open Ben's land on the large red button in the center of the device– if he's right, that administers whatever put him under the first time.

He presses the button with haste, and both women exhale deeply as they're plunged back into the dream.

Perfect. He needs them all slowed down.

But he's only encountered three... where's the fourth? Where's..?

Oh.

His eyes land on Shaggy, who lays right between Daphne and Velma with a line in his own wrist.

He had been in the dream all along.

But where? Ben thinks, then he thinks on what Shaggy is known for, and it all makes sense.

Shaggy is a master of disguise in the dream, or so Ben heard. Usually preferring to take on nondescript characters, but occasionally known to disguise as familiar faces to retrieve more information by lulling his marks into a false sense of security.

Jack.

He mimicked the restaurant owner and his mannerisms flawlessly, but made a mistake when handling Ben's receipt.

That's why he was friendly with Velma even when the other figures in Oakhaven weren't, Ben realizes.

Ohhh, they're clever. They're very clever.

It's too bad he's more clever.

He springs to his feet, and his eyes rise above the mantle of the fireplace. Sarah Ravencroft's portrait stares back down at him, and it all comes rushing back to him.

He remembers finishing his writing and being ready to retire for the evening, but hearing strange noises coming from the mansion.

He remembers calling out into the dimness in the hallway outside of his study, asking who was there.

What luck, what fortune it is that it was a team of extractors trying to catch him off-guard, he thinks gleefully! And not just any team of extractors, but the very same ones he could find information on!

Oh, fate must finally be on his side, now that he knows where the spellbook is. He's right there in Oakhaven, right where he wants to be!

It must have been a matter of convenience to them– pry his knowledge out of him, then sneak off and find the evidence of it right in the real world.

But they've made a fatal mistake in trusting that his dark family secret was merely some dirty laundry.

They have no idea what he's about to unleash.

While the team is still unconscious, he makes a mad dash to his Cadillac. He doesn't know if they have a vehicle, but getting to the Stumps as quickly as possible will serve him best– and they don't even know where he's going.

He does.

Before he grabs his keys, he retrieves a shovel. He's going to have some digging to do, and fast.

He bolts out of the mansion into the stark autumnal moonlight, and his hands begin to shake as he unlocks his car.

It's finally going to be his!

Sarah's spellbook will finally be found!

It feels as if no time passes between when he leaves his mansion and when he arrives at the final stretch of the main road leading off into the forest, but time seems to resume normalcy when he arrives. He doesn't bother to lock the door when he steps outside. It's dark in the forest and the path is obscured by shadows, but a childhood in Oakhaven means he knows his way to the Stumps by heart.

Moonlight spills into the gap between trees as he arrives upon his former playground. Dead leaves rustle beneath his feet as he begins to survey the area for the largest, most impressive-looking oak stump.

All that time he had spent here in his youth, he'd played right over the burial spot of the most important artifact he'd ever come across.

It must have been destiny.

The spellbook was always going to belong to him.

His eyes finally land on what must be it– the largest remainder of a former tree, by far. The sides are rotted and decayed with moss and fungi sprouting up from beneath the bark, but there must be at least a hundred rings spiralling right into the center.

He doesn't know where to begin.

But, he thinks, he doesn't have forever.

So he picks a spot, and he starts to dig into the packed soil.

And dig.

And dig, until his shovel reaches a few feet down. His arms begin to ache fairly quickly given how deeply and frantically he's digging into the heavy earth, and his breath refuses to fully occupy his lungs. His palms begin to sting with the friction, but he's not even remotely close to any blisters cropping up.

It would be fine if his entire hand became a blister, he thinks, just as long as he manages to find that book to make it worth the trouble!

He can't afford to get tired, not while he's so close.

The first hole turns up nothing, but he has at least a solid 10 feet of circumference to circle.

Rather than go all the way around the diameter of the tree, he picks another spot a few inches away from the first hole and begins to dig again.

The second hole turns up nothing, and he continues along the side of the trunk with as much fervent energy as he can muster.

Then the worst sound he can imagine registers from a good distance away:

The slamming of car doors.

Third time's the charm, he thinks as he begins to dig again. If this is the extraction team on his heels, his time is running out.

Then his shovel thunks against something solid.

He raises the head, then pauses. Then he swiftly digs down again, and hits the same solid object.

It's not a rock. Hitting a rock with a shovel has a distinct feel and sound, and this sounds hollow when the shovel hits it.

But it doesn't feel like it could be the cover of a book, either.

A root, maybe?

No, it doesn't quite feel like that, either.

Curiously, he begins to widen the hole to try to get a glance at what he's struck.

It's too dark to make out what it is quite yet, so he reaches into the hole to see if he can identify it by touch.

His fingers brush against dirt etched into ancient and grooved wood, if the splintery feeling against his skin is any indication.

Carved wood, making a hollow thumping sound when struck with a shovel... A box!

He gasps in delight, springing back to his feet and grasping the shovel with renewed vigor.

He digs all around the box, until he finds the sides of it and can further unearth it. The closer he gets to being able to pull it free, the more he can see it– and the more promising it looks.

He isn't sure how deep into the earth this box is buried, but once he's cleared a few inches of dirt from around the sides he hears whispers in frantic voices and multiple people's footsteps heading towards him.

It's now or never.

He crouches down and reaches into the hole, and his fingers brush against a handle he can grab onto.

He begins to try to pull the box loose, but the remaining dirt caked to the handle causes him to lose his grip and slip back.

The footsteps draw nearer, and moving white lights begin to dance off the leaves– flashlights.

He gets a grip on the handle once again and braces himself, then pulls. The box stays firmly wedged into the ground, so he starts to wiggle it to the best of his ability.

The voices grow closer, the flashlight beams brighter.

The earth begins to give.

Then they enter the clearing– it is the extractors, and all of them immediately fan out in search of him.

He pauses for a fraction of a second to tighten his grip on the handle, and with one final pull he free the box from its resting place.

Alerted by the noise, one of the flashlight beams shines directly on him, then is cast downwards to land about two feet in front of him.

His eyes meet Velma's, and her expression is unreadable.

"I found him," she says aloud, though with no sense of urgency or anger. Just utter calm. Three more flashlights shine on her to locate her, then point away. She nods to him in acknowledgement of the box in his hands. "You find what you were looking for, Ben?" she continues, and her voice stays measured.

"I'm sure I have, Velma," he responds, glad he can finally drop the pretense of referring to her as Linda Daly.

Velma appears completely nonplussed by his statement, and flicks her flashlight off.

"How long were you aware?"

"Of what, who you are or the fact that I was dreaming the whole time? Because the answer, either way, is from the very beginning."

"Must've been pretty desperate to find that book, then," she says, "if you were willing to let us in."

Ben decides he likes her even more now that she's dropped the pretense of being a journalist. This stone-cold, analytical personality is exactly what he'd have expected from her in the beginning. Her nervousness seems to have dissipated, although he blames the fact that she doesn't know what he's retrieved.

The rest of the team approaches her from behind, but seems uncertain of what to do. Velma isn't the leader of this team by any means, but they must know she spent the most time around him and has the firmest grasp on what he's after.

"It seems fate was finally on my side. Because I knew about all of you before we met. Daphne Blake, Fred Jones, and Shaggy Rogers. You had me going," he admits, singling out the sandy-haired man in a crumpled suit jacket. "I didn't even realize you were posing as Jack, until I woke up and saw you."

"How did you figure that out?" Shaggy asks, genuine curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

"The receipt," Velma explains before Ben can. "Apparently, Jack knocks a few dollars off Ben's orders. Thanks for buying me lunch, by the way," she says dryly.

"If you hadn't tipped me off, I never would have thought to check. You know, I really couldn't have planned meeting the lot of you better, even if I'd have lured you here myself! But I just can't fathom who your client would be– what did they want?"

"The truth," Velma says. "About you. About your bloodline. The truth that must be in that little box."

Then she gives him a tight-lipped smile, and gestures at the box with her hand.

"So go ahead and open it, Ben. I'm not going to try to stop you."

Oh, she's about to wish she had.

Ben lifts the lid of the box, and it's exactly what he had hoped to find– an ancient tome with a massive skull etched into the cover, which glares at him menacingly as he removes it and lets the box fall to the ground.

He begins to flip through the pages, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes in the spidery handwriting scrawled across the ancient and withered pages.

It's finally his, in all of its wicked glory.

"That sure looks kind of evil, for a journal belonging to a Wiccan healer," Daphne comments from behind Velma, eyes narrowed.

"That's because it isn't a journal at all, is it?" Velma asks, and her strained smile remains etched on her face.

Ben grins broadly, glad he can finally drop his own pretenses.

"Of course it isn't, Velma. It's a spellbook," he sneers, drawing out the final word.

He waits for her to react, but all she does is take a single step back as her smile melts back into absolute neutrality.

"You see, Sarah wasn't a Wiccan. She was indeed a witch!" He hugs the spellbook to his chest, and while Velma keeps her eyes on him the rest of the team casts nervous glances back and forth.

"What did you guys find down there?" Fred asks, absolutely befuddled.

"The same thing I suspected from the beginning," Daphne says bitterly, fingers clenching around her flashlight. "That the truth existed, but was buried with Sarah. That she was a real witch. But he knew was I was looking for, and he intentionally redacted all of the relevant information."

"Of course I needed to at the time," he says, "because I couldn't just hand you the truth without getting what I want in return. But you helped me find it, and I don't care who knows anymore– Sarah was known at the Scourge of Oakhaven. And since her blood runs in my veins, I have the same prediliction for sorcery."

"So you lied to me the whole time," Velma states, and he wonders why she thinks she has any reason to spit any accusations at him when she's guilty of the same thing.

"And you didn't?" he asks.

"I never lied when I said I wanted to help you find it," Velma responded, and he's slightly dumbstruck. How can she admit to this, as if she doesn't regret being wrong?

Well, he needs to make her regret it.

"But there's more to it, more that you never even imagined," he says. "Because not only does this contain her power and every wicked scrap of knowledge she got her hands on... it contains Sarah Ravencroft herself. After her execution, her soul was bound right here within it– never dying, waiting for someone with her blood to free her. And that's exactly what I intend to do. I intend to unlock the power of the imprisoned Sarah Ravencroft!"

At that, Velma finally reacts. Her brows rise.

An inexplicable frustration seeps into Ben's bones. He's got exactly the reactions he expected from the rest of her friends, who tense to brace themselves in anticipation of imminent danger.

Does this woman feel anything at all?

She certainly knew how to fake it, at least.

Maybe he needs a different way to get under her skin.

"Why help me, anyway? Did you care for me, somewhere in that idiotic little head of yours? Believe me blindly, because you admired me? I always believed Mayor Corey, in his superstitious ways, was the biggest fool I knew. And then I met you. You, who so desperately clung to the belief that maybe Sarah was innocent, that I was innocent. You're incredibly naive. I tricked you into helping me, and it worked."

With that, a frown knits itself across Velma's brows, and she scowls at him. Her hands clench into fists, which she clutches at her sides.

Oh, so she only cares once he's made it personal.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he simpers as he finally decides to flip through the spells in Sarah's spellbook, "I very much appreciate your help. It only worked to my advantage."

"The only thing I don't understand is why you let us in," Daphne says as she steps forward and rests a firm hand on Velma's shoulder. Velma pushes back, but Daphne keeps her rooted to the spot. "Why go through these elaborate smoke and mirrors? Why not just tell us you knew, and ask us to help you find the book? It would have helped all of us."

"Come on, Daphne," Velma snaps, pushing out from under the redhead's grip on her shoulder. "It's our job to lie. Besides, if he'd have asked, would you really have trusted him enough to help him?"

Daphne sighs, then shakes her head and looks back at Ben warily.

"I knew there was something about you," she says venomously. "Something I didn't like at all."

"It looks like you were the only one," Ben says as he finds the very invocation he seeks, "but you're too late now. It's time to unlock the power of Sarah Ravencroft!"

"Well, I don't like the sound of this," Shaggy moans, and Velma takes a step back toward Ben.

"Together, we shall reign supreme!" Ben declares before beginning the invocation. "Let the evil from the past breathe again with fiery blast!"

With just the single line spoken, lightning bursts forth from the book, and a dreadful wind begins to spiral all around him. The earth trembles beneath his feet, then splits as leaves are stripped from their branches.

Velma's eyes dart sharply upwards, at the trees beginning to bend and sway to the mere sound of his voice. She attempts to take another step toward him, but the sudden gale proves to be too strong for her to do anything except stay in place.

"Let the dark wind whip the night to blow away the force of light!" he continues, and the maelstrom grows stronger.

A nearby tree is ripped straight from its roots, and Shaggy turns right around to face it as it collapses and sinks toward him. He holds a hand up and over his face, then crouches low just as it crashes on top of him, obscuring him under thousands of dancing leaves and snapping branches.

The earth continues to rattle as Ben continues to recite.

"Now I summon ancient power!"

The earth continues to split in his wake, cracks in the dirt widening enough to swallow several stumps. The remaining three members of the extraction team he can see lower themselves to the ground, and Daphne and Fred reach out to hold each other in a desperate embrace.

Velma cries out in alarm as they're all swept back by the gusts beating at them, and Daphne and Fred shout as they're swallowed whole by the churning earth.

"This is evil's finest hour!" Ben finishes, and laughs maniacally as an eerie green light spirals upwards from the book and strikes him like a bolt of lightning, endowing him with strength and vitality he never dreamed possible.

His glasses feel wrong on his face.

The wind dies down slightly, but the earth continues to quake under Velma's feet as she rises and attempts to approach him again.

"NO!" she cries out, then tries to steady herself.

Ben laughs at her again as he takes his glasses off, then drops them to allow them to be swept away. He won't need them anymore.

"What's the matter, Velma?" he simpers. "Don't you like the new, improved Ben Ravencroft?"

"No, frankly I don't!" she snarls, and the earth begins to heave again.

Oranges and reds swirl around him violently, and bark begins to peel off of the trees to join the debris dance.

Ben just laughs again.

"Aww, try not to take it so personally. If it's any consolation, you were good. You and your friends were very, very good."

Then Velma straightens, standing tall even while being pelted by everything the maelstrom can lift and throw at her.

He can hardly see her anymore under all of the debris between them, but the small glimpse he catches of her is a smirk, and it's that moment that he realizes something is very wrong.

Then he sees her eyes, locked on his with that same wicked look in them as the one he had ignored before.

Why is she this calm?

What does she know that he doesn't?

"We were," she asks above the distinctly musical howling of the wind, "weren't we?"

Then a log, torn right off its parent tree, barrels into her from the side and sweeps her off her feet.

And the world continues to tear itself apart.

~☆°~•~°☆~

He wakes up in London, to the train lurching as it begins to move again.

He inhales sharply, his startled alertness snapping the traces of his dream from his immediate memory. He turns his head toward the window, watching the station and departing passengers slowly slide out of view.

He doesn't remember dozing off, but when does anyone ever? So he relaxes, resettles into his seat, and adjusts his arms on the armrest.

A lingering pinching sensation shoots sharply through him as his jacket sleeve catches on his arm, and he jumps slightly in his seat.

He remembers the sensation of having something in his wrist, and the memory comes back to him with absolute clarity.

How could he forget?!

That extraction team! They had probably been right there on the train with him, and they've just gotten off scot-free with..!

He pales.

They had been looking for the truth, and evidence about who Sarah Ravencroft had been. Velma had told him herself.

And now he's not only handed the family secret to them on a silver platter, but he's made them privy to his own wicked desires as well!

Now they know exactly what he wants to find in Oakhaven, and they also know where to find it! He led them right to it, because he had been too eager to consider multiple dreams!

And they've done it while he's in London, thousands of miles away from Massachusetts!

“Oh, those meddling sons-of..!” he curses, leaping from his seat. A scrap of folded paper, which he was unaware of having been pinned between his hand and armrest, flutters out of hiding and floats to the ground.

It's so bizarre to him, he forgets to be angry for a second as he scoops the paper off the floor.

What is it, a note? Is it for him?

He unfolds the note– it's been hastily scrawled on in the distinctly messy handwriting and scathing words of an intellect: Two sentences, mocking what he's said and insulting him while disguising as a compliment. Then a pair of initials.

It is for him.

His blood begins to boil.

It's a taunt. From her.

It strikes him right then, the whole time she had been playing him like a damned fiddle while he had thought he was playing her.

Every single sideways glance she had given him, every lie she had spoken with a bright smile on her face, she had known he was going to lead her right to his secrets.

She had never been wrapped around his finger, but he had been coiled around hers.

She had baited him with ease, hook, line, and sinker.

He feels so foolish. While he had thought himself wise for keeping his attention on her, she's played the exact game he did, and she seems so certain that she's won, the bastard! Well, while she and her friends may have extracted that information, they still have to be in London. They're just as far from the spellbook as he is, aren't they?

They may have a little five-minute head start on him, but he has wealth. He has connections. Well, maybe not connections that will just retrieve the spellbook for him without asking questions, but connections that can get him back to Oakhaven, the real Oakhaven, quickly.

The clock is still ticking.

He's going to catch them, if it's the last damn thing he does! He can't lose this, now that he's so close!

He can't..!

~☆°~•~°☆~

When all is said and done, he makes it back to Massachusetts in a record two days.

Jetlagged, worn out, and weary, he drives straight from the airport to the Stumps without stopping.

He follows the very path that he had recreated for himself in the dream, and stumbles upon the clearing he seeks. His sleepless fervency has left him mostly unable to feel anything, but his heart begins to quicken with excitement as he begins his search.

It takes a few moments for him to happen upon the most impressive former oak tree, and he eagerly approaches it...

Then his heart falls into his stomach.

Nestled between two roots, there's an empty hole with a distinctly rectangular divot in the ground.

He knows exactly what was there.

Anything that may have been buried in the past is long gone, and his secrets have been stolen with it.

It's over.

He's lost.

~☆°~•~°☆~

Things could be much worse, he reminds himself every so often over the next few months.

While he's lost Sarah's spellbook and the secrecy of his family's legacy, things really could have gone so much worse for him.

Because having his secret and the supporting, formerly-sealed record of Sarah Ravencroft's actions spilled to practically the entire world has had an impact he frankly should have suspected, but is still shocked by.

Stories about Sarah Ravencroft, the Scourge of Oakhaven, have circulated so wildly that his books are now legendary. His lineage makes his books pure gold within the horror community.

Her infamy has increased not only his fame, but his wealth as well.

He should be angry. But instead, he vindictively hopes the buyer who hired that extraction team is happy. He isn't unhappy, after all.

Because in spite of his loss of what could have been, things have only improved for him and his life.

Because now he has extra money to throw around.

Maybe he'll never be able to find the spellbook, but he can seek out the woman who caused him to lose it in the first place.

He doesn't care for any of her friends, not particularly. They didn't pick at his brain the way she did. The way she toyed with him in his own mind has added a whole new dimension of curiosity and desire to really understand her.

She's wormed her way right into his mind, where she refuses to leave.

So more than anything, he wants a way to return the favor.

In a way, she can be his new spellbook. His new quest. His new fascination. And this time, finding what he's looking for can be made into a game. Into a puzzle. One in which he'll inevitably come out as the victor of.

Yes, he thinks, this is what he wants.

He wants finding Velma Dinkley to be a game.

He wants it to be a long, convoluted, and frustrating game. He wants his efforts to be met with next to no payoff, just so that the day they meet again will be that much more rewarding.

Fortunately, it seems things will play out in his favor for once.

Because he has a clue as to her existence, a fact he can cling to until he can shove it right back in her face.

It's the only clue. It's the only evidence of her having ever been inside his head. All he has of her is that taunting scrap of paper she had left in his hand before beginning the chase.

And he's going to use it to find her.

Try not to take it so personally, the scrap reads. If it's any consolation, you were always my favorite. ♡- V.D.

#scooby doo #scooby doo and the witch's ghost #ben ravencroft #velma dinkley #daphne blake #scooby doo fanfiction #my writing

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Ask on Lizzo and Supporting Problematic Faves (Repost)

Anonymous: Hello BPP!!! I saw an ask mentioning Big Bang and you also commented in one of your asks that you don't care about Lizzo being problematic. I'm curious what you think about "separating art from the artist"?

I'm still in the fence on it, as I'm quick to drop artists when they do something questionable and I usually lose any enjoyment I have for their music. But as an Army, I feel like I'm hypocritical because I'm aware that the boys aren't entirely clean either, mistakes were made, stuff happened, but I still thoroughly enjoy their music too. I guess what I'm asking is, where do we draw the line?

Because even thinking of possibly monetarily supporting an artist like Chris Brown makes me recoil, idols who have had bullying scandals also make me eek because who knows if they've really changed? Sometimes I wonder if BTS is as good hearted (in a reasonable, human, way) as we think they are, but since we have plenty of evidence that they are, I want to believe in good faith that it's true. Worrying about it would drive me crazy but my brain can't help it, haha!

**

Hi Anon,

First of all, I think there’s a fair amount of false equivalences going on here and honestly, in a lot of discourse around certain artists. It would never occur to me to place BigBang’s Seungri who was convicted for what are basically sex crimes, and Chris Brown who was convicted for domestic violence and assault, in the same sentence within any context with Lizzo who appropriated Asian culture in a photoshoot where the entire direction of that set was by LaChappelle who himself came under little to no fire, and the well known music magazine it was in, Rolling Stone, was also unscathed.

In my opinion it shows an absolutist mindset seen in hyper-religious people who believe all sin is equally bad. When of course, I think that’s nonsense.

So I guess, I’m not the sort of person to stop being interested in an artist the minute I see something I don’t like because I never approach artists expecting perfection. They’re real human beings with all the vices and virtues available to them. And I’ve said this about BTS in several places on my blog. There’s no hard and fast rule as we’re all different and can tolerate different things. Usually, for me, criminal actions are a hard pass. Nothing BTS has been accused of, even in theory or in rumors, comes even close to any of that, obviously.

There are several idols already toeing that line though, but BTS isn’t one of them, at least so far. And by the way, I honestly don’t believe those people who claim to be blindsided when unsavory/criminal news comes out about their idols because in almost every case it should’ve been plausible because of how those idols behaved. BTS is a bit different from most other k-pop idols or groups for a few reasons. The first is that (at least before COVID), they were always being filmed or moving between locations for touring. They’d be recording material for their new albums while on tour and were at some point functioning on less than 3 hours of sleep because of how busy they were. And were almost always together. Like k-pop stans used to make fun of BTS for always being together, saying that they had no life outside of BTS. It was unlikely to even catch them in compromising situations, so nobody was surprised that it was during their first ever long vacation in summer 2019, that we got ‘scandals’ for the first time from the group.

Another reason is the consistency of reports from people who work with them for the first time, those who have worked with them for years, people who are their peers and competitors, people of all races who have consistently vouched for how the boys behave in their personal dealings with them. It will be weird AF if a bullying scandal comes out for Jimin for example who even before BTS blew up, had almost every report from his old school comment positively on his character. There’s already a track record with BTS that has been corroborated from everyone from random fans and non-fans to even their own competitors. Of course it’s always possible we learn tomorrow that Taehyung is a pimp and Namjoon is a drug dealer. If that happens, I’ll rethink what I know of them now.

Something to always remember with BTS is that they are men, born and raised in a hierarchal, homophobic and patriarchal society. Over the course of their career I’ve noticed some of the members’ behaviors and professed beliefs become more progressive, but we never really know what they’re like. All that said, so far, there’s been no need to separate artist from art for me, in the case of BTS.

You’ll draw your line at a place that makes sense to you, and I’ll draw mine in a place that makes sense to me, which for now hovers somewhere around physical violence and/or criminal activities.

Originally posted: March 25th, 2022 12:22pm

#bts #fandom behavior #problematic faves #repost #lizzo #bangtan #fandom behaviour #kpop #kpop music

[loopy777]

So another couple of meta questions for your opinion for my Sauron goes west AU.

I've gone over my plans for the Elves in this AU, Where the magic never really faded, if not exactly regained the shine it had in the previous ages, but what of Tolkien's other races?

The ents would obviously would survive in a world withouth sauron and his genocidal campaigns against the entwives, but that atill leaves Dwarfs and Orcs.

Now we don't exactly know why Dwarfs went extinct sometime between the fourth age, and the beginning of recorded history, but tolkien was very clear that they did. With that in mind, was their final end a result of declining magic in the world? Or just terrible luck with the misty mountains sinking into the sea, and they didn't manage to survive elsewhere in the long term?

Now with a more stable, flat world, the Misty mountains would not fall into the sea as tolkien noted it was beginning to do as the fourth age began, so do you think this would in the long terms save the species as a whole?

Personally i think durin's bane would still drive them from Moria, Smaug would still be a terrible danger to any lonely mountain colony, and while sauron might not be around, the great evil empire that would take his place(An imperialistic, if not human sacrificing Numenor) would still affect them severely.

On the other hand, without a dark Lord to drive them, would the Orcs ever manage to dislodge the Dwarfs from their other big kingdom in the Misty mountains, Gundabad?

Not to mention that without sauron, i don't really see the Dwarf kingdoms in in proto africa and asia failing. And of course there's the dwarfs in the Blue mountains, which lies closest to the great eleven realm in western middle earth, and thus be filthy, filthy rich through trade.

But what do you think?

And as for the Orcs, i imagine that without any dark lords to force them into unity, they would exist as lesser, petty kingdoms and realms, ruled over by local strongmen in the wilder parts of the world.

Probably in constant conflict with their neighbors.

I don't really see any shot at true redemption from within, so if there would be any hope for them as a species beyond continuing to be evil, or eventual extinction, i can only see two possibilities.

Firstly they could be conquered by force of arms by an emerging empire of man, forced into becoming vassals, and send their men to fight for them war, their children taking the customs of their overlords over time, and eventually becoming a part of that empire's overall culture in some way(Think the way Rome Romanized the people they conquered).

Alternatively, i imagine if they manage to hold on until the coming of the messiah(Which will take place 4000 years after the end of the point in the timeline where Sauron was defeated in LOTR), I imagine the power of christ(Or whatever the son of man would be named in this timeline) dying for the worlds collected sins, would probably serve as some sort of catalyst for a grand change in a race defined by the sins that infused them with evil.

Honestly, the fact that Tolkien were clearly meant for Eru to be the judeo-christian god, and was going to have christ eventual coming be an in universe prophecy at some point, complicates this timeline a lot, but that is a way bogger topic for another ask.

Regardless, i would love to hear your takes on the Orcs. Do you agree with mine? Disagree? Mayhapd you think a dark lord to lead them would rise regardless in some kind of form even withouth sauron or another maia to be the one?

For the Dwarves, I recall an aside from 'The Hobbit' that Hobbits are still around but never/rarely seen by people because they hide from us and our clumsy ways. Adhering too strictly to stuff from 'The Hobbit' can clash with LotR and the associated prequels/lore, but to me that says magic doesn't entirely disappear from the world, it just retreats from human areas of dominion, and it's enough to maintain a non-human species. So from that, I'd extrapolate that Dwarves could have theoretically survived, and I'd go with the idea of various disasters and their impacts being the culprit behind the extinction. I'm not knowledgeable enough of Tolkien lore to pin it to a specific sequence, but your idea of making the loss of the Misty Mountains the fulcrum works for me.

I agree that we can probably blame the rise of a Dark Lord or other Morgoth-related force for the major losses of Dwarven strongholds to orc attacks. Granted, we don't have a lot of examples, but by my recollection, we never see orcs actually drive Dwarves out of their cities, it's always a Balrog or a dragon or something that can overwhelm the usual fortress-like defenses, and then orcs come along to help out or afterward. Even the Dwarves couldn't take back Moira on their own through battle, despite being better warriors than orcs, so I think their cities are just that good at repelling invaders.

You raise an interesting point about humans becoming the orcs' overlords, but I'm not sure I'd relegate them merely to vassals who eventually become ugly Lite Humans. Again, going back to 'The Hobbit' and the quote about goblin engineering ability:

"They make no beautiful things, but the make many clever ones. hey can tunnel and mine as well as any but the most skilled dwarves, when they take the trouble, though they are usually untidy and dirty. Hammers, axes, swords, daggers, pickaxes, tongs, and also instruments of torture, they make very well, or get other people to make to their design, prisoners and slaves that have to work till they die for want of air and light. It is not unlikely that they invented some of the machines that have since troubled the world, especially the ingenious devices for killing large numbers of people at once, for wheels and engines and explosions always delighted them, and also not working with their own hands more than they could help; but in those days and those wild parts they had not advanced (as it is called) so far."

I can see them being conquered by the Numenor Empire or whatever, becoming vassals, but then taking human science and technology and- well, maybe not improving it, but are the driving force behind an industrialization that makes them into something like a partner nation. An orc nation can rise where the primary employment is in factories that supply human nations. Those orc nations might even become hotbeds of research and development, overseen by human leaders, where the nasty work of breaking scientific barriers can be out of sight and out of mind of most of humanity. Perhaps orc mercenary companies also become a major way of waging war. (Am I making Numenor too much like America? XD)

As far as Jesus's involvement, I like how the published version of The Silmarillion handles all the religious stuff by saying "that's not part of our history and it's all mysterious to us." Of course, the Silmarillion is meant to be Elvish history, so that makes sense, but I lean towards continuing the spirit and saying that the whole "Son of Man" thing Jesus has going means the whole thing is humanity-oriented. So orcs wouldn't be included since they're either corrupted Elves or something else.

But, on the other hand, if orcs become a conquered sub-nation to humanity, maybe they would get dragged into an opportunity for salvation?

Story-wise, if I was going to do a redemption of the orcs, I'd want to link things back up with the Elves, taking them back to the beginning and their uncorrupted state. Perhaps the coming of Jesus eventually cuts the orcs off from the humans, leading to something involving the Elves?

(Now there's a sentence I never expected to type. XD)

#thekingofwinterblog

[db-reviews]

#189 - Runaljod – Yggdrasil - Wardruna (2013)

Wardruna in Norwegian means ‘the guardian of secrets’ or ‘she who whispers’. A name worthy of this folk band that truly pays homage to its Scandinavian culture.

This is the second release from this band, and the second part in the group’s Runaljod trilogy. The band cements themselves with dark and Nordic folk music that contains quite epically inclined rhythms and tribulations that feels like a war music ensemble.

What I think really works for the band in their favor here is the use of ambiance and drone in cognation with their folk music, and I think they really excel in creating a strong atmosphere with these drones. Another thing I really like about this album is just how it feels like this group captured the past in such a way that I believe they are time travelers from the Nordic past, and quickly learned many present day customs and history that they reignited their music from the past into our present. Obviously this isn’t true, but if your music is that good at capturing a sound from way back in the past, than I think you are doing something right.

I guess my only problem is that I just feel like it is a bit too long, especially when introducing someone like myself, one who isn’t quite familiar enough with this genre of music, to this sort of music. Obviously I liked what I get here, but I felt like after IwaR my attention wavered and I started to not enjoy the album as much as it first began. Definitely not a major issue, in fact maybe when I listen to other albums from this band my mind might change, but right now I am not quite in the mood for hour long dark Nordic folk albums, maybe 30-45 minutes though.

An impressive and very poignant record that combines intricate drones with epic Nordic folk melodies. Quite the album in my humble opinion that I’ll definitely look more into as time goes by.

4.5/5

#music review #album review #folk #ambient

[comparativelysuperlative]

The great thing about Tolkien fandom is that anybody can just say things. Did you know that all Elves can astral project according to, uh, a footnote in LACE, they just don’t? Yeah, I don’t know if that’s true. You don’t know. Neither did Tolkien. Canon is whatever you want and it all depends on how good your lawyer is.

#Silmarilion #LOTR #'what do your elf eyes see' 'ugh do we have to do this again?' 'WHAT DO YOUR ELF EYES SEE?' 'fine give me a minute and watch my hroa' #for the record my opinion is that this is sort of true but obviously no Elf would think of it in those terms #and it has probably been done around zero times for a mix of bad and good reasons #the really interesting question is whether *orcs* can and if not why not

[baeddel]

Please. Please can you tell me what a baeddel is and why people (terfs?) used it in a derogatory manner on this website for a hot minute but now no one ever uses it at all

you asked for it, fucker

[2k words; philology and drama]

baeddel is an Old English word. i have no idea where it actually occurs in the Old English written corpus, but it occurs in a few placenames. its diminuitive form, baedling, is much better documented. it appears in the (untranslated) Canons of Theodore, a penitential handbook, a sort of guidebook for priests offering advice on what penances should be recommended for which sins. in a passage devoted to sexual transgressions it gives the penances suggested for a man who sleeps with a woman, a man who sleeps with another man, and then a man who sleeps with a baedling. so you have this construction of a baedling as something other than a man or a woman. and then it gives the penance for a baedling who sleeps with another baedling (a ludicrous one-year fast). then, by way of an explaination, Theodore delivers us one of the most enigmatic phrases in the Old English corpus: "for she is soft, like an adulturess."

the -ling suffix in baedling is masculine. but Theodore uses feminine pronouns and suffixes to describe baedlings. as we said, it's also used separately from male and female. but it's also used separately from their words for intersex and it never appears in this context. all of this means that you have this word that denotes a subject who is, as Christopher Monk put it, "of problematic gender." interested historians have typically interpreted it as referring to some category of homosexual male, such as Wayne R. Dines in his two-volume Encyclopedia of Homosexuality who discusses it in the context of an Old English glossary which works a bit like an Old English-Latin dictionary, giving Old English words and their Latin counterparts. the Latin words the Anglo-Saxon lexicographer chose to correspond with baedling were effeminatus and mollis, and Lang concludes that it refers to an "effeminate homosexual" (pg 60, Anglo Saxon). this same glossary gives as an Old English synonym the word waepenwifstere which literally means "woman with a penis," and which Dines gives the approximate translation (hold on tight) male wife.

R. D. Fulk, a philologist and medievalist, made a separate analysis of the term in his study on the Canons of Theodore 'Male Homoeroticism in the Old English Canons of Theodore', collected in Sex and Sexuality in Medieval England, 2004. he analysed it as a 'sexual category' (sexual as in sexuality), owing to the context of sexual transgressions in the Canons. he decides that it refers to a man who bottoms in sexual relationships with another man. i don't have the article on hand so i'm not sure what his reasoning was, but this seems obviously inadequate given what we know from the glossary described by Dines. Latin has a word for bottom, pathica, and the lexicographer did not use this in their translation, preferring words that emphasized the baedling's femininity like effeminatus, and doesn't address the sexual context at all. Dines, however, only reading this glossary, seems to decide that it refers to a type of male homosexual too hastily, considering the Canons explicitly treat them separately. both Dines and Fulk immediately reduce the baedling to a subcategory of homosexual when neither of the sources to hand actually do so themselves.

by now it should be obvious why, seven or so years ago, we interpreted it as an equivalent to trans woman. I mean come on - a woman with a penis! these days I tend to add a bit of a caution to this understanding, which is that trans woman is the translation of baedling which seems most adequate to us, just as baedling was the translation of effeminatus that seemed most adequate to our lexicographer. but the term cannot translate perfectly; its sense was derived from some minimal context; a legal context, a doctrinal context, and so forth... the way Anglo-Saxons understood sex/gender is complicated but it has been argued that they had a 'one sex model' and didn't regard men and women as biologically separate types, which is obviously quite different from the sexual model accepted today; in any case they didn't have access to the karyotype and so on. the basic categories they used to understand gender and sexuality were different from ours. in particular, Hirschfield et al. should be understood as a particularly revolutionary moment in the genealogy of transsexuality; the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft essentially invented the concept of the 'sex change', the 'transition', conceived as a biological passage from one sex to the other. even in other contexts where (forgive me) #girlslikeus changed their bodies in some way, like the castration of the priestesses of Cybele, or those belonging to the various historical societies which we believe used premarin for feminization [disputed; see this post], there is no record that they were ever considered men at any stage or had some kind of male biology that preceded their 'gender identity.' the concept of the trans woman requires the minimal context of the coercive assignment at birth and its subsequent (civil and bio-technological) rejection. i have never encountered evidence that this has ever been true in any previous society. nonetheless, these societies still had gendered relations, and essentially wherever we find these gendered relations we also find some subject which is omitted or for whom it has been necessary to note exceptions. what is of chief interest to us is not so much that there was such a subject here or there in history (and whatever propagandistic uses this fact might have), but understanding why these regularities exist.

a very parsimonious explanation is that gender is a biological reality, and there is some particular biological subject which a whole host of words have been conjured to denote. if this were the case then we would expect that, no matter what gender/sexual system we encounter in a given society, it will inevitably find some linguistic expression. if, like me, you find this idea revolting, then you should busy yourself trying to come up with an alternative explanation which is not just plausible, but more plausible. my best guesses are outside the scope of this answer...

anyway, all of this must be very interesting to the five or six people invested in the confluence of philology and gender studies. but why on earth did it become so widely used, in so many strange and unusual contexts, in the 2010s? we're very sorry, but yes, it's our fault. you see apart from all of this, there is also a little piece of information which goes along with the word baeddel, which is that it's the root of the Modern English word bad. by way of, no less, the word baedan, 'to defile'. how this defiled historical subject came to bear responsibility for everything bad to English-speakers doesn't seem to be known from linguistic evidence. however, it makes for a very pithy little remark on transmisogyny. my dear friend [REDACTED] made a playful little post making this point and, good Lord, had we only known...

it went like this. its such a funny little idea that we all start changing our urls to include the word baeddel. in those days it was common to make puns with your url (we always did halloween and christmas ones); i was baeddelaire, a play on the French poet Baudelaire. while we all still had these urls a series of events which everyone would like to forget happened, and we became Enemies of Everyone in the Whole World. because of the url thing people started to call us "the baeddels." then there was "a cult" called "the baeddels" and so forth. this cult had various infamies attatched to it and a constellation of indefensible political positions. ultimately we faced a metric fucking shit ton of harassment, including, for some of my friends, really serious and bad irl harassment that had long-term bad awful consequences relating to stable housing and physical safety and i basically never want to talk about that part of my life ever again. and i never have to, because i've come to realize that for most people, when they use the word baeddel, they don't know about that stuff. it doesn't mean that anymore.

so what does it mean? you'll see it in a few contexts. TERFs do use it, as you guessed. i am not quite sure what they really mean by it and how it differs from other TERF barbs. i think being a baeddel invovles being politically active or at least having a political consciousness, but in a way thats distinct from just any 'TRA' or trans activist. so perhaps 'militant' trans women, but perhaps also just any trans woman with any opinions at all. how this was transmitted from tumblr/west coast tranny drama to TERF vocabulary i have no idea. but you will also find - or, could have found a few years ago - i would say 'copycat' groups who didn't know us or what we believed but heard the rumours, and established their own (generously) organizations (usually facebook groups) dedicated to putting those principles into practice. they considered themselves trans lesbian separatists and did things like doxx and harass trans women who dated cafabs. if you don't know about this, yes, there really were such groups. they mostly collapsed and disappeared because they were evildoers who based their ideology on a caricature. i knew a black trans woman who was treated very badly by one of these groups, for predictable reasons. so long-time readers: if you see people talking about their bad experiences with 'baeddels', you can't necessarily relate it to the 2014 context and assume they're carrying around old baggage. there are other dreams in the nightmare.

the most common way you'll see it today, in my experience, is in this form: people will say that it was a "slur" for trans women. they might bring up that it's the root of the word bad, and they might even think that you shouldn't use the word bad because of it, or that you shouldn't use the word baeddel because it's a slur. all of this is a silly game of internet telephone and not worth addressing. except to say that it's by no means clear that baeddel, or baedling, were slurs, or even insulting at all. while Theodore doesn't provide us with a description of how we can have sex with a baedling without sinning, and it may be the case that any sexual relations with a baedling was considered sinful, sexuality-based transgressions were not taken all that seriously in those days. there was a period where homosexuality within the Church was almost sanctioned, and it wasn't until much later that homosexuality became so harshly proscribed, to the extent that it was thought to represent a threat to society, etc. and as i mentioned, there are places in England named after baedlings. there is a little parish near Kent which is called Badlesmere, Baeddel's Lake, which was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Domesday Book (as having a lord, a handful of villagers and a few slaves; perhaps only one or two households). it's not unheard of, but i just don't know very many places called Faggot Town or some such. it's possible that baedlings had some role in Anglo-Saxon society which we are not aware of; it could even have been a prestigious one, as it was in other societies. there is just no evidence other than a couple of passing references in the literature and we'll probably never have a complete picture.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Lol, thanks for saying that Harry insisting time and time again about being free can mean he isn’t free at all. It irks me when people praise those quotes without thinking the insistence can mean completely the contrary. When thanking for his awards, he always says how much free he’s been to make the music he’s done, and how no one pressured him to make certain music, and I always read it as some kind of snark comment. But I’m always in the unpopular opinion with that, so to see YOU thinking something similar to me makes me feel a bit better.

Also, lol, writing this made me realise how much I realise my feelings in other people, which I know I shouldn’t, but it frustrates me to always think different from the rest.

Thanks for this anon - I feel like there are two parts of this one about Harry and one about fandom and I'm going to take them one by one.

***********

I don't know that I was saying what you think I was saying. When talking about Harry and freedom since he did that spate of interviews, I wasn't talking about his label or external structures, but his feelings and internal experiences.

What Harry has been saying, with each album release, is that he felt not just freer, but less afraid, when making music. When I've been talking about freedom - I've been talking in that context - where the opposite of freedom is fear, rather than the opposite of freedom being external control.

What I take from what Harry's saying is that he would really like to make music from a place where he's free from fear, but that fear is a pretty large presence in his life. I also think it suggests that fear is present in his drive to be one of the biggest artists in the world, and that drive is pretty central to him and the way he makes music.

You don't become one of the biggest artists in the world by accident, or by following your bliss (although there's a marketing advantage to pretending that you do). So in one sense none of it is a surprise, but I do think we're getting quite a window on the way Harry thinks about it when he claims with each album that this time he's making music free from fear for the first time. I think it tells us what he wants to be driven by, and what he actually is driven by.

I definitely don't read his comments about being free to make the music he wants as a snark comment. I don't think Rob Stringer needs to pressure Harry to be a certain kind of artist, because I think Harry has internalised that pressure.

I think for Harry the pressure from the label is probably pretty indirect (and I do think that's about his track-record, but also that non-white non male artists probably often experience more micro-management). In order to be as successful as he is Harry needs and gets a very large publicity budget and success. Everyone knows that it's contingent on success and people being happy - and that's the sort of thing that drives Harry's fear, not direct attempts to control what he does.

I also feel like I need to be reasonably explicit that I'm not really talking about Harry's closet here, or at least not primarily about it (obviously I think these dynamics are part of the decisions he's making about his career). Decisions about his closet are made way before he gets to the studio. I'm talking about all the decisions he makes in the studio about the sort of music he makes.

Sorry if that's disappointing - but I do probably disagree with you. Although I'm not exactly sure what you think, so feel free to come back and chat.

***********

I do think it can be frustrating within fandom, when you feel like you're in the minority. And that's true both in the 'argh people are wrong on the internet' way and also figuring out what you think.

I think it's worth acknowledging that none of us really know. We don't know the dynamic between Harry and his label, we don't know what he means. I'm not some kind of expert, but some person in New Zealand saying what I see.

#Oh Harry #Oh fandom

[neovrse]

— TEASER

“dude, it means i have a crush on you”

genre — fluff, angst, mark lee being his regular cute self

warnings — swearing, sexual themes, sexual tension, smut, exhibition, oc is pretty harsh to mark at times, she is a literal ice queen. mark not knowing how to talk to girls

word count — tba (somewhere inbetween 13k-20k

songs to listen to — i like u by niki and ordinary love by park kyung ft park bom

summary — mark is not your friend. you would even consider him a senior because you guys are the same age. you had no problems with mark, until your group’s comeback got pushed back because of a collab you have to do with sm’s golden boy. now you have to spend every waking day with the boy in order to get your work out faster. there is absolutely no room for a friendship between you and mark. it’s strictly business in your eyes. mark on the other hand cannot help but wonder where this arrangement could take the two of you

release date — sometime next week, will clarify as i get more done

an — if you want me to tag you when it is released just send me an ask

you would hardly consider mark lee to be your friend. colleague, senior if you really had to watch your honorifics around the staff but friend would be an exaggeration 

interactions with him when you were a trainees together were limited and short. he was a shy boy he barely met your eyes or anyone’s for that matter as he was still getting accustomed to the new country he was continuing his life in. as soon as mark arrived he threw himself into practicing at a young age which to assumed was to cope with the new changes in his life 

all the late nights you walked passed the dance practice room or the studio and saw the boy practicing himself to the bone, seemed to pay off as mark debuted a whole year before you

there was no sense of resentment as you knew the boy worked hard without ever telling him to his face, you were happy for him 

though none of the events in his life impacted yours as you continued with your daily lessons and dance practices. seeing all of you fellow friends who debuted before you just motivated you to work harder 

it was finally your turn, a few trainees you became close to were finally given the opportunity to debut. you could easily say there was nothing like the preparation for your groups debut 

majority of the stuff you have done in the past to prepare yourself were individual so you were stepping into foreign territory 

you moved away from your parents and moved into a dorm with your members. the five of you ate together, practiced together and recorded together, which was crucial to build the relationship with one another 

after spending so much time together, you could confidently call them your best friends, something you never experienced since moving to korea 

after debut you rarely saw mark, he was a busybody even when his group was not promoting, he was almost always doing other schedules and promotions 

for the entire year, you almost completely forgot who mark lee even is

well until now

you were told to dress nicely by your manager. to meet her downstairs for whatever reason while all you members remained asleep from the long night of recording an ost for a drama, you couldn’t careless about 

while hoping the backseat of the van, your manager sat beside you and looked at you with tired eyes. you felt bad for her, she was always there. always punctual and never failed to set you guys straight. what a lot of you guys forgot to realize at times was the she had a life too and a family outside of the group

she deserved better than babysitting a bunch of 20 something year olds 

“honey, just a heads up, you are gonna have a meeting with the creative team today” she finally spoke as she sent you a weak smile

“why just me?” you sat up as you placed your airpods in your ear but held back from playing anything 

“i am not too sure, i am sorry” manager lim apologized with her face already flushed. you raised your hand lightly telling her it's fine

“its okay, a surprise wont kill me?”

 that was your first wrong 

when you walked into the room, all eyes were on you as if you were late. you noticed a man who looked much older than manager lim stand up first as he bowed. next to him was a brown haired boy who you instantly recognized as mark. why was he here anyways?

“ah, you are finally here” you met with the eyes of the man you knew as mr. hong who was the head of the creative team that usually worked with your group as well as nct. The questions were still floating around in your head, why were you and mark the only one present?  with the curiosity still lingering in your thoughts, you bowed to the staff that were in the room

when you got to mark, his head was already tilted downwards, you barely even got a glimpse at the boy before bowing quickly and slipping into the seat closest to you at the table 

“i am sure the two of you are curious as to why it is just you and not your members?” mr. hong smiled obviously trying to ease up the stiffness that was clear as day 

mark and you nodded respectfully awaiting the answer for their long lasting questions, “we have been planning for you to start your solo career later this year. we have been working really hard trying to think of ways to get you started” he spoke towards you as your expression remained unresponsive 

“yeah, we really appreciate your time and effort” manager lim bowed, her eyes widened as she noticed your stiff figure, she pinched your thigh roughly, have some respect, she mouthed to you as you quickly ducked your head while rubbing their throbbing stop on your thigh 

“of course, uh” mr. hong cleared his voice, why did he look so nervous anyways?, “mark, you have been our ace for so long and in my opinion no one is a better rapper than you” mr. hong praised the boy across from you as mark quickly became flustered. he never did know how to take compliments.  

mark muttered a quick thank you before looking back down at his hands, “both of you guys are very talented so we came up with the idea that the both of you should collab together” you stopped all your movements as you heard the last word fall from mr. hong’s lips, collab?

you sat up straight in your chair, opening your mouth to decline the idea right way until you felt manager lim grab your shoulder and guide you back into your seat

“collab? i thought vixen were having a comeback soon” manager lim spoke up, taking the words right out of your mouth

“sooyoung-ah, it's still early in the year. the kids will have plenty of time to resume their comeback preparation” mr. hong quickly said as you felt manager lim sigh lowly from her spot next to you 

you felt your blood boil and it was clear that you were seeing red right now. after all the preparation the five of you and manager lim have done. the endless dark nights at the studio and early morning win the dance practice rooms for the last two weeks are all stopping all because of mark lee? 

the more you thought about it the angrier you became. they care so much about their precious that they have to mess with my girl’s comeback? you turned to manager lim with  a attonshed expression painted all over your face

looking at the pleading expression on manager lim’s face was enough to tell you that you had to hold your tongue and refrain from saying all the things that were racing through your mind

you let out a breath before looking up at mark who still refused to meet your eyes, was he some sort of coward? how could he avoid your gaze after he single handedly ruined your group's chances at an early comeback this year? not only that but trampled all over your solo activities being well solo 

“the two of you are the same in age, so why not drop honorifics” mr. hong chuckled lightly still trying to slice through the tension in the room. to your horror, mark nodded and you followed suit 

“ah great to see the two of you get a long already” mr. hong clapped as he patted his hand on mark’s shoulder but knew better than to come near you with that deadly expression your face 

“when we were thinking of a concept we came up with something like a new and young love concept. the two of you are so young and mark has his adorable boy-ish charm” you recognized the voice came from miss kim. you almost gagged at his words direct towards the brown haired boy

“also it would be good for you to do a more soft concept for once to show your fans your duality” she winked at you, it was true your group were more use to darker and sexier concepts

you had no words so you settled on a simple nod, for the first time since you came into the room you were one avoiding marks eyes they fell open your figure 

he hasn't had a good look at you since god knows how long. your hair was short, contrasting the lengthy black hair you had when he first met you. was it seven years ago already? he lost track of time as soon as he became a trainee. it was like he was introduced into a whole new world  

mark suddenly remembered the little conversations he had with you in the past. he could barely even let out one word to you at school or at training classes because at that time girls were an unsolved mystery to him. you were just teenagers back then. ironic that the two of you see each other for the first time in so long, on terms such as these 

“the two of you are very talented so we want you to be a part of the songwriting process” bait. almost everyone in the agency knew you were a songwriting junkie, but to write a song with mark? about love? even that did not seem possible 

“oh okay” mark finally chirped in. your head shot up as you looked at him like he was a madman, why would he agree so quickly?

“great! I hope you guys become good friends during this process. lets work hard!” mr. hong collected his papers that were scattered across the desk and made his way out the room. you stood up and bowed to him respectfully and the rest of the staff as they exited the room

without giving mark another glance, grabbed your phone from the table before walking out with pure rage. you heard manager lim’s heels clacking from behind you as she tried to catch up to you

mark sat there for an extra moment before his manager patted him on the shoulder and told him it’s time to go back to the dorm

mark was so out of it he couldn’t stop thinking about your actions and body language while you were in the room. you seemed upset, no you seeemed angry

was it because of him? what did he do do make you so mad at him?

he would make sure to ask you sometime along the road, considering this would not be the last time he would see you

the two of you had a lot of work to do together, starting now

#mark soft hours #mark lee scenarios #mark lee angst #mark lee au #nct u #nct 127 fluff #nct fake texts #nct au #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct imagines #nct dream blurbs #nct 127 blurbs #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #mark lee fluff #— my love🤍🤍

[scripttorture]

You mention in posts how torture doesn’t make people obedient and usually makes them spiteful (which obviously makes sense), but isn’t it realistic for someone to comply out of fear rather than loyalty? Whether that was giving up information or obeying orders or something else entirely. I imagine it depends on the person, and they would probably still be willing to turn on their torturers if given the chance, but would it be possible for them to obey orders in hopes of avoiding more pain?

This is a much more nuanced and complicated topic then we’re taught to assume.

 When it comes to giving up information it’s pretty clear cut. No, torture can’t lead to accurate information for a lot of interconnected reasons. I have about six separate masterposts covering the reasons for this.

 One of those is the antagonism torture produces. Another is the memory problems torture causes. Another is the effect that the use of torture has on organisations and the chain of command. Another is the effect torture has on torturers.

 Torture drastically increases the chances of memory loss and it also increases the chances of inaccurate memories. So not only is a torture victim less likely to talk, they’re more likely to be wrong if they do talk.

 But the effects on victims aren’t the main reason torture doesn’t work as a way of getting information. You’re assuming that torturers have access to people who have information.

 The reality is that torture destroys an organisation’s ability to gather accurate information. Most information comes from volunteers: when torture comes into play less people volunteer information. This means that an organisation which tortures is more likely to be questioning someone who knows nothing. That person is then abused until they start making things up.

 Because there’s less access to volunteered information and because humans are very bad at telling when someone is lying, a lot of these made up stories are believed. And this then effects who else the organisation arrests and tortures. This creates a sort of spiral, with lies leading to more lies.

 Additionally the torturers themselves make things worse. There’s less quality research on them, but the research and anecdotal accounts create a pretty clear picture of their behaviour. They undermine the chain of command, they lose the skills the originally had as they turn to torture, they’re aggressive, incredibly competitive and they have a… fracturing effect on their organisation.

 Basically they’re incredibly difficult to work with and totally convinced of their own importance. And this effects their colleagues. It totally divides organisations. The worst case I’ve read about involved members of the same organisation killing each other over access to prisoners.

 That’s a short run through of the main factors. Torture, in the legally defined sense, means all of these factors are in play. Plus a few more I’ve omitted to keep this shorter.

 With all of that together you just can’t get accurate information.

 If you want longer posts I’ve made on the subject I suggest looking for the ‘torture doesn’t work’ tag and the ‘torture as interrogation’ tag. You can also read the masterposts. If you want a much more in depth look at why torture consistently fails as a way of getting information I recommend O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Rejali’s Torture and Democracy.

 O’Mara is a neuroscientist and goes through the effects torture has on the brain in a way that’s accessible, explaining the damage torture causes and how that destroys the evidence torturers claim to be seeking. Rejali’s book is a breeze block but it’s really a must, it is the textbook on torture in a broad sense. He ties together information from across the globe creating a broader picture of what torture does, not just to victims but to societies.

 The question of compliance under threat and pain… is more complicated.

 People can be forced to do some things. That much is obvious from a brief glance at human history and things like slavery. But it’s important to listen to what people in these scenarios say.

 And my opinion, based on what I’ve read, is that what these people say doesn’t support the idea that humans will easily obey instructions when they’re hurt or threatened. I think instead these people are making hard headed, rational choices in absolutely awful situations. I think when we don’t have these experiences of torture or slavery, it’s easy to look at the surface of the situation and assume that pain alone assures obedience. I think that happens because it’s hard for use to understand the rationale when we don’t have that lived experience.

 Let me give some examples. So it probably goes without saying that slavery goes hand in hand with physical abuse. One of the major researchers on slavery, whose data I quote pretty regularly, assumes throughout his writings that pain is the deciding factor which ‘makes’ people obey.

 But he also describes a couple of very obvious consistent patterns in the ways slavers behave. Slavers almost universally do the following things as well as using physical abuse:

Separate enslaved people from their community

Bar enslaved people from other forms of support

Make enslaved people financially/materially reliant on the slavers

Tell enslaved people that going to the police/authorities will lead to the enslaved person being arrested

Try to convince enslaved people that they will be better off if they comply, usually by framing it as a debt to be worked off with promises of riches after a period of time

 Now here’s the thing: we know from studies on cults and studies on ICURE techniques that a lot of these strategies will result in obedience when there is no violence or physical abuse.

 Given that I don’t think we can assume that violence is the deciding factor. In fact I think the evidence we have from forced confessions under torture suggests the violence may lead to less obedience and a lower ‘success’ rate then a set up that used emotional abuse or other exploitative techniques without violence.

 We have two sources of historical data that are used for statistical studies on forced confessions. One is from historical France. We think that this data set only involved torture to force a confession; no other method of coercion just violence. The rate of forced confessions varied a little in different areas but over all it’s about 10%. The second data set is from the ‘London Cage’ a British prison during the second world war. Here we know that torture was combined with blackmail, bribery and other kinds of coercion. The rate of forced confessions there was about 30%.

 And while this is just two studies, while the data is lacking… That is one hell of a jump.

 Let’s circle back to ICURE. ICURE stands for Isolation, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive responses. It’s a set of techniques which can, sometimes, change someone’s beliefs when it’s applied consistently over a long time.

 Notice the effort slavers put in to isolating their victims. Notice that the behaviour pattern I’m describing means the slavers are creating uncertainty over seeking help and repeating those messages as well as messages that the victims will be better off if they just go along with it.

 Slavers will generally also try to control the information their victims have access to, taking phones and blocking access to news sources and other resources. Now a lot of slavers will transport their victims to other states or countries putting a language barrier in place. They sometimes also use emotive responses in attempts to persuade victims to comply.

 I’ve read multiple accounts where survivors of modern slavery described slavers telling them that the money they were making was being sent to the victim’s family and without it the family would not survive. (Sometimes the slavers do send small amounts to the families of their victims, sometimes they pocket everything.) I’ve also read accounts where gangs of slavers used religion and oaths taken in a religious setting to persuade their victims they’d be punished by God for not complying.

 Even with all of this, all these techniques we know can sometimes ‘work’- lots of people refuse. Lots of people disobey. Lots of people escape. Lots of people actively sabotage the operations the slavers put together.

 And if you look at that same history of slavery, that shows us people can sometimes be forced to work, you’ll see that this has always been true.

 We have records of historic enslaved people attacking slavers, forming organised militias, forming parallel societies, sacking towns, taking over an entire Caribbean island and beating off four European armies in the process. We also have records of smaller acts. Sabotage, worship of banned deities, speaking banned languages, destruction of property, aiding in the escape of others.

 What I’m saying is: this isn’t black and white. The evidence, modern and historical does not paint a clear picture of violence leading to obedience.

 Instead I believe that it shows humans are resilient, stubborn, adaptable creatures. People can survive all kinds of horrible situations. It is more accurate, more human, to assume that people make rational choices.

 Sometimes those choices involve short term compliance while looking for a better option or a way out. But we tend to hear less stories about the people who completely refuse to comply. We tend to treat that as an impossible fiction when it is a recorded historical and modern reality.

 Bringing this back to writing as a general rule the more complicated the act the less likely you can force someone to do it. Because the more complicated it is the more opportunities they’ll have to sabotage it or use it against their abuser.

 I recommend reading up on the history of Haiti pet. Then Brazil via Palmares.

 I’ll end this by bringing it back to those statistics on forced confessions in historical France. Imagine the conditions with me for a moment. Unsanitary, cramped cells. Dehydration, starvation and disease. Plus the kinds of scarring torture that are conjured up in the minds of most Western people when the word ‘torture’ comes up; thumb screws, leg irons that tighten until the bone snaps, whips.

 Picture it. Try to imagine the pain those people went through.

 And remember that 90% of them did not comply long enough to sign their name.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw slavery #tw racism #torture apologia #torture does not work #torture as interrogation #ways torture fails #resistance to torture #resistance to slavery #slavery #historical slavery #forced confessions #ICURE #coercion #compliance under threat #compliance under torture #writing victims #writing slavery #writing torture #writing responsibly

[informationsorter]

Let's talk about self diagnosing.

(This is purely a personal opinion piece.)

CW: Descriptions of hypothetical physical injury.

So I'm going to start off by immediately settling your minds - I believe self diagnosis can be both good and bad. I’m not here to judge, gatekeep, or vilify. *************************************************************

A quick overview of the sections: 3 problems/examples. 5 questions/opinions.

 *************************************************************

Determining that you have an issue, does not mean that it is the only issue.

Lets start with a hypothetical example where the self diagnosis is obviously correct:

- You've fallen down the stairs. - You can see a bone sticking out of your leg. - You deduce that you have broken your leg.

This is almost certainly accurate, as there is no healthy explanation for the visible evidence.

However, this may not be the whole story.

What we’re really doing in this situation is identifying symptoms and possible/probably causes.

The symptoms are: - Pain. - Visible evidence of a broken bone. - Visible evidence of wounded skin. - Probably experiencing shock - Pale, cold, clammy skin. Shallow, rapid breathing. Anxiety. Rapid heartbeat. Etc.

The probable diagnosis: A broken leg bone.

When you arrive at the hospital, they will do an x-ray. They may discover additional injuries, for instance the bone may be broken in several places, a tendon may have been severed.

Their treatment of your issues relies on the full knowledge that they are able to learn via their tests. If they (somehow) were to treat only your broken bone and the flesh wound, you would likely end up with further health problems as the extra broken bones were not set properly, and the severed tendon would not heal on it's own.

This is a rather ridiculous example of course, but that's why I started with it.

You may believe that you know what the issue is, but if you do not have the right equipment/training, you may not be able to identify the full extent of the issue.

Even if you know what the issue is, you may not be able to determine the full impact of it.

For example: - You notice that whenever you eat citrus, your mouth and tongue start tingling/going numb. There may be also be symptoms such as sweating, feeling faint, swelling of lips/tongue. You conclude that you are allergic to citrus. You act on this by avoiding citrus. That’s all fine and reasonable. However, with this information you only know that you have a reaction to citrus. You don’t know the full extent. Are you mildly allergic? Are you at risk of anaphylactic shock? Sometimes you do not need to know the full extent (in this example you can simply avoid lemon). But sometimes you DO need to learn everything you can about it, in order to live the best life possible. 

Especially when the issue is not something easily avoided such as a minor food allergy.

You might group all of your symptoms together, leading to you accidentally obscuring one issue by presenting it as another.

(An example using some of my own symptoms & past trauma experiences.)

You have diagnosed yourself with autism based on the following symptoms:

- Difficulty forcing eye contact with others.

- Inability to read the invisible social cues that neurotypical’s can see/read.

- Discomfort/anxiety in social settings / large groups.

- An extreme feeling of mental shutdown in response to loud noises/music.

These could indeed be symptoms of autism, however they can also be symptoms of other issues in play.

For instance, discomfort or anxiety in social settings could be due to an anxiety disorder.

The loud noises/music may mimic sounds from traumatic events - initiating flashbacks or fight/flight/freeze instincts.

You go to a therapist.

Your therapist listens to your concerns and symptoms, and looks for other explanations for these symptoms.

This is to ensure that the diagnosis they give you will be accurate, and thus the treatment you receive will be the most effective treatment possible for you.

If you did not go to the therapist with this, you may have been able to deal with the autism symptoms fairly well, but the anxiety and PTSD would go untreated. Your problems would not go away, because you weren’t treating ALL of your issues.

When do I believe it is acceptable to self diagnose without seeking professional verification of your self diagnosis?

- When the issue/symptoms do not affect your life in any substantial way;

- When the issue is self evident;

- When there is no indication that there is an unseen element;

- When the issue does not require urgent or extensive treatment.

Eg: Mild allergy to citrus, which can easily be avoided in your daily life.

In this sort of case, I believe it is important to stay aware of the symptoms and immediately seek a professional opinion if there is a change in severity, frequency, or perceived cause, of these symptoms.

Eg: One day you have a drink that had a lemon wedge on the rim, and the symptoms are far stronger, or appear far sooner, than they used to.

Or:

One day you have the same reaction, but you did not consume any citrus.

When do I believe that it is helpful to ask a professional to confirm/refute your self assessment?

Always.

There may be situations where the professional can’t offer any treatment (eg: a mild food allergy, where avoiding it is all that can be done). But if you feel anxiety over the uncertainty of it, and you want a professional assessment, diagnosis, or testing, you are of course entitled to it.

Whether it pinpoints a cause, or rules out a cause, finding out for sure will increase the chances of you receiving appropriate treatment.

Additionally, professional tests and assessments can identify previously unnoticed symptoms and/or issues.

(Such as additional injuries in example 1, or separate disorders in example 3.)

Do I believe that you should tell your health professional that you have self-diagnosed / self-assessed your symptoms?

Yes.

Especially with mental health issues, where your therapist’s assessment of you may be affected erroneously by them noticing that you are holding something back.

They may believe you are uncomfortable with them, or have some trust issues which you may not have.

If you simply tell your therapist that you have recorded your symptoms and searched for answers on your own, the therapist will be able to make a more accurate assessment of you.

It also gives them a good starting point, as they immediately know that the issue is concerning to you, and that you are ready to seek help for it.

Any health professional worth their training should be able to understand that you seeking explanations for your symptoms is natural, and should be willing to look into something that you are concerned about.

Eg: I told my GP (physical health doctor) that I was concerned about a specific lung condition which seemed to fit symptoms that I had been experiencing for over a decade. He listened, he asked further questions, he performed tests for the condition I had brought up, and he performed tests for other possible explanations.

In the end he determined that I did not have that condition, and we went from there.

Why do health professionals dislike self-diagnosis?

The issue with self diagnosis is that a patient can become convinced that they have something that they do not actually have.

This can lead to the patient: - Misinterpreting symptoms - Ignoring symptoms which do not fit their self-diagnosis - Unintentionally manifesting somatic symptoms which fit the self-diagnosis (this refers to a patient believing they have a condition, and their body beginning to show those symptoms. This is not the same as purposefully faking.) - Refusing testing for something other than their self-diagnosed issue - Refusing to accept that there may be a different issue - Refusing to accept that there may be additional issues - Resorting to self-help remedies which may be ineffective or actively dangerous to the patient

They aren’t just being difficult or elitist - they are concerned that your self-diagnosis may impact their ability to accurately diagnose and help you.

This is a particular concern when the health professional doesn’t know you well enough to be able to determine how much your belief will impact your symptoms, or whether you will be open to treatment if they determine a diagnosis which conflicts with your self-diagnosis.

Your health professional has YOUR health and safety in mind.

(If you believe this isn’t true, you should seek a second opinion.)

Should your health professional just accept your self-diagnosis?

It is your therapist’s duty to independently assess your symptoms, and possible causes for those symptoms.

It is not an attack on you, it is not a sign of distrust.

Think of it like scientists - they don’t just say “oh well that guy’s experiment showed these results, so they must be correct.” They go out and duplicate the experiment to check their results against the original results.

Yes, it’s not a perfect metaphor. No two people’s life experiences are the same. No two people’s brains will react identically to the same thing.

But the spirit is the same - in both cases, doing the extra work is to ensure that the stated result is accurate, NOT to discredit or demean the person who originally stated it.

  What if you are certain you have a certain issue, and will not be persuaded otherwise?

I urge you to rethink this, and open your mind.

You want to heal from whatever it is that is interfering with your best life.

You want answers.

You want validation that such-and-such issue isn’t a personal failing but a neuro-divergency.

Those are great goals, but the best way to find the truth is to be open to explanations that you may not like.

And the only way to know it’s the truth, is to be honest and objective about yourself.

#CW: Descriptions of hypothetical physical injury. #did #osdd #self diagnosis #therapy #actuallydid #actuallyosdd #actually neurodiverse #actually autistic #actually multiple #long post