#then i think it would be really really hard to judge how rational or trustworthy someones perceptions are

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

i havent really read hamlet but this is the most hamlet she gets i think

#i think my read of this scene wrt like the fam is that like #when you live with someone who you know enough abt to get that she sorta lives in a different reality to you #even just by the fact that everything you did together the first day you met youve lied to everyone you know abt bc they wouldnt Believe it #but to her this is daily life #and this person wont tell you a whole lot abt the world as it exists for them #not a whole lot abt their context. their experiences #and you know that they know a lot but also you have the feeling that half the time theyre lying. not entirely sure when tho #and they still manage to get you out of all the trouble they get you into so at least Some of the knowledge is true #then i think it would be really really hard to judge how rational or trustworthy someones perceptions are #you know? #so you HAVE to trust. you HAVE to trust that her judgements are correct ENOUGH #you could challenge her but where would that leave you? you have LESS. less knowledge less context less ability to judge the situation #you HAVE to trust her assessments even when you ALSO KNOW for a fact that she has not been super rational for A While #you have to trust because you have absolutely no way to figure out how far that irrationality goes #you just have to hope that her life-and-death judgements at least are sound enough #thats my read of this scene #and the way yaz asks 'are you alright doctor?' #clearly shes not. but theres No Other Options

[emkay512]

Once Upon A Time

Chapter 3

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: I felt like I needed to still post this, even though I’m terrified with living up to my own hype. Let me know what you guys think.

A/N 2: thank you for pre-reading @queenrileyrose and @sfb123 both of you have given me such encouragement and I really appreciate it!

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m keeping the same tags from my earlier post, please let me know if you want to be removed, absolutely no hard feelings! If you’d like to be tagged, I would be happy to add you!

Tags: @burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @iaminlovewithtrr @amandablink @iluaaa @jared2612 @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @secretaryunpaid @ladyangel70 @gkittylove99 @texaskitten30 @shanzay44 @ofpixelsandscribbles

“Wait.... what!?” Drake’s face had gone white with shock. “But, we all saw! We all saw her fall in love with you. She loves you for sure Li, what the hell is going on!?” Despite his best efforts, Drake had come to accept Riley as an important person in his life, she was a truly trustworthy friend and she was a chance to see his best friend marry for love. Surely she’d never give up on hope and love, she was the epitome of both.

Liam wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he watched the latch on his bedroom door shut with Riley’s departure. He had dropped to his knees unable to stand with the weight of his broken heart still staring at the door trying to unsee what just happened. He was so sure of her love for him, he had never seen such happiness and sincerity exist in his life than when she told him she loved him in the hedge maze at his coronation ball. All this time he’d been apart from her was spent planning for a solution, clinging to the memory of her smile the last time he saw her before getting engaged.

Getting engaged. Then he started to think about the effect this had on her. He hated himself, she was vulnerable and abandoned, of course she’d fall out of love. Liam’s head was still foggy, but he remembered pouring two glasses of whiskey and calling Drake to meet him and briefly telling him what happened and now getting his reaction.

“You.. you don’t understand.” Liam was still just only choking out words. It was bad enough to live in this reality, but to have to utter the words and make someone else understand what was happening was like living his nightmare over again. “She said she did love me, or that maybe she did, or that she couldn’t love me anymore... God, it feels like it all happened so fast! I can barely get my head straight!” His tone was clearly crossing into frustration, he lifted both hands to his head and balled his fists into his hair while groaning out his hurt and anger. “This is my fucking fault.. in so many ways, Drake. She said I let too much time pass, that it convinced her that I should forget about her, and that she didn’t love me. I should have protected her from those goddamn photos and fucking Tariq. I never should have gotten engaged to Madeleine, and I shouldn’t have kept her away.” Liam was huffing his words.

This was difficult for Drake. He’d never seen his best friend so defeated like this. Liam always knew how to maintain his stoicism keeping an air of calm and rationalism. But that was not the man before him now, Liam was completely disheveled with eyes bright red from all his earlier sobbing, he looked completely broken. Drake understood the pain, he knew all too well how easy it was to fall for a girl like Riley, but like he said, their entire gang watched them fall head over heels for each other, and that was what he wanted for both of them.

Drake knew he needed to reel Liam back in, and once he could get the full picture, he’d know how to return Liam to his sharp tactical self. “Ok, ok, ok. I know your feelings are all mixed up, and judging by your overall behavior it looks like you hit the whiskey long before I got here, and I’m sorry, but I need you to get a grip and tell me everything.”

Liam nodded and sucked a breath in recalling everything. How she walked in his room, how he thought he was protecting her, how she said he didn’t want to know who was responsible, how she noticed the missing lock on the door, and how she walked out. Drake felt like he hadn’t blinked once after hearing everything and he could see it seemed these obvious clues hadn’t dawned on Liam. “Li, it sounds like she gave you like a dozen red flags. You didn’t press on any of those strange things she said and did?”

Liam wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “I.. all my instinctual strategies were out the window. I couldn’t focus on anything at fucking all except the sound of being dumped. There’s no tactical training on having your heart smashed since this bloody institution snuffs out the idea of love from day one. I feel like my mother was the only exception, and look what happened to her.”

Drake sighed and pinched the top of his nose with closed eyes. He himself was having a hard time comprehending things, he couldn’t imagine Liam’s anguish. “Look. First of all. This is not your fucking fault. There is clearly something large at play here, and you and Brooks seem to be the center. I think... I think Brooks knows something. She’s a smart girl and I think she was leaving you clues.” Liam could feel the gears moving in his mind as Drake went on. “It’s odd that she just walked in through the door.. how would she have just walked through the halls undetected? Weren’t you expecting her on the balcony? Which, by the way... wild expectation, bro. Shouldn’t Romeo be beckoning Juliette on the balcony, not the other way around?” Liam side eyed him hard, yes they’re best friends, but really? Was now the time to bust his balls? Drake couldn’t help himself and continued, “When you told her you wanted to find out who was responsible for the tabloid photos, why did she try to convince you to stop? It would be one thing if she just wanted to end things, but why mention that you wouldn’t want to know who it was? To me, these suggest that she either knows or has an idea who the culprit is. Then, the smoking gun. Another lock-less door and her freely walking out again.”

Liam shot up, determined and clear headed. “You’re right. I won’t play victim to this scheme and I sure as hell won’t let her be one either. Ok. We need to get a hold of Maxwell, either she’ll talk to him, or we can have him check on her without any suspicion.”

“Then I’ll call him so it can’t be immediately traced to you.” Drake pulled out his phone and clicked Maxwell’s name putting the line on speaker.

“Yo, Drakester! What’s up? Hate to break it to you, but the party’s over, you missed it.”

Already annoyed, Drake responded, “Cut the crap, Beaumont. We got a problem, Riley is gone, have you seen her? You need to check her room, but for the love of god, do it quietly.”

“What the hell are you talking about, I just left her, she was on her way to see Liam. Drake, please don’t tell me you’re cock blocking the king.”

Drake and Liam had no time for Maxwell’s carefree antics, they were both on strategy mode. Hearing this, Liam spoke first, “Ok so we know she was always on her way to see me with the intention of actually being with me. Something happened between her leaving Maxwell and her walking into my room.”

Maxwell was completely shocked to hear Liam’s voice on the line and started to panic that what Drake had said might be true, “Liam!? So she’s really gone? Last I saw her was getting her outside, as she was on her way to your balcony..”

She does love me. Was Liam’s immediate thought when Maxwell said she was on her way to his balcony.

As Maxwell recounted his interactions, Drake and Liam ignored any of his inquiries and focused on each other, working out the information they were getting.

“So she had to have been intercepted..” Liam realized. “Someone TOOK her!”

“Guys...” Maxwell was still being ignored on the line

“...And convinced her to say those things to you. Blackmail. It’s the only explanation.” Drake was finishing out the same conclusion Liam was getting to.

“Guys!!” Maxwell screamed and got their attention. “I made it to her room, we’re too late, it’s been ransacked. She’s on the run. What. Happened?”

Drake filled him in with strict instruction to keep this a secret, they would have to investigate quietly to prevent getting caught. He disconnected the call and looked at Liam, “Ok, she’s MIA, which only supports the theory of blackmail. If she was making a voluntary move back home, she would have said goodbye. We just need to find out where she went.”

Liam squared his shoulders and steeled his expression, now knowing he was on a rescue mission, “I’ll find her, I will always find her.”

#choices trr #king liam #liam x riley #choices #trr #the royal romance

[morelikeastrhoelogy]

Some astrological opinions

(positivity edition)

This is from a Cap pov ✨

Aries : Alrighty Aries ! I don’t have many Aries friends in my life, but I am an Aries moon and what I can say about the few Aries people I met is : even if you can be very confrontational and impulsive, at least I know you’re speaking what you truly think on the instant - like, you aren’t the type to stab people in the back, you stab your opponent and look him/her in the eyes. And do you know how rare it is nowadays ? Sometimes you can judge one’s moral values by the way they treat their own enemies. Also, you guys are young souls in the reincarnation cycle, hence why you often got so much energy to make bold choices or actions - and honestly, that’s refreshing, we need to feel new energies in our lives, which you always bring with yourselves ! 🔥

Taurus : Tauruses, I’m always so protective with you, I think you are so underrated ! Perhaps that’s because you are so reliable ? You are among the first people I instinctively trust when I get in a new school, a new town, and once you start sticking around someone, you don’t let them down - this may be part of your stubborn attitude ahah. You are what I would call « root » friends, and what’s really delightful with you is that we don’t necessarily need to know each other’s full life stories to share nice and warm moments together. Simple friendships are sometimes what we need the most to reconnect with ourselves, and you are the kind of people that always make people feel home. Also ? You know how to keep your close friends’ secrets - which don’t prevent you from judging them though 👀

Gemini : Alright, two of my very good friends are Gemini, and let me tell you : you guys are the people that make Caps like me feel fun when I have to do social interactions. There’s such a fun, dynamic energy with you and it’s contagious, you are my partners in crime and actually, long-lasting ones. For Earth signs, I think you bring this light-hearted vibes we desperately need sometimes, and I think the world would be definitely less bold and less funny without you to try out things I would secretely regret not trying. Also, when it comes to serious issues, you are among the first to help, even when I expect it the least, which makes you more trustworthy than what the cliché says. I wouldn’t say reliable though, but it’s not a criticism, it’s more because you have so many projects that you can easily adapt or change your plans depending on what you’re currently interested in. I’m speaking more specifically of Gemini girls here btw - sorry guys, I really don’t know you much... 🌪

Cancer : Cancers, you are the sweetest, most genuine and softest people I’ve ever known. I thank the Universe for sending you in my life, because you are the people that help me learning to embrace a softer, more vulnerable side of my personality, especially Cancer boys, who are among my best friends. As an Earth sign (and a Cap), I’d say we complete each other’s needs, and you guys bring us emotional liberation, which is priceless. You always care for you friends and you deserve to be cared about just as much, please don’t forget this. Also, Cancer girls : you are f i e r c e. And you know how many meanings can this word hold for you. 🧡

Leo : A round of applauses for the Diva of the Zodiac ! While it is true most of my Leo relatives and friends love attention and drama, they are actually the sweetest when their affection comes right from the heart and not from the ego. Most of them hold their eccentricity from a lowkey lack of confidence, though. You are the type of friends who will act generously to show your love, you just love to find the right attention for each of your friends and honestly, I am grateful for having a few Leo relatives because they always help me bringing out a more extrovert and fun side, just like Geminis. I’d say the difference with you and Geminis are that your energy comes from the fire of your heart while Geminis are literally free, non-rigid spirits, which give them the same vibes but I’d say you’re a bit more of a sentimentalist compared to them. Finally, I’d like to say that my father figure was a Leo too and he wasn’t necessarily « extra » like the cliché, Leos can be quiet and humble too, but their generous, affectionate heart will always betray them - when it’s not your ego, ahah. 🦁

Virgo : Dear Earth fellow, I think Caps and Virgos are very similar in their rational way of thinking and organizing their life. Along with Tauruses, you feel safe and I just know I can rely on you when I have a project going on. I’m not necessarily talking about business project, although it could be : it can be something personal, which is much more important, and I know I can trust you to have my back. You are very protective when you love someone - and also ? quite kinky for some of you. Yeah, people say you are control freaks, that you have a problem with authority but you know what ? Most of the Virgos I know don’t have that problem, or rather : they start off like this, and with time, they become of the chillest friends I know, unless when they start panicking about something they didn’t expect or didn’t know how to handle. You sure don’t like to feel your ego hurt, and you won’t spare your words when you attack back, but that’s also because you do know how to choose your words, almost like Water signs, but in a more calculating way - and I mean it in a neutral way, like it can be used to find peace in a argument too, because you are very observant of the people around you, what triggers them and what appeases them. 🦢

Libra : Libras, you’re going to hate me for making such a short passage for you, but truth is... I literally don’t know any Libra in my life. However, from what I know and the few Libras I met in my life, I’d like to say you do stand out with your aesthetic. People say you are always good-looking, but I think this beauty mostly comes out of the fact that your appearance matches your soul, your way of feeling and embracing yourself - and that’s incredibly sexy. Also, that’s definitely something ethereal with you, you are a free spirit like Gemini but even more regarding your social life. You don’t want to be chained to relationships, you let them go with the flow and I think that also comes from your intellectual and emotional attachment to freedom - like the other Air signs. ☁️

Scorpio : I don’t really get the hate around Scorpios. Just like Pisces, they are among the most loyal, dedicated and caring friends I’ve known, even if they may have some trouble expressing what they feel intensely. I don’t mind it, personally, I love how meaningful their little gestures can be, you just know it comes from a honest place ! Your friendships are solid ones too, once someone got your heart. People say you might be manipulative, but again, isn’t it the same reproach for every Water signs ? Tbh, unlike Pisces, I’ve seen you guys be criticized most of the time because of your blunt honestly, and not your lies. You’ re too proud not to say what’s on your mind when it matters to you. Finally, I also love your creativity, I think yours is quite underrated compared to the other Water signs’, I mean, when you channel your intensity into art, you guys come up with such great ideas, I had so much fun writing stories with my Scorpio friend ! 🖤

Sagittarius : My sis is a Sagittarius, and as chaotic our relationship can be, I must admit there’s no one braver than her in my life. She has this fire, this willpower that has always allowed her to bounce back in hard times, and I think that’s what I find most inspiring in Sagittarius. You guys don’t hesitate, you just chase your goals and desires and it’s basically what’s life is for ! Just remember you are allowed to be vulnerable sometimes. Also, I think you are actually very very smart, but in a cooler, « no big deal »way than other signs (don’t get me wrong though : you know your worth, and you won’t hesitate reminding people), I guess that’s what makes your humor so witty ! Oh, and your fashion aesthetic ? It always carries a part of your personality, you aren’t the type to buy clothes that aren’t of the quality or the brands you like. I actually think you are quite fashionable, but always in your own style. 🐎

Capricorn : Alright my dear fellows, time to give the Goat some appreciation time. Of course one of my best friends is a Cap, because between goats, we understand each other. While it would be difficult to find the good parts of my Cap personality, it is so much easier with this friend. Caps are reliable and loyal, the friendships we offer is made of iron, and we rarely break them, unless we feel truly betrayed or used. Just like Tauruses, we don’t like drama, or at least, we don’t like to start dramas - but judging people ? Oh h o n e y.... Anyway, that’s probably because we have more maturity and mostly self-control in social interactions. Don’t get me wrong : on the inside, we can hold grudges forever as long as our ego thinks it’s important. So, yes we are proud beings, stubborn ones, but that’s also what makes us succeed in our goals and rarely give up, despite our fear of failure and disappointment. Also, I think we can all agree that we are funny as hell, in the goofiest or wittiest ways possible sometimes. Finally, I wanna conclude with something : on the emotional level, we are a lot similar to Scorpios. What we feel is so authentic and dedicated that we often have a hard time to express it, especially since we are also like Virgos in our way of observing people and calculating our words. We might fear it wouldn’t be worth the risk, so we keep it inside and express our love in subtle, yet genuine and protective ways, with gifts or caring advises for example. 🐐

Aquarius : Ohh, Aquarius, I had the most amazing and heart-breaking friendships with you. I know a lot of people have a negative experience with Aquarius, but I think that’s because our own expectations of them end up being betrayed instead of accepting them as they are, including their boundaries and their conception of relationships. You don’t owe anything to any of your friends, if this friend doesn’t stimulate you anymore, on an intellectual or emotional level, you won’t fake it, you won’t force it, you just follow your guts, even if that person used to be your best friend or that person you used to text every day and night. Friendships last as long as you have fuel to feed them with these free spirits. These old souls don’t have time anymore to keep superficial friendships for old time’s sake, they want mature, profound connexion, and when they actually fall in love and let down their rational, cold-looking wall ? They become devotee of their lover. There’s no in-between with you Aquariuses : it’s ride or die, the spiritual, intellectual or emotional connexions you share are intense, often fusional for a time, and the best thing to do with you is to enjoy it while it lasts and respect your boundaries. 🌬

Pisces : Let’s end up with the oldest souls of the zodiac ! Maybe the ancient age of your soul explains why you understand so well the mechanisms of the soul ? I think you definitely are the moms of the Zodiac, more than Cancers, but that’s a bit despite yourselves. You didn’t ask for this, it’s something you genuinely feel, as your soul remembers its past experiences. I do think most of you guys partly suffer from this empathy and these overflowing emotions when you don’t manage to channel them through exercices or art. Tragic thing is, when you reincarnate, you forget you are an old soul, and yet, you are born with the feelings and intuition of an old soul, which can take some times to figure out. I think this is the main reason why people often accuse you of being toxic or having boundary issues. That’s why I also don’t agree when people call you the baby of the zodiac. You are no baby, you are the oldest of them all, and you don’t know what to do with what your soul has acquired during all these past lives. Also, even if you are caring and very compassionate, you have to admit you do have a strong ego too. It’s okay, no need to repress it, everybody got one and we won’t throw rocks at you for showing it when you lose your temper 🌊

#zodiac #astrology #no nuance november #capricorn #taurus #libra sun #sun signs #positivity #aries zodiac #gemini #scorpio #sagittarius #virgo zodiac #leo zodiac #aquarius #cancer #pisces

[gellavonhamster]

ghost of a lady in furs

Frontier || characters: Elizabeth Carruthers, Douglas Brown, Josephette DaCosta, Malcolm Brown, Michael Smyth; ships: Elizabeth Carruthers/Douglas Brown || AU after 2x05, rated M (?)

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

It’s a long way back from the dead.

At first, Elizabeth stays in bed all day – just as for weeks before, only now conscious. It hurts to speak, it’s hard to look at bright light, it’s necessary to lie down as soon as possible after each meal – liquid, as if already chewed by someone else, for her jaw still aches – because staying seated for a long time, even in a bastion of pillows, is hard too. Josephette tries to visit her as often as she can, to keep her up to date on all news pertaining to the company and not only. Sometimes she brushes Elizabeth’s hair or helps her wash herself. Sometimes Elizabeth allows herself to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, close her eyes, and not think of anything for a while.

Not to think of what happened to her, not to try to remember how exactly it happened – all that took place after her arrival at Grant’s mansion and the arrest of Pond is covered by fog.  

Not to think of the fact that Samuel Grant presently must be sure that he’s won.

Not to think of the fact that if the one who beat her – Pond or anyone else, or Grant himself, which, however, is hard to believe – hit her harder or a couple more times, maybe just once more, he really would have won.

Douglas also spends a lot of time with her. Evenings, when he comes home from the factory, they dine together. Not in the dining room, of course – she in bed, he in an armchair beside it. Occasionally, when Elizabeth wakes up, she finds him drowsing in that very armchair. His presence in her bedroom strangely doesn’t bother her. Most of the time when they’re not discussing the affairs of Carruthers and Co. or Elizabeth’s health is spent in awkward silence; Elizabeth feels it physically that he has an urge to tell her something important, or maybe to touch her, only he doesn’t dare to. She cannot figure out if his hesitance is making her angry or, quite the opposite, glad that it gives her time to contemplate. Perhaps it is rather the second; what happened wasn’t simply not provided for in their marriage contract, it is something of the in-sickness-and-in-health kind, and so on, and so forth. She wasn’t ready for this, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.      

Besides, she has much more pressing problems now, and she’d rather ponder over them.

“I am going to destroy Samuel Grant,” she announces to Josephette and Douglas one evening when both of them come to check up on her. By that point her jaw has ceased to ache so much, which means she is able to speak in longer sentences. She’s been looking forward to this.

Her friend and her husband exchange glances.

“Elizabeth…” Douglas begins.

“Yes, I know,” she cuts him short. The day she almost died is only fragmentary in her memory, as a series of disjointed images; one of them is him by her writing desk, naked, frowning at the freshly signed confession in his hands. She’s aware that he has warned her, but she would still prefer him not to remind her of it. “I underestimated him. I hadn’t second-guessed what he might go for when scared. Every time I think a man cannot sink even lower, I am proven wrong.”

Douglas wisely chooses not to comment in any way on her pronouncement about men.

“Then what is going to stop him from trying to kill you again since he’s already crossed that line?” he asks instead.

Josephette takes her hand.

“Elizabeth,” she says carefully. “You are still in no condition to confront him.”

Elizabeth heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I can see that both of you have become too keen on fussing over me,” she says, displeased, but doesn’t take her hand away. “Well, I am grateful. But do both of you really think me as stupid as to go the same way? I am going to act behind his back. And you are going to help me.”  

Douglas looks like he’s going to object, but Josephette, who has known Elizabeth for a longer time and better – and who knows that she cannot be persuaded to step back from a desired goal – is quicker to answer.  

“Tell us what you have in mind,” she says.

 ***

 Elizabeth Carruthers becomes a ghost.

After so many weeks in bed, she can’t and she won’t make herself lie down. At night, she waits impatiently for sleep to take over, so as not to be aware that once again she is in the same bed in which she has spent more than a month. For days on end, she keeps wandering back and forth through the house, leaning on the walls, wandering and wandering until the inevitable dizziness sets in. The servants flinch reflexively now and again when she emerges towards them from a scantily lit hallway.    

Only thing she’s missing are some shackles to rattle.

Her excuse is doctor’s orders – she has to move to stir her muscles, weakened and numb due to the time spent bedridden. Yet this is just part of the truth – not even half of it, a third at best. The lion’s share of the truth is that there’s an unappeasable rage inside her, howling, growling, thrashing around, and this rage wouldn’t even let her sit at the table for a long time – she studies the company’s documents standing or perched on an armrest, she reads books as she walks around in the living room. She is a cage where a wolf is pacing in circles, and she herself is caged in that house, far from noise, meetings, deals, negotiations, life.

A couple of times, soon after she regained consciousness and became strong enough to sit in bed and even get up sometimes for a while, she let the wolf out. A couple of times were enough – she wouldn’t break down anymore. No, she couldn’t care less about the dishes, all the more about the ridiculous statuette of a shepherdess that was a gift to her and her first husband from – whom? Doesn’t matter in any case. It brought much more joy when it shattered than when it was collecting dust on the mantelpiece. Still, each such outburst is a display of weakness, which only makes Elizabeth angry at herself later. She has spent far too much time proving to the world that she is sensible, rational, and cool-headed. The world – replete with disdain, superficial, and annoyingly male – refused to believe her: she is a woman, after all, and what should one expect from women but hysterics and tears? And even if those living in this house or visiting it have seen her even weaker, they haven’t seen her pathetic – and they won’t. Not the servants, though they won’t utter a word for fear of losing their jobs, not Josephette, though she wouldn’t judge, not Douglas, who might think whatever but wouldn’t judge her openly either. If she loses her temper in front of them, it will be more difficult to keep it in check in front of the others.            

She couldn’t hold back the desire to gloat when she went to mock Grant in person, and look what came of it.  

And so she keeps her rage locked. Or rather remolds it, reforges it, and uses it wisely. Instead of wasting time and energy on yelling and breaking the china, she’d rather put more effort into planning her revenge on Grant – and to bringing these plans to fruition.  

If he isn’t afraid of ghosts, soon he will be.

 ***

 Few people know she’s awake. Many people don’t even know if she’s alive. By a fortunate coincidence, the passerby who found her used to work on Carruthers and Co. He went straight to Josephette, who paid him handsomely for his help and for keeping his mouth shut about his discovery. The onlookers never got a chance to amass, but someone must still have seen her, because rumours started spreading in Montreal that Elizabeth Carruthers was found dead in a ditch. No, not dead, but beaten up. No, not beaten up, just drunk. The latter in particular made her blood boil; even at the dreariest moments of her confinement, when the wolf inside urged her to lunge at the walls and at anyone who comes her way, she didn’t get drunk, not even once. A sip of brandy at dinner, and that’s all. The memories of what Peter was like when plastered are too fresh. He was pathetic when sober and so much the more when inebriated. She grimaces as she remembers. She doesn’t want to resemble him in any way.            

One of the few upsides of marriage to Peter was meeting Josephette, who proves herself indispensable once again.

Few people know she’s awake. Yet Josephette, who has perfect knowledge of the factory and everyone who works there, selects some trustworthy and discreet girls among the workers, girls who own some debt of gratitude to her or to Elizabeth, and lets them into this secret. These girls sometimes enlist the help of their fiancés or brothers, just as trustworthy and discreet. And so acquaintances begin to be struck up between them and the workers from Grant’s company, so begin the casual inquiries about what it’s like to work there and what the news are, and the passing mentions of how it’s pretty good to work for Widow Carruthers (she may have got married for the second time, but most of them still think of her as of Widow Carruthers). Sometimes they spice it up with a bit or two of gossip that might make one doubt just how fair Grant is with his men. Sometimes these seeds take root. Sometimes they don’t. No one is forcing anything on anyone – just offering food for thought.

All the obtained intelligence goes to Josephette, who then passes it to Elizabeth, and together they figure out how to use it. Most of it is not too valuable – one must give the devil his due, Grant’s employees don’t complain much. However, sometimes they get to learn which suppliers have voiced dissatisfaction with the terms of bargains lately, or which potential buyers have visited the factory. Those are approached by Douglas, who offers them better terms and makes them believe that Carruthers and Co. has exactly what they need. First by playing along and then by twisting their words, he convinces Grant’s partners that it is they who want what is offered to them.    

He used to be the face of the company while Elizabeth was its true head, and Josephette was the secret power unknown even to those aware that the company was run by the wife, not by the husband. Now Elizabeth herself has receded into the shadows even deeper than Josephette. Behind Douglas Brown, the figurehead of Carruthers and Co., is a Black former servant, and behind her, there is a ghost.  

Perhaps Samuel Grant’s enterprise is haunted as well, since workers and suppliers start leaving it slowly but surely.      

 ***

 “Miss Dolan came by the factory today,” Douglas tells her one evening as they’re having dinner together – not in the bedroom, now that Elizabeth, thankfully, is feeling much better, but in the dining room. It takes some time for Elizabeth to remember who he is referring to: right, the Irish girl. The little traitor. In fairness, Elizabeth can see that the girl is just trying to survive, but she still cannot think of her without dislike.  

“And what was she after? Surely she didn’t come to visit her former workmates?”  

“Well, first of all, she wanted to return the hat you gave her.”

“I hope you told her she is free to choke on it.”

“I told her you would’ve preferred her to keep it.” Douglas fumbles with his glass that still has some brandy in it. They’re sitting at the opposite sides of the table, like a king and a queen in an empty castle – a haunted one, naturally. One day, as she was lying in bed and obsessively thinking out her vengeance on Grant, it occurred to her that she was turning into a sort of Lady Macbeth, plotting and scheming and slowly going insane. The next thought amused her: how fitting of her to have married a Scotsman. “She asked after your health, for she remembers how kind you were to her…”  

Elizabeth snorts.

“…and she also asked in passing if it’s true that Deschamps and Moreau are now supplying their goods to us. Said she couldn’t help wonderin’ because she’d seen them at Grant’s before.”  

“How observant of her.”  

“You understand what that means, right? They suspect something, Elizabeth. And they won’t leave it like that.”  

Elizabeth slams her glass on the table.

“If you are going to say that it’s time to stop, save your breath,” she tells him, voice ringing with indignation. “Because it’s too late to stop. Afraid, Mr. Brown, aren’t you?”

Douglas sighs, takes off his glasses, sighs again, and puts them back. In the light of the melting candles he looks older than he is, and very tired.

“A wee bit,” he admits. “But not for myself.”

His words produce a strange feeling in her chest, as if a ruffled bird is stirring underneath her ribs.  

Elizabeth gets up and approaches him at a swift pace, and he rises too, eyes fixed on her. She rests one hand on the table – she shouldn’t have stood up so briskly, her head still spins a little at times – and tries to figure out what to say to a man who dared to care about her.  

He’s waiting, and only the cracking of the firewood disturbs the silence.

“I can take care of myself,” Elizabeth finally says. “I’ve told you before: I won’t go the same way. I won’t make myself an easy target. You won’t have to nurse me back to health again, don’t worry.”

“I would’ve done it again if I had to. I’d rather it wasn’t necessary, though.”  

For a change, Elizabeth Carruthers doesn’t know what to say, so she just kisses him.  

When Douglas pulls away, he’s looking at her with a mixture of longing and wariness.  

“I thought you didn’t remember this either,” he says quietly.

“I would’ve done it again if I didn’t,” replies Elizabeth. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words. She made him marry her so that Carruthers and Co. had a representative that these small-minded pigs who don’t trust a businesswoman would agree to deal with. She slept with him, and it felt good. He took care of her while she was unconscious, and then was tactful enough during her recovery not to make her feel humiliated by his help. All of it adds up to something, but she prefers not to reflect on it. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words – but she knows she’s speaking from her heart. “Otherwise I’d have to wait till doomsday for you to be done suffering in silence.”

“Frankly speaking, I… wasn’t sure that back then it didn’t happen because you wanted me to sign that bloody confession.”  

“Well, I wanted you to sign it. I also wanted you. These two were not related,” shrugs Elizabeth. She cannot blame him for the lack of trust: she did use him, and he, in turn, planned together with Malcolm to go against her – what kind of trust could there be? “If you thought I was playing you, why didn’t you leave while I was as good as dead? Why did you stay?”  

He responds by kissing her – not on the lips, but on the cheek right under the scar, very carefully. Again, a little higher. Again, moving along the outline of the scar but not touching her skin where it recently was too new and delicate. His moustache is tickling her face; the bird underneath her ribs is picking at her heart. And she’s mad at him because she’s addled and defenseless in the face of this unbearable tenderness, and she’s mad at herself because she is starting to suspect in horror that she might cry if he touches her like this again, this was not in their marriage contract, this was not in her scheme of things, and how dare he…  

She grabs him by his curls, pushes him lower, makes him press his lips to hers – makes him do something she can comprehend. The urge to tear up subsides. She pulls him closer, one hand still in his hair, the other on the lapel of his waistcoat. Then she lets go for a moment to move the dinnerware aside without even looking (one glass must have fallen – to hell with it, to hell with everything) before sitting down on the edge of the table.  

“The servants might come in,” Douglas reminds her when she runs her hand over his shoulder, his hip, his crotch, like she owns him, but his voice is husky and hot, and his hands are peeling off her dressing gown.  

“So what?” she breaths out. “They are my servants. This is my house. Everything here is mine. And if I want my husband to fuck me on my table in my dining room… I don’t see what must be stopping me.”  

When he lifts her nightdress and kneels between her spread legs, she doesn’t feel like a ghost.  

***

 One of the factory girls who were being friendly with Grant’s workers on Josephette’s orders is found with her throat cut. There is no purse with earnings on her, so it might have been just a robbery. A coincidence. Or maybe not.  

That night Elizabeth sees Grant’s face hanging over her, his eyes wide with terror as he keeps delivering blow after blow to her head with something heavy.

“I’m a good man,” she hears his frantic voice. “I’m a good man.”  

Upon another blow she wakes, and sits up in bed with a jerk. Something that is neither a sob nor a cry escapes her throat – a shrill animal sound. She cannot catch her breath. She cannot believe she can breathe.

“Elizabeth,” Douglas says worriedly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Some part of her mind that has either already calmed down or never had time to get scared tells her that she must have elbowed him in the face when she jerked up. “Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”  

“It was Grant,” she whispers. She’s shaking, and even Douglas’s comforting warmth by her side doesn’t help. Pathetic, she’s so pathetic now. “It was Grant who beat me up. I remembered.”  

“Elizabeth, it might’ve been just a dream…”

“And I am telling you I remembered!” snaps Elizabeth. She put her hand to her forehead and wipes off the sweat. “I take it you know better than I what’s happening in my head, don’t you?”  

“I mean, it is quite possible that after the news about that poor lass…”

“No. No, no, no,” she frees herself from his embrace and climbs off the bed. It is his bedroom, not hers, and the unusual surroundings are disorienting: the window is too small, the door is on the wrong side. Perhaps she’d calm down sooner if she lay down again, but presently she doesn’t want to have anything in common with the unmoving body on the floor of Samuel Grant’s mansion.  

She tenses up when Douglas approaches her, but he doesn’t try to persuade her to go back to bed, just throws a shawl over her shoulders.  

She closes her eyes and thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

“You know,” she finally says, “I cannot believe I am proposing this myself, but I’m going to need to chat with your brother.”

 ***

 This time, instead of Declan Harp, Malcolm brings her some disheveled boy.

“Michael Smyth of the Black Wolf Company… ma’am,” he announces, indicating the guest with a nod. “Michael, let me introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Carruthers.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” says Smyth. The beard and the overall rough-hewn appearance of a seasoned hunter are unable to conceal how young he is. He reminds Elizabeth of a small animal – a ferret or a raccoon – that has somehow managed to sneak into her house from the forest.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smyth,” Elizabeth replies coldly, not bothering to stand up and offer her hand to him. “Although, in truth, I would’ve been much more pleased if Mr. Brown did what I asked and organized me a meeting with Mr. Harp, not with his errand boy. Who is also to blame, as far as I know, for the supply that I’ve arranged with Mr. Harp going down the drain.”  

Malcolm opens his mouth, but Michael Smyth beats him to it.

“Declan Harp is in Scotland now,” he says calmer than could be expected after her remark; well done. “As to the supply, I had no other choice. Your people didn’t come to collect the pelts. Cobbs Pond told me you’re…”  

“Dead? As you can see, it is unwise to believe everything Cobbs Pond says,” even the name of that man seems to taste rotten. Elizabeth cannot help screwing up her face as she pronounces it. “But I admit: my people didn’t come indeed – they were too busy keeping me alive.”  

“Well, I was busy keeping my people alive,” retorts Smyth. “We had to dispose of the pelts before the redcoats caught up with us. Pond was there, and he had the silver. I am sure, Mrs. Carruthers, that you would’ve done the same if you were in my place.”

“Sureness is a fine thing. The trick is not to overdo it. Trust me, Mr. Smyth, I am speaking from my own bitter experience,” Elizabeth replies with a sweet smile. The boy is staring hard at her, waiting for what she’s going to say next. Malcolm, hands in pockets, is observing their one-on-one leaning against the door frame. “Anyway, enough of the past. This is not why I asked my most kind brother-in-law,” she makes a pause, which Malcolm fills with a loud sneering chuckle, “to bring me a representative of the Black Wolf Company.”  

“Then why, Mrs. Carruthers?”

Elizabeth leans back in her chair. Today, for the first time after a month and a half in nightdresses and dressing gowns, she is wearing a proper dress – one of her best – which makes her feel splendid. As if nothing had changed. As if Michael Smyth, her first visitor in a long time who isn’t one of her household, doctors, or family (regrettably, the latter technically includes Malcolm), isn’t currently making every effort not to look inadvertently at the right side of her face – the ugly prominent scars, the greenish yellow of her bruises. And he’s making it; she can feel it.  

“Your company has already stolen for me once, Mr. Smyth,” she says. “I didn’t get to have the results, but still. I need you to do it again.”

“You want us to steal the furs of the HBC?”

Elizabeth cannot hold back a vicious smile.

“I want you to steal the furs of Samuel Grant”.

 ***

 “All right, that was not quite what I required of you, Mr. Brown,” she tells Malcolm after Smyth leaves, “but thank you just the same.”

Malcolm makes a helpless gesture dramatically.

“Well, sorry for not havin’ enough damn time to dart off to Scotland and back.”  

“What business does Harp even have in Scotland?”

“Michael didn’t go into detail, so I guess it must be either something really important or something really personal.”

“Or both,” Elizabeth says thoughtfully. It wouldn’t hurt to learn what it is all about: you never know what information may turn out useful. “Let’s hope this… young man can be trusted.”

“He’s a thief. You need a thief. I don’t see why not,” shrugs Malcolm. “Besides, I warned him that you’re a witch, so if anything goes wrong, you’ll turn him into a mouse and eat him like it’s nothing.”

“Why a mouse, Mr. Brown? That’s not much to eat. Why not into a nice, fat goose, for example?”  

“Not enough meat for a goose in that one,” Malcolm grins, and Elizabeth cannot help grinning back. This nonsense must be the first time in history when something resembling a friendly conversation is happening between them.  

So, she used to be a ghost, and now she’s become a witch.

Or has always been one, as many people certainly wouldn’t fail to point out.

 ***

Josephette makes her a patch that covers half her face. The broad band of black velvet is covered in tiny embroidery – leaves, stems, bees. It looks unusual, but it matches most of Elizabeth’s dresses, and looks a little bit like a carnival mask. Someone uninitiated, upon seeing her wearing this strange accessory, might well conclude she’s going to attend a masked ball.  

“If it’s too tight, it can be fastened by another hook. Or altered altogether,” says Josephette. Elizabeth looks at Josephette’s face in the mirror behind her shoulder, and shakes her head.  

“It’s perfect. Really, you didn’t have to…”

Josephette gestures her to stop.

“I did,” she says. Her face, always so reserved, lights up. “Consider it a gift on the occasion of your return to the world of the living.”

Elizabeth turns around and takes Josephette’s hands in hers.

‘Thank you,” she tells her, meaning much more than just the patch, and she can read it in her friend’s gaze that she understands.

Together they descend the stairs – the queen and her éminence grise. Douglas is waiting for them below, by the door.  

“Very… elegant,” he remarks, taking a look at his wife’s half-concealed face.

“Oh, I intend to bring it into fashion. Soon all ladies in Montreal will be wearing this. I’d love to look at Miss Dolan in it,” Elizabeth says with a sinister smile, and passes her arm through his. “Shall we?”

She can’t wait to return to the factory. To check personally if everything is in order, to examine the equipment, to hear how things are going in the workers’ own words. But first she has to visit the market, the very beating heart of the town. Let people see that she is back. As she passes the stalls of vendors and craftsmen, she can feel the prying eyes on her. Some start whispering as soon as they see her, some elbow their companions to draw their attention, some greet her awkwardly – those she honours with a regal nod.  

She hopes to run into a certain man – and she does.

Samuel Grant is alone today, without the loyal Pond at his side. He’s talking to a couple of trappers whom Elizabeth hasn’t met before, and when he catches sight of her, he almost drops the beaver pelt he was inspecting.

Elizabeth stops and meets his gaze.

The whole market – possibly the whole world – seems to have stopped with them.

She feels ill at ease in his presence. She would never admit that – not even to Josephette, not even to Douglas – but the sight of the man who almost smashed her skull makes some sort of a cold well open inside her. But when he looks at her, he’s dumbfounded too, even scared. She is the witness of his crime. The witness of him being far from “a good man”, as he kept saying back then, trying in vain to make himself believe it.  

Yet another blow, just after a large parcel of furs he was to receive was dragged into the night by black wolves.

Elizabeth forces a smile.

“Mr. Grant,” she says loudly and cordially. She is the first to break the silence, and it feels like a victory. Which is silly, of course: the real victory is a long way off. The real war has just begun. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It’s a long way back from the dead, but she’s made it.

#frontier #frontier netflix #elizabeth carruthers #douglas brown #josephette dacosta #malcolm brown #michael smyth #clenna bringing the hat is borrowed from canon but otherwise s3? i don't know her #my fic #talk talk talk #gella talks frontier #i guess the tag is needed

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi Charity, really random question here. Have you heard of Albert Ellis’ “Dirty Dozen” statements about irrational beliefs? And if so, which enneagram types would you say might relate to each statement? Thanks!

I hadn’t until you mentioned it, but I found them quite interesting…

1. Meaningful people should love us and accept what we do.

This is specific to the heart triad, all three of whom are trying to get approval, affection, and attention from other people in various ways – through service and feelings of self-importance and entitlement (2), through hard work and appearing to be spectacular in achievement (3), or through their uniqueness and self-individualization (4). The emphasis on “meaningful” means the person is judging others based on a criteria of whom is of individual importance to me, which goes for all the heart types. I think a bit more 4 (you need to accept me for who I am) than the other two, overall.

2. To be valuable, it is essential to be very competent and realize great achievements in all possible areas

This is obviously a 3 trait – 3s tend to see themselves as meaningless and purposeless unless they can contribute in some meaningful way to the outer world and achieve success and attention in the process. It drives them to do great things but also become workaholics or over-reliant on their reputation (it then becomes difficult for them at retirement age to feel their own self-worth, because they are no longer in the “rat race”).

3. Certain people are vile, evil and infamous and should be blamed and punished for their perversity.

This one is tough, but I feel it ties specifically into the 8′s black and white method of thinking. They draw battle lines in the sand and you are either on their side or against them, and if you are against them, there’s nothing stopping them from passing terrible judgment upon you and your actions. This can be an asset in the 8 because they are not afraid to stand up for their beliefs, or afraid of the consequences of doing so (fearlessly challenging corrupt individuals and systems) but can also turn to persecuting others for being on “the other side.” 6s can also fall into this kind of thinking, as pertains to the “us vs. them, we have the truth and they are believing and living a lie” tendency of the 6 to want to surround themselves with like-minded individuals. In psychological terms, this is also known as splitting – being unable to see the good in someone, and instead fixating on their negative qualities.

4. It is terrible that things do not go the way we planned them.

This belongs to the ‘frustration’ numbers, which are 1 and 7. 1s are meticulous planners and do not like things to interrupt their schedules and generate chaos (the opposite of the order they crave and want to impose). And 7s will get annoyed if anything keeps them from experiencing the ‘fun’ they have looked forward to, thought about, and planned for.

5. Human misfortune is due to external causes.

This means things happen that are outside our control, and could mean we have no part in our own misfortunes – in a sense, negating our own personal responsibility and denying that something is our fault. A 3 or a 7 would think this way in an immature stage of their development – 3s never want to believe themselves at fault or less amazing than they present to others and thus can deny their own mistakes, and 7s similarly do not want to face the consequences of their poor choices. They are masters of explaining how things are not their fault and of rationalizing their wrongdoing away.

6. If something is dangerous or scary, one must feel very restless and obsessed with the possibility of it happening.

This is a head type fear, and both 5s and 6s are prone to it, but 5s are a bit more nihilistic whereas 6s are rather into this kind of ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ catastrophic thinking. A 6 unaware of their tendency to expect the worst can create disaster centered around everything from the cat being sick (it must be leukemia!) to missing their buss and therefore not getting to their job interview on time, and then running out of money and living on the street.

7. It is easier to avoid certain responsibilities and difficulties in life than to face them.

7s and 9s would think this way – 7 especially can struggle with ‘adulting’ (because it’s not fun, diverting, entertaining) and postpone them as long as possible, but the 9 can also actively procrastinate about doing things that are unpleasant or difficult, especially if there is a risk of conflict or someone being disapproving and/or upset with them.

8. It is normal to depend on others because we need someone stronger to trust.

A 6 would feel this way – since they doubt their own capabilities in life as separate from other people, fear being left alone to make their own decisions, and thus look for someone stronger, more competent, and trustworthy, in which to place their faith and reliance.

9. When something from the past shocked us, it will continue to affect us indefinitely.

This is 4ish, since it ties into the concept of brokenness, an inability to move past hurts, etc. The 4 can hold onto the bad things that happened to them in their life as proof for why they are broken and not like other people. If not careful, they can internalize this as part of their identity and find it impossible to move on from it, delaying their healing process because they are preserving their ‘triggers.’

10. We must feel very concerned about the problems of the others.

The mantra of 2s. Not only must we take on others’ problems as our own, we must do something to alleviate their suffering or resolve the situation for them. 2s if they are not careful absorb other people’s problems and consider them their own, allowing their own mood to be influenced by others’ suffering. 

11. You always have to maintain control and aim for perfection.

1s feel this way the most for obvious reasons (desiring order, to do their best and be their best, to be above reproach) but it can also be 3ish in thinking the best way to gain admiration, praise, and success is to become ‘the best.’ Both types are prone to compulsive behaviors and perfectionist tendencies, but the 3 is more willing to take a ‘shortcut’ to success whereas the 1 follows the rules.

12. We do not control our emotions, happiness is something that simply happens.

This sounds heart-fixed in a way, because of the emphasis on an emotional state and the desire for happiness (2 and 3) but the deflection away from taking responsibility for our moods also seems 7ish.

#question #enneagram #dirty dozen #albert ellis #submission

[frenchhoethefirst]

TLH characters as zodiac signs:

(Warning: there may be some COG2 spoilers in the colored descriptions of the characters)

Cordelia Carstairs - Aries

“I am”

Independent - Strong Opinionated - Courageous - Competitive - Volunteering - Generous

Just as Aries, Cordelia will never back down from a challenge and is not scared to tell her mind as it is wether people like it or not. She wants to be a hero, which goes with the fact that she’s an independent young woman who’s always ready to help others and to stand up for those who need it, which are dominant Aries traits. She is not afraid of danger and is quick to act when it is needed which shows her bravery.

Thomas Lightwood - Taurus

“I have”

Kind - Patient - Logical - Stubborn - Trustworthy - Understanding

Thomas is a kind young man who is very caring and faithful to the people he loves, just as Taurus. He’s a rational person and always tries to understand people before judging them, but he also can be very stubborn in the decisions he takes as we could see with the end of COG2 when he decides to completely cut ties with Alastair (😭😭). He’s also patient with people, which is very much needed considering the disaster that are his friends.

Grace Blackthorn - Gemini

"I think”

Flexible - Versatile - Intellectual - Manipulative - Soft Spoken - Curious

Like Gemini, Grace has multiple facets to her personality that she adapts depending the person she is in company of. She adjusts herself very quickly to whatever situation she is facing because she is very flexible and doesn’t hesitate to use manipulation to get what she wants. She is not very attached to emotions and puts value in the intellect. As Cassie teased us she seems to be interested in science, which shows her curiosity.

Ariadne Bridgestock - Cancer

"I feel”

Emotive - Faithful - Tender Hearted - Nostalgic - Intuitive - Loving

From the few glimpses we got of Ariadne, we could see a sweet person, faithful to her loved ones. We can see with her small interaction with Anna at the end of COG2 that she is pretty intuitive with people’s feelings. The fact that she proposes to welcome Grace in the Bridgestock house shows her tender heart. All of these traits make of her the perfect Cancer.

Matthew Fairchild - Leo

“I will”

Protective - Loyal - Vivacious - Honest - Confident - Popular

Matthew loves being the center of attention and has a very extrovert personality. He’s also truly loyal and protective of the persons he loves as we can see with the way he always took care of his father and how attentive he is to his friends needs. He minds a lot about the way he dresses and presents himself to the world. Matthew has a bright energy that always illuminates the room he is in. Typical Leo !

Charles Fairchild - Virgo

“I analyze"

Hard Worker - Organized - Perfectionist - Critical - Problem Solver - Old School

Such as Virgo, Charles is very work driven. His highest goal is to be the Consul which shows that being successful in his career is the most important thing to him. He is very organized and critical in his way to act and see the world. He pays attention to all the details in order to achieve his goal which shows his perfectionist side.

Anna Lightwood - Libra

“I balance”

Charming - Fair - Social - Great Listener - Diplomatic - Lover of Beauty

As a true Libra, Anna is a natural charmer. As it’s said in the book, she can charm absolutely anybody but also make people feel at ease in her company. She brings harmony to the people surrounding her, which is necessary with the chaos that are the Merry Thieves ! She’s always fair in her judgment and love the very idea of beauty that can be translated in her infallible sense of style.

James Herondale - Scorpio

“I lust”

Strategic - Secretive - Brave - Passionate - Persistent - Ride or Die Buddy

James is the ultimate Scorpio. He’s a very passionate person wether it is with his love for books or about how fiercely he loves his family, his friends and Cordelia gRaCe. He would do absolutely anything for the people he loves and would never betray them. He has intense emotions and is really lead by them, but still is very secretive with the way he feels. We can also see with the way he lead his friends into resolving the demon mystery that he is very brave and strategic.

Lucie Herondale - Sagittarius

“I see”

Outgoing - Careless - Adventurous - Optimistic - Philosophical - Open Minded

Lucie is very adventurous and just loves action and adrenaline. We can see it in the stories she writes that are full of adventure because it’s what she loves the most. She is very friendly and could really make friends anywhere which shows how outgoing she is. She also demonstrates a capacity to be always optimist even in the most desperate situations but can be careless when it becomes dangerous. All of these traits apply to Sagittarius.

Alastair Carstairs - Capricorn

“I use”

Ambitious - Practical - Workaholic - Serious - Realistic - Clever

Alastair shows big Capricorn traits. He has a very practical and realistic view of the world which makes him always choose the most benificial option to him not really caring about people’s opinion. That is demonstrated by the fact that he decided to become a bully at the Academy (yikes 😬), he is lead by his head/intellect and not his emotions. That also means he will do what has to be done seriously, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be caring towards the few persons he trust such as his mother, Cordelia, Thomas.

Jesse Blackthorn - Aquarius

"I know”

Free Spirited - Analytical - Humanitarian - Unpredictable - Obstinate - Easy Going

Jesse is a free spirit (no ghost pun intended but yet here we are). He is very easygoing as we can see with how easily he becomes “friends” (😏😏) with Lucie. He’s also very analytical with how he understands first that Lucie can command the dead and curious about everything uncommon as he read a lot of Benedict’s papers. He shows also a big determination in his choices including when he doesn’t hesitate to give James his last breath. This is why he represents Aquarius perfectly.

Christopher Lightwood - Pisces

“I believe”

Idealist - Dreamer - Creative - Empathic - Selfless - Mystical

Christopher demonstrates a lot of Pisces traits. He is a big dreamer who lives in his own world (not meant in a bad way) which explains why he is always a bit oblivious. He is very creative in his science experiments (our king about to invent fire messages) and hopes to improve the shadow hunting life by this way, which shows his idealist side. We see a bit of his interest in everything a bit mystical with his fascination for pyxis. He’s also very selfless with his devotion to his friends and family.

#this what I’m doing instead of doing school work #u have no idea how much time I spent on this fucking post #but I’m very proud of it #take a shot everytime I say «very» #tlh #cog2 #cog2 spoilers #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #lucie herondale #james herondale #shadowhunters #shadowhunters chronicles #thomas lightwood #tsc #christopher lightwood #anna lightwood #matthew fairchild #charles fairchild #ariadne bridgestock #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #astrology #zodiac signs #coi #cot

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Of Monsters and Moose || Arthur and Kaden

TIMING: 2 months ago, during Sand and Glass POTW LOCATION: Moose Caboose  PARTIES: @arthurjdrake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Bloody Mary decides to pay Kaden and Arthur a visit. AKA Sometimes your pixie roommate sets you up for a really bad blind date

The message on his phone was a surprise. Arthur wanted to meet him at Moose Caboose of all places for lunch. Kaden wasn’t certain why, especially there of all places, but he figured he’d find out. He had to figure if he was reaching out, there was a decent reason. It’s not like they were close but he had proven to be trustworthy. Enough. Kaden was thoroughly certain that Arthur was not just a man but a phoenix despite his denial. Maybe he’d have a chance to prove it. Subtly, of course. It’s not like he really made it a point to hunt phonexies. For one, they were rare as shit. And two, they weren’t usually the type to harm humans. And three, they weren’t exactly easy to kill if what he’d read in books were true. He wasn’t sure if they just sprung back to life from the ashes like a flaming zombie but he didn’t particularly want to find out and get on the bad side of a fire wielding bird, fragile as they were supposed to be. He took a seat at the restaurant and waited and wondered. Ever so often he noticed a flash or two of something out of the corner of his eye. Likely just people moving back and forth. “Hey,” he said, spotting Arthur as he took a seat. “What was it you wanted to discuss? It sounded sort of urgent. But uh, I guess only so urgent if we’re meeting, well, here.”

The moment Arthur’s phone had pinged with a message from Kaden Langley suggesting they meet at Moose Caboose two thoughts initially crossed his mind. The first: suspicion. After all, the last time they’d spoken Kaden had been rather accusatory regarding his own theory that Arthur wasn’t as human as he appeared to be. He was right of course, but that certainly wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to confirm. The second: surprise considering he really didn’t get the impression Langley liked him enough to even be interested in meeting up to discuss pie. But as ever, curiosity would kill the cat - or bird. Arthur glanced at his phone re-reading the message he’d received from Kaden while walking towards the booth Kaden was seated in, framed by a stuffed moose surrounded by pickled pumpkins with varying degrees of scarily carved faces. Grey eyes lifted as Kaden arrived accompanied by a look of puzzled interest. “Sorry? I wanted to discuss? I’m not sure--” he paused looking back at his phone and turning the screen towards Kaden to show their last conversation several months back followed by a more recent conversation initiated by an obscure message from Kaden earlier in the afternoon. “But I guess I was wondering the same thing.”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who invited me here.” Kaden thought the other mean was supposed to be smart, what had happened? Did he really not remember? He showed up, he had to know something. Kaden’s brows furrowed as he looked at the phone. ‘Meet me at Moose Caboose, pie man. We need to talk.’ The fuck? That was his name and information. But he had never seen that message before. “I didn’t send that,” he said, shaking his head. Part of him wanted to grab the phone and scroll through, check it closer, make sure it wasn’t a lie or a trick or magic but that seemed like a bad move. What if he just grabbed it and shook it? No, still bad. He sighed. “Well I got a very similar message from you so I don’t know what to make of that.” Kaden pulled out his phone and went to show him the message only… It wasn’t there. “Putain?” He scrolled through it furiously and there was nothing, just the conversation from months ago. “Ah, putain,” he repeated when it sunk in what probably happened. The pie comment. “Rumpleskuffs,” he said, grumbling. “Pretty sure my p-- my roommate sent that. As a joke.” He sighed before noticing another strange glint in something nearby. Odd. “Guess you might as well stay,” he said gesturing to the seat in front of him. “I’ve had worse company. How’s the girl? Was it Kat? She alright?”

“You didn’t? Weird…” but Kaden seemed genuine in that statement and his apparent confusion. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other wondering just what Kaden was playing at here scrolling through his phone for some kind of evidence? Arthur blinked twice, “I’m sorry Rumpleskuffs?” Kaden had a room-mate called Rumpleskuffs? “Uh… Oh. So you didn’t want to talk about pie.” Well, that made this an interesting situation then, glancing between Kaden and the empty seat there was a half-a-second pause uncertain which way that remark should be taken. Folding his hands on the table, Arthur gave a small nod in confirmation. “Katherine? Yes. Fine, still suffers with some nightmares but talks a lot about the brave prince charming that came to destroy the evil monster. Kids… Pretty resilient huh?”

“We can talk about pie if you want, I guess. I’ve been making a lot but I’m not sure why you’d care.” Kaden was fairly sure that Arthur didn’t need to know why he was making so many, either. He didn’t love talking about feelings and bullshit with people he was close to let alone with near strangers. “Yeah, Rumpleskuffs, he’s a-- it’s a nickname. Weird guy. Likes pie a lot and messing with me.” He wasn't sure why he was worried about the likely phoenix knowing about his pixie roommate but he was. Maybe he just didn’t want to explain it or be judged for it. Wasn’t sure. Also felt like a bad thing to announce in public. “I don’t know how possible it is to grow up in this town without nightmares,” he said. “Glad to hear she’s otherwise okay.” He gave a small smile. “Not sure I should be anyone’s prince charming, though. Warn her about that one.” His brow furrowed as he noticed something moving in his glass of water. Odd.

A part of Arthur wanted to point out that really he didn’t care all that much but the rational part of his brain recognised that antagonising a hunter probably wasn’t the smartest of moves to make. So opted instead to say, “oh really? Is there another pie contest or something?” Rumpleskuffs? He rolled the name around in his head a little bit, “weird name that… How’d he get the nickname Rumpleskuffs? He isn’t a fae or something is he? I don’t know what their obsession with pie is… Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve met but they all seem to share it.” His fingers curled a little under his chin in thought. “I dunno, I think if you’re stubborn enough it’s possible either that or you’re just lucky. One or the other.” Despite everything a smile edged its way onto his features, “she’s hardly going to pay any attention to me on that one plus you kind of look like that Flynn dude from that cartoon so I doubt much of anything will change that.” But Kaden was looking over his shoulder and naturally Arthur turned to glance behind him, finding only his own reflection. Weird. “Everything okay? You seem a bit- I dunno, distracted?”

“Not that I know of,” Kaden said with a shrug. Even if there were a contest, he didn’t have time to give a shit. The excess baking wasn’t for anyone else but him, not really. He froze when Arthur instantly pegged Rumple as fae. Putain. “I’m, uh, not sure. Just, it, yeah he’s a little fae. Mostly.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide it. Shame mostly, to be honest. Alright, sure, he was dating Regan who was fae but that was partially because he hadn’t known initially. This was worse. Stupider, even. Maybe he should just accept his fate and get over it. Or rather is fae-te. He was a magnet for fae and fae bullshit. “Maybe so. But they’d be pretty hard pressed,” he said. This town was so full of living nightmares he couldn’t imagine skipping over all of it and coming out of this place without any scars of any sort. “Like Flynn who?” His forehead creased as he tried to imagine it. A cartoon prince who looked like him and fought monsters? He couldn’t imagine it. “Huh. Odd. Can’t picture it. I’m pretty sure no one would call me a prince either way.” He sighed and took a sip of the water the waitress left at the table. As soon as he went to take a sip, he swore he saw a figure in it, something dark and moving. “Merde!” he shouted as he dropped the glass from his hands, water spilling everywhere across the table. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry I thought I saw something in the wa--” He caught a peek at the glass and saw another flash of something and stumbled back out of his seat, catching himself on the edge of the chair before he tumbled to the floor. What the fuck was that?

For a hunter it seemed to strike Arthur that Kaden wasn’t the most apt at concealing his discomfort in a situation such as being caught in a lie or an omission of fact. “Not sure?” there were several ways to test whether Kaden’s apparent flatmate was a fae, but Arthur didn’t feel that right now was the best time to comment on it. “Perhaps, either that or find a decent enough spellcaster versed in the whole sphere of memory magic. That would usually clear up any issues considering if you can’t remember an event it can hardly give you nightmares hm?” But if the kid was happy enough and relatively untroubled then who was Arthur to interfere with how her parents - his great great times seven or something of the sort grandson chose to raise her. “Flynn Rider- Rapunzel- The- You don’t know? Oh huh…” he trailed off shaking his head “yeah okay probably better you don’t then.” Yet his attention was promptly diverted by the sudden commotion of water being spilled that had Arthur jumping to his feet in a flash at the same moment Kaden almost tumbled onto the floor. He peered at Kaden’s line of sight fixed on the glass and blinked as something seemed to shimmer and shift in the reflection “Oh bloody hell- Not again.”

Kaden did his best to act like nothing strange had happened, that he hadn’t just nearly fell from his seat, startled by a fucking glass of water of all things. “Sorry that was, I thought I--” It was then that he noticed Arthur was standing. He’d jumped away from the water like it was acid. If he was what Kaden suspected he was, it was likely that it was similar. Kaden didn’t get a chance to narrow his eyes or even question it further. “Not again? What do you mean not again?” he asked, brow furrowing. The reflection in the glass seemed to answer for him. As he looked into it, he saw a woman with a knife. Then felt a sting of pain across his cheek. “Putain!” he shouted, and clutched his face. He felt the blood running along his palm. What the hell? He pulled it away to examine his hand. Yeah, that was real alright. Real and red and painful. Kaden dared to lean in, get a closer look. “Murderer,” the spirit growled. The creases in Kaden’s forehead deepened and he saw a knife push forward towards him out of the reflection towards him. “Shit!” he shouted as he dived out of his chair, finally hitting the floor. “What the fuck is she talking about?! What’s going on?!” he asked Arthur. By now the whole restaurant had their eyes on them, there were whispers all around and lots of confusion. Kaden didn’t exactly care. But he did wonder if now was the time to tell people to leave.

Too many things happened at once, the accusatory glare and the sign of something strange lashing out of the upturned glass of water. A twisted ghostly visage one Arthur had seen not several weeks back in his very own kitchen attempting to drag Freyja down the stairs by her hair. “Oh shit” the panic was clear, though now really wasn’t the time to explain. “NO DON’T!” he yelled out instinctively as Kaden leaned in to inspect the glass right as another swipe of the knife followed one that could’ve certainly taken an eye if not for Kaden’s speedy reaction. “The reflections, she’s in the reflections” it was right as the words left his mouth that he saw the same figure manifesting in the glass panelled window, immediately, Arthur shot in Kaden’s direction, moving to backhand the glass off the table into the very panel the ghost had started to appear in. The whispers were silenced by the shattering of glass, glistening fragments spilling left right and center. A baleful shriek followed the sound and Arthur moved back over to Kaden extending a hand out to where he’d fallen “I know you have fuck all reason to trust me, but I need you to listen to me now - we need to get you out of here because she won’t stop until your head’s on a platter.”

“What?” Kaden sputtered as he worked to right himself onto his hands on knees, avoiding the glass shattered around him. “Me? What about me? How--” He was struggling to piece together all of the disparate pieces of the puzzle together in his panicked state. Ghost. This was definitely some sort of ghost or spirit. Reflections. Was this-- There was no way. “Don’t tell me this is Bloody fucking Mary,” he said in a hushed tone to the professor as he took his hand, letting him help him pull him off the floor. “Murderer,” rang out again, from over his left shoulder. Kaden looked back and saw the same woman in the mirror, ragged and dark and angry. Her knife reached out and this time Kaden ducked, putting his hand over his head. “What the fuck does she want with me? She’s got to be really fucking mistaken because I’m not a goddamn murderer.” There was chaos in the restaurant now, customers watching them and looking around them for the source of the commotion. A few of them had seen the reflection and pointed towards the mirror. Some of them seemed to think it was a show. Most of them were annoyed for the interruption. “Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to l--” the waiter started. “Way ahead of you,” Kaden said before ducking out. “How the fuck do I avoid all reflections? It’s nearly goddamn impossible.”

“Not now,” Arthur answered with a shake of his head as Kaden righted himself glancing at the hunter. For a moment there was a strange and sudden urge to laugh but no sound escaped him, only a grimace of acknowledgement and mild determination while backing up. “Would it make it momentarily better if I lied and said no?” But further words were cut short as the ghost swiped out from the window seemingly keen to totally ignore Arthur’s presence in the room next to Kaden. It sparked an idea, and Arthur shifted between Kaden and the next window using himself to block the ghost’s reach for Kaden. The waiter that had served them but moments prior looked as though he were about to have an aneurysm on the spot at the shattered window panel and it was the least Arthur could do to offer an apologetic look and passing remark of “sorry, I’ll pay for that later yeah? Claustrophobia, my friend doesn’t do well inside.” Eventually they made it outside but the parking lot posed an entirely separate issue and Arthur had to run through through options. “The park, open field right? Just round the block… If we get there we can probably wait her out… I don’t think you’ll be able to do anything to her… She’s not a normal ghost.”

Kaden wanted to be annoyed at the bullshit explanation to the waiter, but he didn’t have much of a chance. It’d have to fucking do because they had to get the hell out of there. “A park?” It made sense, he had to admit. There shouldn’t be a whole lot of reflective surfaces surrounding him there. He’d just have to avoid any water nearby. And if his suspicions on Arthur were correct, he’d be just as keen to avoid that as well. “Okay, park. That’s-- Go, let’s go.” He reached into his wallet and shoved a twenty dollar bill on the table before running out, ducking and dodging like it might help. “I know who the fuck Bloody Mary is! I’m a--” He stopped short, didn’t want to scream it out in the middle of the street that he was a hunter. Seemed like a bad fucking plan. “Just trust me, I know.” He started running in the direction he indicated, past the cars and show windows. Shit, fucking shit. He tried not to look but he had a feeling it didn’t matter one way or another if he checked his reflection. “Let’s get to the fucking pa--” His words were cut off by something grabbing at his ankles and dragging him back along the concrete. Kaden screamed and tried futilely to fight off the invisible, intangible object pulling him and scraping him along the sidewalk. He tried to grip the edge, keep from going any farther, but it wasn’t doing much good. Putain.

Arthur’s mind in a spur of the moment decision making process felt that a rather bullshit explanation seemed perfectly reasonable in comparison to telling their rather human waiter from what he could see that bloody goddamn Mary was here to try and kill them. Not them. Kaden. What was it about almost every instance they ran into one another that ended up in something going absolutely sideways? Breaking outside Arthur took off down the street high-tailing it after Kaden with half a mind to smash the windows of the cars they passed. After all, what was a bit of public property damage compared to sparing someone from meeting a rather bloody end at the hand of an equally murder orientated spirit? “Okay! Okay right-” and so they set off, Arthur mainly focussed on running; moving his feet one after the other even as the beginnings of a stitch started to cramp his side. Who knew that a lifetime of office work and preference for milk chocolate brazil nuts during a marathon of Clone Wars did not an athlete make. It was such complainant thoughts and panicked interspersed contemplation regarding what the hell they were going to do next that almost caused him to trip over Kaden as the man crashed to the sidewalk being dragged in the complete opposite direction.

“Oh shit- shit! Hold on!” Park. Right. Grass, bushes… Rocks. Rocks! With little other thought Arthur dove to a nearby bush rummaging around in the vain hope of finding- There his fingers curled around the rough texture of a rock about the size of his fist before scrambling back to the street and hauling his arm back to lob the rock straight through the nearest window of a smart looking mercedes. The glass shattered and its alarm blared but Arthur was already grabbing a piece of glass, little care for the jagged edge cutting into his palm as he brandished it towards the spirit speaking with a courage he didn’t admittedly feel right there and then. “Let him go Mary. He isn’t deserving of your wrath.”

White glass like eyes belonging to a gaunt face framed by stringing black hair snapped away from their intense focus on Kaden for but a moment before returning to the hunter with a snarled hiss, the shrill sound akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard “murderer.”

Kaden could feel skin scraping off his palm as he tried to wrap his fingers around any piece of concrete he could grab onto. He felt some release, the dragging stopped, but it was in exchange for the familiar sounds of glass shattering, the sharp pain of car alarms blaring in his ears. Still, he wasn’t going to complain too much about having a chance to scramble up from the ground. “Why does she keep saying that?” he said, voice laced with panic and confusion. Of course he wasn’t deserving of her wrath. Did she really think all killing made him a murderer? He wasn’t. That wasn’t how this worked. He’d never killed a human. Not once. Fucking spirit had to be mistaken. Even then, he felt like he should cover himself with his jacket, just hide. Like it might eliminate his reflection, make this go away. “We have to get out of here,” he said, grabbing Arthur’s arm and leading him towards the direction of the park, crouching behind the other man as best he could, hoping it might shield him from the spirit’s wrath. They had to leave. If not just because of the spirit but because he wasn’t looking to pay for this fucking broken car window. Somehow he didn’t think Alain was up for doing him any favors as of late. A wail rang through the night as black hair and a glint of silver flashed in the reflection of a shop window followed by a flash of pain along his arm. “Repent,” it bellowed. Putain de merde. “Repent for what? I’m not a murderer. You have the wrong person. Leave me alone!” That park had to be close. It had to be.

“Because that’s what she thinks you are and she’s not-” Arthur didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence as the spectre wailed; seeming to grow frustrated with the constant interruptions of this interloper. The frustration grew even more apparent as Kaden moved behind Arthur out from its line of sight and reach.

“You protect the guilty,” the accusation was harsh and grating and punctuated by a wild advancing slash that Arthur tried to block, but instead slid off and caught his shoulder clean, rending flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Stumbling back a step but keeping Kaden behind him he caught himself trying to ignore the stinging ache of his shoulder and where it was fast staining his jumper crimson. Arthur stared back at the spirit with a mixture of defiance and pain but also using the time to keep walking backwards. Just keep it talking. Use the time until they got to the point they could make a final run for it. “So what if I do? Bit hypocritical wouldn’t you say? You’re no better than them in the end.” The ghost lunged again but he was more prepared this time; dodging to one side and glancing behind him in the process towards the gate that was about ten metres away. Just a little further and they could run.

Shit, she was attacking Arthur now, too? That-- He wasn’t a murderer, then, was he? Kaden would have to figure that one out later. Honestly, she was clearly fucking confused so he wasn’t sure it was worth conjecturing one way or another. “Come on,” he said as the two of them backed towards the gate. “Any day now.” He didn’t like the idea of giving this bitch of a spirit any more opportunity than they had to. They were close, almost there, when she lashed out one more time. Arthur dodged and Kaden tried to duck, too, but he caught another edge of the blade slicing into his back. He screamed out but he turned on his heel towards the gate anyway, pushing past the pain. He wanted to make sure that was the last of it. He could manage it once he was something closer to safe. At the sight of the gate, Kaden practically slammed into it with his shoulder. It gave way without much protest and he kept sprinting into the middle of the field. Once he was pretty damn sure there was no shot of his reflection betraying him, Kaden collapsed to the ground and winced at the pain across his cheek, along his back, the various cuts from the various shattered glass. It took him a moment to catch his breath, collect himself enough to form words. “Thanks,” he managed to say, looking up at Arthur as he pulled himself up off the ground. “Your shoulder. You need first aid.”

There was no putting it off now and as the gate hinges squealed and grated open, Arthur legged it after Kaden into the middle of the grassy expanse of the field breathing heavy when they both finally came to a stop and took stock of their situation. Finding nothing malicious stalking them Arthur turned and sank down onto a nearby bench grimacing a little as he picked at where the fabric stuck to the slash; roughly several inches long but not too deep, “it’s not too bad.” And in all honesty it wasn’t, certainly wouldn’t kill him. Instead, Arthur looked back to Kaden assessing the damage the spirit had managed to do in their escape down the street. “Are you okay? That spirit seemed… Kinda intense in wanting to get her hands on you.”

“I’m fine,” Kaden said with a grunt as he pushed himself up off the ground and onto the bench next to Arthur. “That spirit seemed fucking confused is what she seemed like.” He winced a little as he felt the cut on his face. It stung, but it might not even scar, more surface level than anything. Which was nice. “Going after me. Going after you. Isn’t she meant to target murderers? Putain de merde. Someone fucking lied, I guess.” He shook his head and looked back to his companion. “You sure you’re alight, though?”

“Confused?” Arthur echoed side-eyeing Kaden for a moment trying to process the logic behind where the other man was coming from considering what they both knew Kaden was. A hunter. Someone that rather literally existed to balance the scales of existence of supernatural beings. “I mean there’s a fair justification in her going after you... Not that I’m saying she should” he added quickly “just… like you do mur- uh- kill people that aren’t human. Which is murder...” Leaning forwards Arthur rubbed his hands together. “I think she also goes after people that just get in the way of her target ‘cause I’ve never killed anyone in my life.” Or more correctly, in this life. “Uh yeah, though I’m not sure how we’re meant to get back home unless we just… Wait and hope she goes to chase someone else or something.”

“Killing monsters isn’t murder.” The words left his mouth like a mantra, without thought. Kaden wasn’t sure he believed it or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about what those words even meant anymore or if they held any weight in any shape or form. Either way, he had to hold onto them. If he didn’t-- He just had to. “Guess so.” Must have meant Kaden got in the way of someone else. Right? It had to. There was no other option. He couldn’t be a murderer. That wasn’t something he could live with. And so he wouldn’t. “Seems like that’s the. Guess I owe you dinner, huh?”

“Even werewolves or people that just so happen to have less normal aspects of themselves? Not all supernaturals are monsters - Regan’s a good example of that no?” How many times had Arthur had this conversation with hunters or slayers over his lifetimes? Too many to count but it always boiled down to the same gritted determination of belief that monsters of all shape and size were evil and that somehow their deaths was justified lighting it under the simple guise of monstrosity. It was interesting in a way, seeing how some people tried to justify their actions in their own mind to help them live with the actions and decisions they made on a daily basis. “If an evening out with you is always gonna end up with one of us almost dead or mauled by some beast… I think maybe next time we stick with an afternoon drink - lessens the chances a fraction hey?”

“We’re not talking about Regan right now.” Hell, Kaden was barely talking to Regan right now. And the less he thought about whatever was happening in those woods with Deirdre, the better. And he wasn’t going to try and sort out his feelings on the matter or the growing list of exceptions he was making while sitting on a park bench nursing his wounds after running from a fucking spirit that was trying to kill him through a goddman mirror. Not going to happen. It was bad enough he broke down with Morgan in the woods after that shit with Alain and the bugbear. He was not going to have another fucking moment like that on a park bench. No, thanks. “Spirit must have been mistaken,” he said flatly, with a tone that indicated he wasn’t debating this. Kaden sighed, trying to let go of some of the tension he was harboring. “Worth shot. Even if I’m not sure that all the monsters of White Crest take a break while the sun is out.”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #arthur #arthurjdrake #Of Monsters and Moose

[thedistantstorm]

Breaking the Wheel

The Last City | Post Red War | New Monarchy | The Vanguard | City Politics | Suraya Hawthorne | Hard Truths | Pre-Relationship Steelponcho if you squint

"... what did she mean by that?"

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement. "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. “That you trust me.”

Around them, the fragile, rebuilding City carries on. Lamps, lanterns, contained fires are lit where there is little remaining electrical infrastructure. No one pays the Commander and the newly appointed Clan Steward any mind. Cayde and Ikora have long since gone on ahead of them.

"Was that a lie?" He asks, knowing full well it isn't.

She shakes her head, blinking out of their staring contest. He frowns. "You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, as if she's going to run right into him, but then to the side, so they stand shoulder to shoulder. She faces the base of the crumbling Tower, plumes of smoke still rising into the sky. He looks out at the rebuilding City - hardship and cooperation sowing the seeds of hope.

"Tell me," He says, and it's meant to be a command, but commands do not work on her. It's what he tells himself when his voice comes out softer, hoarse and concerned.

It has nothing to do with the growing well of suspicion in his loins he does not want to believe - does not want to find out, even if he knows, he does - to be the truth.

-/

They have made it a point to be accessible. Part of his reasoning in keeping Hawthorne in the fold is that she has her finger on the pulse of humanity. She doesn't see it, but he's learned to see that her supposed arrogance and standoffish behavior is a well-worn shield, designed to protect against attachments and the inevitable emotional hurts that would follow. Another is that she is unassuming. Cunning. Intelligent. Her resources held tens of thousands of people. She'd organized a relief effort in a week, held ground and kept people safe with minimal casualties, and her reasoning was that it was the right thing to do. He still wonders how it is her criminal record was more like a novella, sometimes. He knows she was preparing for a war, of some sort, but he doesn't understand what war she anticipated or why.

The people in this district are making due. It's barely different than the Farm here, though they're building houses and restoring what salvageable framework remains. But, the sense of permanence helps. It keeps spirits up. They're home. They've won. They will prevail here, too; Things will get better.

The old Tower burns at his back, jet fuel from the old hangar and electrical sparks causing many disturbances, wildfires that are more dangerous to fight because of how compromised the framework is. The district directly below it had been completely wiped out. They will not rebuild it until they are certain what's left of the Hall of Guardians will not collapse down upon it. Just thinking of it makes a distinct sadness creep into his heart. 

It was his home. 

He shakes his head. He cannot think of it now. There will be time later. (There won't, but his people need him.)

Before him, the rebuild of the Anchor District is going smoothly. He focuses on that. On the greatness that can be accomplished when Humans and Guardians stand together and work as one. 

Beside him, Hawthorne looks around with a sharp gaze. Not judging, like he'd initially thought when they met months ago. She's looking for something. She's seeing something he doesn't.

"Alright?"

She blinks. Her gaze doesn't dull. She hasn't found what she's looking for, or it requires more investigation.

"Fine," She says. "Let's see what's happening down here." If nothing else, it pleases him that she’s acclimated to considering the new Tower her place of residence.

Above them, red and white banners flap in the early evening wind.

Part of this is checking on rebuild progress with the dispatched planners. Another is making sure resources are being stretched appropriately and that if something else is needed: lumber, steel, medical supplies, food, that it's addressed. Moving people back to the City from the Farm is a slow process. One they will do right.

The planner smiles at Zavala when he asks if they have what they need. "New Monarchy is helping us," He says. "They're filling in the gaps. We want for nothing."

This has always been a poor area, and New Monarchy helps the poor. New Monarchy always supported industry as well, specifically plasteel. It's no secret that the Vanguard does requisition quite a bit from them. They've got jobs waiting for these people. Hideo was rather insistent that once the rebuild was sound he'd find ways to get people back to work, to do his part to rebuild the economy.

And yet, Hawthorne frowns when they leave, her face reverting to a careful mask when he makes it obvious he's looking at her.

"What is wrong?"

She clasps her hands behind her back, wringing them.

"He didn't seem to be lying," He informs her mildly, guessing at her apprehension. She’d expressed a concern to him before, regarding the Clans and the Factions. Specifically the latter infringing upon the former.

Hawthorne stops walking, the step she'd been about to take forward aborted mid-execution. "He wasn't," She tells him slowly. Her hands come around her front. She crosses them. 

He's spent enough time to know what uncomfortable and pensive look like on her. "What is it?"

"I dont-" She sighs. "I'm worried," She finally admits.

Blue eyes blink at her, so very bright. She does not market herself as an emotional creature, though he knows she feels as deeply as he does. To express it so blatantly means she does not feel her feelings are unfounded. “Explain.”

As if she's at war with herself, her dark eyes flutter closed. She squeezes her hands where they rest above the opposite elbow, releases her defensive pose and exhales.

There is something in her gaze that could cut diamonds, their normal shade of earthy brown cool and dark. "You asked me to stay because you believed I'd make a difference."

He nods, mutely. He was there, he does remember his well drafted list of reasons, his defenses, all the things he hadn't needed because he'd started honestly and she'd rewarded that with some trust and commitment of her own.

"Part of why I agreed is because you can't save this City from itself."

"What?"

She reaches out: her nimble, cold, gun-calloused fingers wrapping around his wrist. "You,” She pauses, features concentrating, trying to put things the best way she can, with the least amount of offense. He knows she’s trying, that she holds a fear of failing her people - their people - very close to her chest. “You don't know know this City like I do." Something in her gaze softens just a smidgen. "Come with me."

-/

They meet up with Ikora and Cayde near what will eventually be the restored plaza at the heart of the district. For now, the storefronts house people en mass, providing better shielding from the elements than tarps and tents.

Hope in the face of destruction, the heartiness of Humanity is something breathtakingly heartrending to behold. This was the scene of a last stand. Of humans and militia defending survivors. He’d been told the story. Flowers and candles alight the street, banners - Vanguard, New Monarchy, patchwork flags for Clans - fly overhead.

A ball rolls in front of them, and Cayde makes quick work to nudge it back to them. They holler and cheer, he aims finger-guns and makes a show of blowing them out with little sparks and smoke when they ooh and ah after him.

Ikora, tempered by Cayde, offers them a gentle acknowledgement of her own. She does not do as well with these sorts of things, but she is trying. She’d never admit it, but the truth to Hawthorne’s accusations - what it means to be a Guardian - all those nights ago in one of the decomposing barns of the Farm really bothered her.

They are welcomed into one of the larger, more intact storefronts. Hawthorne does not take point, like he’s expecting. Instead, he is the one who leads them, following an older woman to a back room with a wooden table.

It isn’t much. There are rolled up sleeping mats in what looks to be a door-less storage closet. The woman offers them something to drink, trying, despite it all to be a gracious host. They decline, and she nods. For the best. The people are still rationing water. The Cabal polluted much of the freshwater supply within the city with their refuse, jet fuel, and otherworldly oils.

They make idle small-talk, about the way the City’s rebuild is panning out, the good that comes when Light and Lightless work together. The woman tells them of the children whose parents and other elders take turns watching them so that work can be done, of how they’re working to re-implement some form of education system until things can return to normal.

“Thank you for your support,” She says eventually, nodding to each of them in turn. She has bright, silver-blue eyes that contrast her pewter-grey, fading hair that’s tucked back into a bun at the base of her head.

Zavala nods. “You have everything you need? We are happy to-”

“Yes,” She replies quickly, looking away. “Thank you.”

Across the room, Hawthorne leans back against the wall, crossing her arms again. Zavala looks at her. She gives him a sad smile.

“You can tell the truth,” Hawthorne encourages, gently.

The woman’s eyes find hers like magnets, pupils constricted. Conflict and panic written across her face.

“I-” She swallows. “It’s the truth. We do.” Her gaze finds Zavala’s and it makes him flinch, internally, makes him want to recoil. This woman is afraid of him. Why is this woman afraid of him? “You’ve been more than generous.”

Hawthorne closes her eyes while Ikora’s eyes narrow and Cayde stops his idle fidgeting for once. The woman looks at her, pleadingly. The Clan steward steps to the woman, sitting at the table and drops to a knee, crouching beside her. “I trust him.”

“But-” His ears feel hot, and there is something akin to panic that bubbles in his chest. He has never wanted to strike fear into the hearts of the people. He wants to protect them from anything, anyone, any form of danger or strife. He would never be their aggressor. Why does this woman believe he would bear her any ill will? He would lay down and die for her - for any of them. He would-

“He is not Hideo’s man.” Hawthorne says. She rises and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are unfathomably open. He cannot look away. “He is the City’s and hers alone.”

Then, Zavala blinks at the woman, who looks at him in earnest. Broken. Hopeful. Terrified. He wants to ask how, why she feels the way she does, but more than that, he wants to get down on his knees and beg her to understand. Compelled, he takes one of her hands in both of hers and tries. “What is happening,” He asks. “Please, tell me.” His voice is hoarse. Ikora and Cayde look at each other, then the ground. Their stances are rigid, uncomfortable.

“Tithing began last week.” She sighs. “What we don’t have in money, they take in other ways.”

“Tithing? For what?”

“New Monarchy is supporting the rebuild.”

“The Vanguard is funding-”

“Not all of it.” The woman barks back, a whip-crack of anger in her voice. “I had thought it would subside, because of the War,” She looks up at him, her eyes three shades paler than his, but blazing with emotion. “Food, medical supplies, water. Manual labor. Not glimmer, but even more valuable now.”

“They should have enough,” Ikora says.

Hawthorne looks at the wall across from her, eyes half lidded and stormy.  “They have factories to rebuild if they’re going to meet their contracts.” Her eyes meet Zavala’s.

He breathes sharply, eyes darting over the grain of the wood that makes the table top, grasping for something, anything he can do. “I will-”

“You didn’t know,” The woman realizes, speaking with sudden conviction. She places her other hand atop his, no longer blinded by fear. “Did you?”

“I-”

“He didn’t,” Cayde agrees immediately. “Zavala would never ever, not in a million years, ever let this go on if he knew.”

“They are trying to keep the poor poor. I do not want my grandchildren to beg for scraps like I did, like my children after me, because it is only by New Monarchy’s graciousness that we should be divvied any aid when they are the ones who take our wages and extras in the first place. They do not give us support. The Guardians, City Forces, Militia, the Clans give us support.”

The woman says, “I don’t know that they’ve ever done anything good for me or mine.” She frowns, her eyes focusing on something not present, something that exists only in her mind. Hawthorne turns and steps out of the room. “No. They’ve done one good thing for this City.” She turns her head, looks to his right, directly at Suraya. “They’ve exiled a child.”

Hawthorne’s eyes turn to steel, her fists clenched tightly at her side and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“They could not.”

“They did,” She pushes.

“Impossible.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” The woman says, softer. Her withered hands squeeze his and withdraw. “That man would have the world believe you are to be our king. Certainly you know it. He tells us that you are pleased when they do well. That you are his friend - a friend of New Monarchy.” She growls, “Commander Zavala, a friend of New Monarchy is no friend of this City, not of her people, and not of me and mine. A friend of New Monarchy is that, and that alone. Even if their tenets say otherwise.”

Zavala learns. He listens and he learns and he takes to heart - even if he does try to listen objectively. This is the woman’s opinion. But she is not the only one with it, and there is no way for him to deny it holds some modicum of truth. He sees it when they return to the City streets, and the sun is setting. There is apprehension in the faces of the downtrodden, in the ones who live in the shadow of the factions, of New Monarchy. They believe him to be Hideo’s king. Belief is a powerful, terrifying thing.

-/

“That woman believed New Monarchy had the ability to exile a child,” He tells her, pacing in front of one of the still-abandoned storefronts. “The Consensus is the only governing body in this city who could exile anyone. And by no means would they ever,” He spits angrily, “EVER, exile a child. Not for murder. Not for theft. Not for anything.”

“They didn’t,” Technically, Suraya thinks.

"Then what did she mean by that?" He feels a prickle of something unpleasant, a suspicion growing in his belly.

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement, "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. "That you trust me. Was that a lie?"

"You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, back toward home, back toward the Tower.

"Tell me," He asks of her. “What did she mean? She was not a liar.”

“The child,” She sighs, shaking her head in a way that indicates she cannot believe she’s saying this, “They exiled themselves.”

“What?”

“It was that or New Monarchy would target their family. They made a choice. It was one they’d been planning to make, anyway.”

“Who.”

“It doesn’t-”

“Suraya.” His eyes burn into her with something akin to fury, compassion, heartbreak wrapped together and packed in an ultraviolet glow.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and doesn’t answer.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment she wonders if he’s going to cry, faced with the truth. His City, his beloved, precious City failed her. “Why?”

“I’d been stealing from them, for people like these. He’d said things-” Horrible, ugly, revolting, untrue things, “-and I punched him-”

“You were a child.”

“Almost fifteen.” She takes each of his clenched fists in one of her own. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does.”

“You’re a good man,” She says, and it breaks the undercurrent of rage in his voice, his surprise giving him pause. She offers him a tiny smile as she steps back. “You would have stopped him.”

He answers her without hesitation. “Of course!”

“I’m not upset that it happened. Not to me. Not anymore.” She looks up at the Tower, then back at the seedlings of the City reborn. “I don’t want it to happen to anyone else.”

“We can change things,” He whispers, with conviction. “I know it.”

She nods. His arm comes around her shoulders. She bars her own cross his lower back. The City expands. The Vanguard is listening. They have the Clans. It will be a fight, but things will not go back to what they had. 

“We already have.”

#commander zavala #suraya hawthorne #destiny fanfiction #new monarchy #ikora rey #cayde-6 #executor hideo is not a good guy #city politics #my writing

[plagueamon]

Code Geass MBTI Challenge Turn 9: Kyoshiro Tohdoh - ISTJ

With the exception of Anya and a few members of the Akito the Exiled cast, Kyoshiro Tohdoh is the character on our list with probably the least amount of information about his personal thoughts, views and experiences. With that in mind, I still think that the show gives us just enough of a glimpse into his personality in order to be able to type him accurately, to the point where I actually had to retype him a few times and overall was given more to think about than I originally expected. Before I start explaining this character’s functions, please keep in mind, that this post will contain heavy Code Geass spoilers, so consider yourselves warned. With that out of the way, let us analyse why Kyoshiro Tohdoh is an ISTJ.

Dominant Introverted Sensing/Si

Tohdoh’s Si is actually very comparable to Ohgi’s, because they value very similar things, but diverge in what further conclusions they do with those values based on their auxiliary and tertiary functions (this is coincidentally perhaps the best opportunity we will ever have to compare an ISFJ to an ISTJ). Much like Ohgi, Tohdoh largely bases his values around Japanese tradition, however he does not see them as something to be explored and shared with others (Ti and Fe), so mach as he uses it to dictate the rules he wants to see himself and his surrounding world world to develop in accordance with (Fi and Te). This sometimes makes him appear much more narrow-minded than he actually is, simply because he has a very specific idea of what he wants to achieve for Japan and for himself and is very determined to make it a reality. In truth he is actually very capable of applying this personal system of principles to others, which is what makes him a competent teacher and role model for Suzaku.

A common trait of dominant Si-users in fiction is that they can be both idealistic and practical in their mindset, with Si being tied to tangible evidence and facts by being a sensing function, while also being introverted and therefore highly subjective and personal to the user. Tohdoh himself embodies this balance quite well: we often see him talk in ways that are sentimental, with topics like honour and his hopes and fears for Japan’s distant future being brought up a lot, but, as Zero mentions during his prison break-in in R1, all of Tohdoh’s legendary success comes down to careful planning and intelligence work. In fact, it seems that Tohdoh himself understands this very well, as we never really see him refer to his work as “miracles” in a non-ironic manner, despite being seen as such by his followers. At his core Tohdoh still very much prefers to deal with factual details, planning out his operations and insisting on taking part in them personally, solidifying him as both a skilled and passionate tactician and leader, and, much like with Ohgi, this is the potential that Lelouch sees in him.

Auxiliary Extroverted Thinking/Te

As stated above, Tohdoh’s success as a leader mainly comes down to methodical and meticulous work combined with a fairly tactical mindset. His Te is certainly an important component of this, as we see him rely on it when he has to step out of his Si comfort zone. We see several examples of this happening when Tohdoh doesn’t see an obvious answer to a problem: his usual response is to trust in Zero’s judgement even if he has to blindly follow orders without a clear understanding of what his leader is planning. This demonstrates a healthy use of auxiliary Te, as it shows his willingness to abandon his immediate instinct to systematically observe the situation by himself (Si) when there is clearly no point in doing that, instead going with a more conventionally rational Te approach and trusting Lelouch because he has proven to be effective in the past. This is both supported and kept in check by his Fi, which gives him a degree of confidence in his judge of other people’s character as well as stops him from being a blindly devoted follower with no clear direction of his own. Compare this to Ohgi, who trusts others (Zero in this example) based on his perception of their sense of morality and trustworthiness (Fe), while his tertiary Ti balances this notion out by making him question his own judgement and thinking of the benefits of a given decision that is independent of ethical questions.

To put it in a somewhat simplified manner, Te is a form of generalist logic, developing a systematic “one size fits all” way of looking at a problem for the user, as they mature. The higher Te is in the functional stack, the more its logical system is complex and willing to account for exceptions, meaning that the kind of over-generalising behaviour that Te-users are often stereotyped for is much more commonly seen in unhealthy, immature or low (in terms of the stack) users. A much more healthy use of Te is comparatively rare in fiction or isn’t recognised nearly as often, however Tohdoh’s tactical ability and respect for authority provide good examples. Neither of the two are things he carries out blindly or out of principle, in fact he demonstrates a high degree of autonomy when deciding to trust his comrades and his superiors - instead these choices come from an understanding that this kind of trust the most reasonable course of action in most difficult situations.

As a soldier these qualities make Tohdoh outstanding.

Tertiary Introverted Feeling/Fi

Tohdoh’s Fi comes out in most of his unhealthier moments, meaning that he enters a Si-Fi loop. Whenever he finds himself in a difficult situation with no apparent solutions provided by his first two functions and nobody else to follow, Tohdoh is prone to giving up all hope and surrendering to his fate. The excuse he uses to justify this is also very evident of an unhealthy use of Fi: in his mind he chooses death to preserve his honour and deserves his fate for his personal failure. With Fi being a function that focuses on very personal values, this is an example of using it defensively instead of finding the inner strength to maintain hope and readiness for an opportunity to improve the situation. This almost causes him to reject a chance of freedom that Zero is basically handing to him in R1. It usually takes an external perspective (Te) such as Zero’s or that of his fellow Holy Swords pilots to “snap him out of” this internally focused state and show him that he can still find a reason to continue fighting without sacrificing his life and that his honour is not compromised by such a choice.

On a somewhat healthier note, Fi also puts an interesting spin on the direction of Tohdoh’s dominant function, giving him a firm belief that a person should keep true to their goals and principles no matter the cost. This is why his initial disappointment in Suzaku disappears to a large degree, when he learns that his former student’s life choices are in full accordance with the ideals he holds. While he still sees Suzaku as an enemy, Tohdoh develops a respect for his willingness to follow the path he chose despite being seen as a traitor to the Japanese by almost everyone and even encourages him to continue. While his Fi isn’t high enough in his stack to make relating to others necessarily easy, it does give him the ability to readily acknowledge that there are subjectively justifiable reasons behind everyone’s actions, no matter how different the person in question may be from himself.

Inferior Extroverted Intuition/Ne

Tohdoh does not get as much screen time or opportunities to speak as some of the other characters on our list, however because of his brutal honesty and overall being based on a fairly common fictional archetype, it isn’t very difficult to understand his fears and weaknesses as a human being. Dominant Si is a function rooted in personal experiences and principles (both moral and logical) that are very personal to the user and allow them to find a place for themselves in the world they inhabit. A common way for inferior Ne to oppose this is the fear of loss of one’s self and the personal principles that make us who we are. This makes Tohdoh reluctant to make decisions that contradicts his ideas about the kind of person he should be and the ways in which he should act. This kind of insecurity provides an understandable explanation for his Si-Fi loops: trying to avoid execution to him is similar to refusing punishment for his failure to liberate Japan, and that would go against his understanding of what he should stand for. This is why he only agrees to escape his prison when offered a chance of redemption.

On a more general scale, inferior Fi makes it hard for Tohdoh to truly understand other people’s motivations and plans when he doesn’t see the evidence leading up to them. Given that Lelouch is Ni-dominant and hence much more willing to rely on theoretical approximations and calculated risks rather than playing it safe and going with the facts, this tends to happen often and Tohdoh is often left having to trust in his leader’s competence without actually knowing what he is up to. Being mature and relatively healthy, however, Tohdoh does not tend to be bothered by this too much, recognising when his life is in capable hands instead of giving in to a fear of uncertainty, as unhealthy or immature Si-doms can often do.

However, please keep in mind that this is only my opinion on the matter and I will welcome any criticisms or alternative opinions to discuss them. If this article was interesting for you, stay prepared for next time, when I shall discuss the MBTI type of Diethard Ried.

#mbti #code geass #code geass mbti challenge #Kyoshiro #Kyoshiro Tohdoh #ISTJ #Si #Te #Fi #Ne #fictional characters

[miss-rori]

“Maybe In Another Life” Abraham Woodhull x Reader

Masterlist

Request for @the-brilliant-questioner with prompts 3 and 19 (will be in bold)

Warnings: I think just angst 

The ride to New York was long and quiet. You were out with your ‘husband’ to carry out important business. You remembered the first time you met him as if it were yesterday.

War was a dangerous game that America was losing at, causing distress and tension among Patriots. There was no room for errors and Caleb Brewster knew it. You and he go way back. He suggested to help his dear friend, Major Tallmadge, to add an important asset to the spy ring; A smart partner for Culper. Though he proved to be useful, he tended to be a bit reckless.

Tallmadge seemed a bit skeptical but with convincing, he agreed to Brewster putting you in to help Culper. Of course, he had every right to question why you would be trustworthy enough to know who Culper was but that subsided, knowing there was more at stake if he didn’t agree.

You, quickly being sent to Setauket, found the man of interest. He had been aware that you were coming and introduced himself as Abraham Woodhull. Though you hated to admit it, he was rather courageous for taking on the double life. No one fit the role better, being the son of Tory Judge Woodhull. Things were a bit awkward between the two of you at first because anyone could see you meet up and get the wrong idea, but that didn’t last long. A beautiful friendship blossomed out of the weird situation. A couple months in, you started to wish something else would grow from that friendship.

Before you knew it, an officer stopped to question Abraham. Were you really on the outskirts of New York already? Thinking seemed to really pass the time.

“State your name and business,” the redcoat rehearsed monotonously. The question was just protocol, nothing more. The two of you had already talked about this ahead of time and were fully prepared.

Abraham gave a soft charismatic smile, “Abraham and [Y/N] Woodhull, sir. My wife and I have a family gathering to attend with permission from Major Hewlett.” He whipped out a parchment and handed it over. Through your smile, your body was fighting itself. Between the flutter of your heart at the sound of ‘[Y/N] Woodhull’ and the confusion of how he got a letter from Hewlett, you were not sure what to focus on.

A moment rolled by as his eyes scanned the note. “Alright. You’re free to go,” he announced. Abraham nodded in respect as the two of you progressed into step two of the mission. Now that you got past the authorities, it was time to do some damage.

The hunt to find a place to stay didn’t take long at all, a place titled Rivington’s proved to make the cut. As you sat down at a secluded table in the corner, there was a matter to discuss.

“Since I don’t have my money on me I can pay you back when we return,” you reasoned in a low volume.

Abraham protested immediately. “There’s no need. We have to share a room,” he informed with a shake of his head.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We’re posing as lovers, right? We can’t let people think differently,” he explained in a whisper but you scoffed.

“That’s not necessary, none of these people know that. Only the guard at the border,” you fierce eyes met his.

“And if he comes here,” he questioned.

“He’s too busy guarding the entrance,” you countered.

Abraham did not want to admit defeat by any means. “We need to be safe. Just in case.”

You thought about it for a moment before sighing. At least he was trying to be cautious for once. “Fine.”

Both of you got up and he led the way to the bar in order to speak to the employee. The man running to bar seemed to stand out to you, always keeping to himself yet having his calculating eyes on everyone. A smart and discreet man. Your mind immediately told you to be careful around him, in case he mentally noted you and Abraham.

Renting out a room was no big deal. Abraham asked for a dozen hard boiled eggs and the man complied with no issue in the matter. You knew they weren’t really for eating purposes but the man hardly batted an eye at the request. With a simple thank you, you were off to the shared room.

Being the last one through the door, you closed it behind you. “So, do you plan on explaining how on earth you got a letter from Hewlett,” you inquired with a snarky undertone. He sat down at the desk against the wall, completely blowing off your attitude.

“I told you I’d find a way for us to get across,” Abraham mumbled as he set up his little station consisting of a small stack of mini intelligence papers. The eggs, quill, a burning candle, and kitchen pliers.

You sat on the bed the two of you had to share. “There is something you’re not telling me,” you pointed out. You had the intention of continuing your lecture but the employee from before opened the door, followed by another man.

He saw you laying on the bed with your arms crossed and Abraham heating up an egg with the pliers and candle. “Pardon, uh, this isn’t- your room is the next one,” the employee informed the man. The man turned around and left, the more conservative worker going to follow. He began to close the door but stopped once more. Giving Abraham a perplexed look. “Is there something wrong with the eggs I got you?”

Abraham stared at him for a moment, “No. I just like them warm,” he sputtered out awkwardly. The man then left with a slightly amused yet light smile. That was probably the first time he’s seen something so absurd. You internally groaned. Good job, Abraham.

Once the room was now [rovate and it was only the two of you, you spoke up. “Way to go,” you scoffed.

That night, the two of you slept in the same bed with your backs turned to each other. You had even offered to sleep on the floor but he wouldn’t have that.

The sun’s rays pushed through the thin curtains, invading your eyelids. When you shifted, you felt a force in front of you move back. Curious, you opened your eyes to see the cabbage farmer you traveled with. You were cuddled into his chest with his arm around your waist. Your stomach dropped but your heart soared.

Your body flew from under the sheets as you stood up, unintentionally waking Abraham. Waking him up was the least of your concerns. All that mattered was you were still on your shift and you were no longer in his arm arms. As one would imagine, you were quick to dress yourself.

“Get up, Woodhull. We have a long day ahead of us,” you said as you fixed your dress around you. You did everything you could to shake off what happened, wanting to stay professional. He surely wouldn’t like you anyway, right? It was a long shot.

The day was a total waste. Even though you and Abraham had split up to cover more ground, you both turned up empty-handed. It was no secret that Abraham didn’t have as much patience as you did, but he was causing yours to wear thin. He had a tendency to take his anger out on others and that is exactly what he was doing.

“We're not going to win a damn war by being useless,” he muttered the moment you closed the door to your shared room. You turned to face him, seeing that he was angrily shoving off his coat.

You were tired of being talked down to. He might not have meant it to be hurtful, but it did make you feel guilty. If only you had been better at your job and found something to work with. “And you’re not going to win it by complaining now are we,” you shot back. You knew you shouldn’t have said it but it was too late to take it back.

He went quiet for only a moment, carefully processing your words. No matter how many times he mulled over them in the few seconds of silence, he could only assume that you intended to harm him and immediately took offense. Perhaps that wasn’t rational of him to think, but it seemed fair at the time. “And who are you to judge me for that? You should hear yourself,” his voice was filled with venom. He didn’t understand why he was so angry. The words may be directed at you but the anger wasn’t, that much he did know.

You turned your eyes to him and when he saw your cold gaze, he knew he was in for it now. “What did I ever do to you, Abraham? I’d like to know what I did to deserve this treatment,” you paused. Part of you was expecting an answer but the part that wanted to justify yourself took over when he kept his mouth shut for once. “Oh yeah, I remember. I took a possibly permanent break from my life to help an ungrateful spy whom I’ve never met before, only to be judged for something neither of us can help. Now, are you going to be harder on yourself than necessary, or are you going to pull it together and keep going?” The further your speech went, the softer your tone became.

Abraham ran a hand through his hair, eyes meeting the ground with a guilty stare. He mumbled something under his breath and you felt you deserved to know at this point. You were about to ask him to speak up but he beat you to it. “Why am I not good enough for you?” By his tone change at the end of the sentence, you knew he regretted saying it.

You blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

“I’m not the kind of person people fall in love with,” the farmer trailed off. You had no clue he felt that way. After all this time spent imagining a moment of confession, you had never expected to feel this small and ashamed. It all made sense now; The way he came up with the cover of you being his ‘wife’, insisting on sharing a room, waking up tangled together… You had shared the same delicate secret through all of this. This secret wouldn’t help Washington win the war but it could give you peace of mind.

Your posture softened and you took a step closer to him, which seemed to surprise him. “Where did you learn that from?” Your voice was now delicate as if you were afraid of scaring him off.

The farmer sighed. “[Y/N], I’m just me,” he responded lowly.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” you immediately said. Your feet took you to the now occupied spot in front of him. At this, his stare shot up at you once more, a look of shock thrown your way.

He swallowed the dryness that began to take over his throat. ‘What do you mean by that,” he asked hesitantly. You rolled your eyes scoffing at how blind to the situation he was. There was only one way you could mean that with the context given, yet he failed to see it.

“I mean,” you began as your fingertips hesitantly trailed themselves up his arm, “you’re the kind of person I love. We’re supposed to be colleagues so I didn’t say anything. But Abraham, you’re the only one I would continuously stick my neck out for like this. Your safety is my main concern and I care for you far too much to have your protection compromised. If you mean what you said, I understand but-”

“I didn’t mean it, [Y/N],” he cut you off before you could ramble on and put yourself down any further. This was a side of you he had never seen before but he didn’t shy away, afraid that he might never see it again. Silence took over once more but this was more comfortable than before. The two of you didn’t need words to communicate, all you needed was your beating hearts and each other.

You couldn’t process this moment completely but that didn’t convince you to stop moving closer, body taking you where it wanted to go. The only thing you wanted was Abraham, not to finish the mission and return to Caleb like you knew would happen if everything went according to plan. He was the only pleasant thing on your mind.

Slightly chapped and warm lips were pressed to your forehead. The spy didn’t wish to see the distressed look on your face that you hadn’t even noticed you were making, it made his heart sick. Was he the reason behind it?

“What’s on your mind?” His hand cupped your right cheek, thumb idly brushing the smooth skin there. As he waited for your answer to put an end to your pause, his rustic eyes glimmered with worry.

You sighed before responding. “You know this can’t last forever, this partnership. We either fail or we don’t. One could lead to death and the other would lead to Caleb taking me back to continue my normal line of work.”

You could see his mental gears turning. He was trying to find some form of loophole. “Let's say we find anything, yeah? We head back to Setauket and you stay around, problem solved,” he reasoned but you would not accept that answer.

“No,” you said immediately, “what’s the point if we’re not free? I’m sorry, Abraham, but the revolution comes first. I do want to be with you, but you also have a life and a family. All I have is the songs of liberty, I’m not throwing that away.”

He opened his mouth but silenced his protests, knowing you were right. He was a married man with a song, and you were a single woman at work. Not to mention, you were of marrying age. It all started to make sense to him. “That’s why you do it. Without freedom, you’d be forced to settle down into marriage no matter what.”

“Loveless marriage isn’t something I’ll wait around for,” you nodded.

Without anything word, he expressed his comfort in the form of a tight embrace. His arms snaked around your waist and yours around his neck. You closed your eyes, taking in his warmth and truly being at peace with him for once. Everything you had been holding back could now be exposed without a moment’s hesitation.

A few moments had passed before he loosened his hold on you, looking down at you with an underlying need for you. “Let us enjoy the time we have together,” Abraham whispered. He moved in to kiss you and you complied. All you could think of currently was ’finally!’

The kiss was sweet, as gentle as a flower. Even with an action so soft, you conveyed your deep emotions into it. Within a second, your lips lowly parted with reluctance. He was on his way to turn up the heat with a more passionate kiss but you stopped him, grabbing his shoulders to get your message across. You knew the two of you couldn’t continue, even if you wanted to (which you didn’t because you had stronger morals that overruled it.)

“Abraham, remember that you’re married,” you whispered. His look turns helpless but he knew you were right.

The spy nodded. There were other ways to enjoy each other’s company. “Come then,” he said and led you to the bed. You followed and you two laid down next to one another.

One of his arm found your waist once more, prompting your next move of nuzzling into his side. A slight frown stayed on your face, knowing this would most likely be the last night with him. You would head back to Setauket tomorrow, back to his lover. And there was no way you would sneak around behind Mary’s back, she deserved better than that.

Abraham spared you one last glance before closing his eyes. “Maybe in another life,” he muttered into his hair.

“Maybe in another life,” you repeated back to him before retiring for the night.

The check at the edge of town was dramatically more weary than the one previously. Not only would you be in Setauket before the day was to end, but this was your second time in the line up. Abraham had somehow been missing the egg with your intelligence and you sprinted after him the entire way back to the tavern you stayed in to search for it. The search had led to something greater, something that was solid enough to send you back to Caleb. Another potential spy. That was a good thing, but the ring would no longer need your assistance there and you would be stationed back to the post you had beforehand.

Not a single word was said until you reached the outskirts of Setauket where you were to meet Caleb.

“This is it,” Abraham paused, “I’ll write to you.” Those words warmed your heart in a bittersweet way. All least he would think of you.

“See you around,” you said,  voice audibly on the verge of cracking.

In the distance, you saw the familiar hat-decorated figure. You hurried to jump off the carriage and speed walk away, knowing you might not have the strength to leave if you didn’t. A forced smiled graced your lips as you heard the horses take off. You had just let the love of you life slip away, yet you had little to no choice. You vowed to never forget him, to always cherish what could have been.

#abraham woodhull #turn #turn washington spies #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #fluff kinda #colonial #history #revoluntionary #mary woodhull #robert townsend #rivingtons #new york #hard boiled

[5hfanfiction]

kissin u - miranda cosgrove

wattpad = longerr_hours

Camila’s first kiss was in sixth grade. It was with a boy, Austin and it was during a slow dance at a local club’s teen (more like tween’s, really) night.

She doesn’t really remember the kiss, just that it lasted a second, his lips were soft, and she was flushed and nervous to see him - or anyone else really - after it happened.

She remembers kissing her dads cheek later that night while right before bed and feeling scandalous. Yes boys and girls, a simple peck from her boyfriend of two weeks made her feel like a vixen and she never really knows why.

She also remembers not really liking him, she isn’t sure why she dated him, just that she did.

She kissed him a few more times, or rather he kissed her and she let him, but it was more out of convenience than anything else. Everyone of her friends was kissing people and he was sweet enough that she didn’t mind sharing germs too much. She didn’t really know that wasn’t a good enough reason to kiss anyone.

She broke up wth him after two months of dating, he’d written “I love you” on the Christmas card he gave her and she thought it was weird since, god they were just eleven years old, they don’t know what love is, hell they barely knew how to kiss let alone love.

She did it via Dinah and Austin, well Austin wrote her notes later in study to ask why but she wouldn’t speak.

Her next boyfriend isn’t until two years later. She thinks it’s because she’s awkward and shy and, well everyone dates everyone in middle school nowadays because everyone is weird, but she can’t find a boyfriend so when Shawn comes around, cute and nerdy she doesn’t hesitate to get Dinah’s help in getting him.

She does get him. She gets him and like, they date for a month and she never kisses him.

He never kisses her either, and she thinks maybe it’s because he’s not interested in her.

(A year later she’ll learn her was more into her friend from drama Troye.)

They break up on good terms though, and Shawn is one of her good friends in high school, where she has a total of zero boyfriends.

She doesn’t really interact with any straight boys either, not until she decides she wants to hoe it up since she should be living however she wants, and like so she gets a tinder.

She’s only seventeen, so technically this isn’t allowed, but she meets Charlie, and he’s nice and he’s sweet and he offers to pick her up so they can hangout and, well to put it bluntly he sucks at kissing.

He leads with his tongue, doesn’t know what to do with it and doesn’t seem to have a problem with his brother walking in on them.

She thinks maybe she shouldn’t judge someone on kissing since she doesn’t really know how to.

She’s never really been kissed when it comes down to it.

Austin doesn’t count, that was just lips against lips but not kissing.

Charlie doesn’t count because there wasn’t any emotion and what’s the point without emotion?

And well, Camila’s starting to think she’s hopeless when an angel walks into her gym class.

She’s spreading a petition for the students to choose their color graduation gown and, well Camila has never been too passionate about the fact but she’s the last in like to sign it (so she can strategically talk to Lauren after since nobody will be waiting).

And Lauren is Lauren.

She’s beautiful, the most beautiful in the world but she’s more than that.

Her mind is what makes Camila fall for her and the more time they spend together the more Camila thinks she doesn’t care if this is going to hurt in the end, it will have been worth it.

Lauren kisses her in mid July. It’s hot out and it’s been too long of pushing it off, and Camila is too nervous to do it and Lauren is so Lauren that she sees that and she makes the move.

She cups Camila’s jaw and she kisses her in a way that opens doors and windows and hell, it rips off walls and ceilings too.

Camila never thought sparks would actually fly but they do and before she knows it Lauren is pulling back to breathe. Camila thinks she may forget that’s a necessary thing because she’s not going to what anything to keep her lips from not being attached to Lauren’s again.

She doesn’t let her though, she kisses her again and she kisses her again and again and again until they have to leave.

Something clicks into place there.

She deleted her tinder the day she met Lauren, but after that first kiss she wonders why she bothered with other people if someone like this was going to come along.

Something about Lauren makes her crazy. She loses all focus and sense of rationality and all she wants to do is be close to her.

Her walls get knocked down and she completely opens up and she doesn’t care at all because she thinks Lauren might be the most trustworthy person on the planet.

When she kisses her the next time it’s quick and Camila smiles too hard for it to work, but Lauren just giggles and leans in for more.

She feels kind of like she’s flying, like anything is possibly including the impossible. Camila’s never been the type to be like, sappy or in love or any of that but Lauren makes all of her doubts and worries and sources of negativity fade away.

So she kisses her every chance she gets.

She doesn’t remember what Austin’s lips felt like and she doesn’t think twice about how good at kissing Lauren is compared to Charlie because she’s just thinking about Lauren.

And she’s kissing her every chance she gets, and well, it’s kind of like a puzzle finally fitting together, could even be love.

#UPDATE #one shot #AU #slash #camren #based on song #romance fluff #submission #kissin u

[labyrinth-of-headcanons]

Hi!I'd like a partner matchup;I'm 5 ft tall, female with brown hair, and I prefer males.I'm introverted, socially awkward and quiet unless I'm with someone I'm comfortable with.I love to draw, I often get so caught up in drawing I barely notice how much time has passed.I also enjoy reading.I'm usually calm but if I ever get angry I have a good reason for it and sometimes it's hard for me to forgive.I also get pretty anxious a lot.

I would match you with… Seisyun!

> The boy has some of the purest character traits in the whole wide magi world. Being an optimistic, cheerful and trustworthy guy should make it easier for you to open up and even if you need a while to, he doesn’t want to rush anything and will give you the chance to manage your feelings on your own pace, welcoming you with a smile every time

> He believes that rational thinking is good but you should never force yourself and instead listen to your emotions. When you have troubles handling certain things and get anxious about them, Seisyun will not judge you for it. Instead he will take a step back with you and help you overcome what’s frighten you

> Since he himself has a creative vein he can understand your passion for drawing and would be more than interested in sharing some quality time debating meanings and maybe even participate in a collaboration with you, finding out about poems fitting to the topics of your creation

> He sees that in reality you are a really caring person and loves you for it. Even when you’re upset about a persons wrong doing and might be frustrated about it, he’d be willing to sit down to you, knowing it means a lot to you if you can’t just call it quits, letting you review the situation again and on one point it might help you to forgive or forget things which put so much baggage onto you

#Match-Up #Partner-Match-Up #Anonymous

[jivingcryingboy]

26 // TWENTY SIX

If there’s anything I’ve learnt about anything on my 26th Birthday, it’s that contradiction is ok. It’s ok to contradict yourself. Just emotion clashing with the physical beasts that we have to attempt to pacify each day. Sunglasses covering what’s there. How the hell are we supposed to deliver same reaction all the time, by a supposedly unmoved set of morals and codes, as we get older through the nature of time? 

Secondly, I remember thinking, like I guess anyone does, mid twenties is old. Or an age where maturity levels should be nearing an all time high. In truth, I don’t feel any different to how I was when I was fifteen. The way I know I’ve changed or how I’ve become different is how I judge my reactions to events now against how I reacted to events when I was younger. Basically meaning, my emotional reactions feel kind of the same in terms of love, anger, happiness (bar a few complex ones that I have felt now I’m older, however that’s probably because I’ve experienced more events and scenes which clash simultaneously, that’s another issue though). But they’re basically the same. The way I thought a scary film was really scary at 10 years old is not going to be as scary as I would find the film now, as now, I’m an adult. I’ve noticed how we interpret these raw, fresh emotions from when we were children and compare them to emotions of how we feel as a more experienced, weathered adult. Memories from a scary film seen in the eyes of a child can still appear daunting to the same person as he or she becomes an adult. Memories must manifest through time in a way that protects us I guess, to help maintain interpretations of life that define the means in which we have experienced life, through happy, euphoric, sad or tragic experiences. 

On positive memories, what underlines that concept for me is that Tom Wait’s Lyric from Time

And the things you can’t remember Tell the things you can’t forget that History puts a saint in every dream

Clarifying materialistic experiences, such as something as seemingly illusive as space perception I would say is slightly different. When you are a kid, I remember several times walking into a building of a grand size, such as a museum, and being overwhelmed by it’s enormity. When I revisited the same building years later, I am then underwhelmed with how much smaller it actually was compared to how big I originally though it was. This is visible though. This you can measure. Even though the memory of this gigantic room is still present in your memory as a child, it can be quashed by your experiences later in life as adult. But only up until you revisit it though, in my view.

I think this differs from emotion though. Emotion, through my perception, is intangible. Like I said before, experiences felt through youthful, unexperienced eyes can be compared to experiences felt now, and can be interpreted by the mind on a shared emotional gauge if you like. And this is why I think people can be scarred by childhood traumas. The rawness of a particular experience from a child can equate to same degree the extent of the emotions felt by the same person as an adult from another experience in adulthood. Even though the incident experienced by the adult could be, technically speaking, so much more grave. A memory of a bully from primary school could still haunt the person when he becomes an adult. The same words and experience probably wouldn’t hurt the adult now, but the emotions evoked from the incident alter the way we decipher our memories and the world we currently live in. Even born from a innocent child. Obviously our parameters of experiencing life change as we get older, but I feel sometimes, the way in which we gauge emotions can be almost impossible to measure as absolute, as our mind is constantly bouncing from one emotion to another. My mate who I adore once told me he wouldn’t settle down in another relationship until he found someone who made him feel the same way in which he felt about his first girlfriend. At the time I remember thinking that that would be almost impossible, as a first-time relationship at eighteen/seventeen is totally different to a relationship at your mid twenties. We have changed as people. We experience life differently to when we were younger. Emotions were new, experiences were new. The way in which our mind deciphers events is never completely consistent, no matter how similar the experiences are. That’s why a first love, a first kiss, a first fight, a first bliss is so hard to forget. We cannot completely, relationally compare emotional experiences from different ages to one another on a consistent, trustworthy tangible level. 

So therefore, after that waffle, what I’m saying is, is that I’ve learnt to analyse my reactions objectively and rationally; to seek out patterns to my behaviour. Instead of gauging the breadth of emotions I feel from a certain incident, I look at what commonplace did my reactions share similar factors. Is this film scary, or really, did I find this film scary because I am remebering it through the eyes of 10 years old version of me? Was your first love something you can never get over, or was it a new experience in which you couldn’t compare it to anything else? Did she get angry because of him, or because of herself? Yeah, you are still doing this through the filter of your wanky emotions, but being aware that emotions are so fluid, does give you a chance to look at things through hindsight.  

I think that’s another lesson I’ve learnt as well. Emotions, reactions you feel aren’t from other people, they come from you. It’s seems like such a simple point to make but I feel it gets overlooked. Quite simply, if you turn up to work pissed off, if someone you don’t get on with makes a joke about you, inside you’re probably shouting all kinds of cusses towards him and may show that through body language on the outside. If you turn up to work skipping down the road happier then ever, you’ll probably ignore the the joke or even laugh at it and move on to whatever you’re doing next. Too many times we blame external stimuli, if you like, for our circumstances. If you are sad or angry, how can you expect to judge a separate situation rationally or even in a way that is true to yourself? Me personally, I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship as I feel I’m still striving for a place I want to be in life, physically and mentally. When I’m there, or get to a place where I’m content, then I feel as though I can be me in that relationship, who judges things in a much truer way. 

I’m sure there’s more shit I’ve learnt but it’s getting late and I’m in up in a few hours. I’m 26. I’ve always wanted to be 26 ever since I was a teenager. Not really sure why, think it looked cool. Looked like a good age. And I’m still young. Just about, but still there.

I’ve decided this year to give it a go. Not that I haven’t been trying before, I really have. I guess I’m throwing away safety nets. I can comfortably stay in my room, release music, gig, repeat, all day long. It’s not a bad way of doing things, I think that’s what most people do. But I need to change. If I want a career in music, I need to change. I need to go meet people. And that’s something I’m really shit at. I’m good when it comes to normal day life, house parties, meeting new people, that socialising thing, but when it comes to promoting me.. I am awful. So that needs to improve. Meeting people is key I think. I’ve gone on before about how I think good and bad music is irrelevant. It’s who you know. Boom. Go do it. Meet people. Working in a cafe. It’s good, don’t get me wrong. It’s given me money to live, for music. This is something where there is a gamble. I’m going to leave my job so initially, and hopefully only initially, there won’t be too much income. But more importantly, my music needs time. I need more time, so the job has to go. I want to get music jobs or jobs that are gonna pay me more for less time. 

So this is it. Well it isn’t like the last crusade, but it’s where I feel I break free from a comfort zone. I hesitated to call it that, because yeah I do feel I work hard. But I guess I need to go deeper, need to do even more. And I think that means taking a leap of faith. Rather than effort, it’s conscious and at the same time blind decision making. Run towards it, be rationally irrational. It might not work, but I don’t wanna coast along acting like it wasn’t going to work in the first place. I want to make that leap of faith knowing that even if it doesn’t work out, I tried. I will be happy if I tried. I might realise I want to do something else along the way, but I want to know that I gave it my all doing it. I do better without a safety net too, that’s what my Dad always told me. It’s so true what they say, the only thing that stops you from doing from something is you.

Go do it sonnn.

*****

I’m gonna keep this blog going even if I’m the only one who knows it’s here. I’m not gonna treat it like the bandpage facebook, soundcloud and all the rest of the social media, this is more a artist diary type thinggg. Keeps me on top of things. And I guess if you are reading this in the future or now, and you are an aspiring musician like me, it could be pretty cool to read about someone who’s trying/tried to do it.

I’m not a believer in fate, wouldn’t say I was a pessimist but I’m not one of those guys who would ever think I was born to do this shit, no matter how bad or good I am. I’m here, I’m healthy again, I can sing, I can write a tune. Let’s see how far this rabbit hole goes. It might be something that I hate after a while. But who knows? Let’s see how far I can take this thing

#26 #twenty six #october 26th #artist blog #artist #musician #lessons #what i've learnt

[lilysand-theintj-blog]

Female INTJs: Don’t Underestimate the Silence

Written by Elizabeth Nichols Anyone who has done group/partner projects in school can appreciate that picking the wrong partner can be miserable and costly towards your grade. In my experience, I was usually the one responsible for the success of my group projects, as I tended to be one of the smarter people in the room. I learned to find partners I could depend on to work, so at least I wouldn’t be dragging dead weight. I know how this sounds, but I swear I’m not that obnoxious. I cannot stress how important it is to have a good surgery and anesthesia partner in vet school. I didn’t know when I chose mine that she was an INTJ; that only came out weeks later after I guessed her type. I did, however, know this classmate to be hard-working, intelligent, and trustworthy, which had been enough for me to select her for such an important assignment. I was happy that she chose me as well, because I had already observed her work ethic and competency. In a refreshing turn of events, I was going to be able to learn a lot from her. I (INFJ) have a lot in common with her: a fierce independent streak, a quiet exterior, and a shrewdness when judging character. These commonalities are also why it took us virtually 3 years as classmates to know each other even a little bit. The first thing I noticed and appreciated was her intuition. It was palpable when we talked, and I found myself telling her things I didn’t tell others. I could sense her strength, and I instinctively felt I could trust her. I also noticed that she and I shared an air of aloofness despite our friendly and approachable nature. Although at this point I feel confident in my ability to contribute to our surgical team, I didn’t feel that way initially. She probably thought she got the raw end of the deal; I wouldn’t blame her. The first time we worked anesthesia together, her rationality and attention to detail kept our patient alive while I shut down, completely overwhelmed. I have learned to be detail-oriented and comfortable with numbers, but it is not intuitive to me. I would much rather focus on the big picture. Now knowing that my partner is an INTJ, it all makes sense. I’m sure she wanted to stab her eyes out when I had to do our pre-surgical calculations 3 times before getting them right, then still couldn’t understand her explanation of the patient’s fluid usage rate. Let me be clear: this sense of being slower to catch on is not a feeling I am used to. I’ve read that INTJs are known to be “the smartest in the room,” but I think INFJs feel that way to a degree as well. I’m not comfortable being the one that needs help. I am married to an INTJ, so I’d like to think that I understand them well enough. My husband is a more mature INTJ in terms of age and development, and he has worked to overcome many of his weaknesses. Still, he confesses to me that social interaction is difficult for him. I find this to be the case with my partner as well, and I’m empathetic not only because I can feel that from her, but also because I also have to force myself to be sociable. Being an INFJ helps me navigate the social waters a little easier because I can read the temperature of a room, but I’m still not overly social. My husband has been polished through his experiences to the point that I didn’t believe him when he first told me he didn’t really enjoy interacting with people. Further proof that it’s a skill that can be learned. It seems the perception of female INTJs is that they’re cold, unemotional, and lack empathy. I find my partner to be a gentle soul, but I know she doesn’t show that to everyone. She is the owner of 4 dogs, 3 cats, and 2 ferrets, all rescues– we are kindred spirits in this realm as I have 5 animals myself. I’ve never met anyone who was like me about animals, especially a Rational(NT) (my husband loves our circus because he loves me, bless him). Not only does she have more pets than me, hers are far better behaved, and their routine much more organized. It probably goes without saying living with multiple animals in a small space requires a certain organization, which I believed I had managed to achieve at home. That is, of course, until I went to her house to observe her feeding process for her animals. Organized chaos is what she calls it. Of course, I know about chaos — with 2 dogs and 3 cats, I thought I’d seen it all. But unlike in my house, where dogs and cats are fed separately, hers all eat together in the same room. Her dogs stand obediently in front of their full dishes, waiting for her permission to eat. I was dumbfounded and, honestly, embarrassed. This sort of thing does not happen at my house, at least not without substantial effort. I left there humbled, possessing a new appreciation of the “systems building” of the INTJ. I look forward to the growth of our relationship, knowing that we can learn from and trust each other. She continues to surprise me, and I feel lucky that she’s let me into her world. In order to really know an INTJ, I guess you have to be quiet long enough to actually listen to them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ INFJ married to an INTJ. Fan of personality theory since 2014. Currently in my third year of veterinary school and oldest in my class at 35. Have a B.S. degree with a double major in Public Relations and Professional Writing, minor in Journalism. Follow me on Twitter @elinich.

#intj #intj female #mbti #myers briggs #16 personalities

[suzannemcappsca]

What does good mediation look like? A consumer’s eye-view.

Charlie Irvine

“Like poets, but with less time”

The Deep End

Getting to grips with mediation can leave students and trainees overwhelmed. That favourite training tool, the roleplay, throws most in at the deep end. The sudden immersion forces them to speak, listen and observe while trying to remember models and skills plus a sea of reading and the trainer’s feedback. Oh, and all combined with performance anxiety. (See Michael Jacobs’ excellent critique of this approach in “How About Making Mediators More Stupid: A Training Agenda”). This is well-intentioned and even helpful, but I sense that most emerge from their training with the same unanswered question: what does good mediation look like? To expand this slightly: what exactly do expert mediators do and say? How do they work their magic?

Rather than add more tips to the long list already out there (for which I must bear some responsibility: see Practical Tips for Mediators) I’d like to offer another perspective – the user’s. Regular readers will know that I am myself immersed in, and sometimes overwhelmed by, a PhD study of mediation parties. Mediation practice isn’t the main focus; in fact I’m researching ordinary people’s sense of fairness and justice. However, from time to time, in the stories I hear, I catch glimpses of mediators in action.

A Consumer’s Eye-View

Here’s an extract from an interview with a small claimant referred to mediation by the court (in Scotland, where this is a relatively new phenomenon – see And Finally… Some Plain English from Scotland). Asked if the process was fair this individual spoke highly of “the senior mediator”, then added this passage:

Respondent (R).. It was a good process. Yes.

Interviewer (IV).. Yeah? OK.

R.. Yes. It was fair –

IV.. And what made it so?

R.. The professional way it was done.

IV.. OK.

R.. Yeah. The controlled environment that it was done in. The clear wording that was used all the time. They had no – the mediator didn’t have a challenge from either party, so that helped.

IV.. Right.

R.. Neither party was challenging to any serious extent. There was never a raised voice, ever. But that’s only created if you create the correct environment and I think the mediator did.

IV.. OK.

R.. And a proper briefing in advance.

Sounds So Simple

What does this tell us about effective mediators? At first glance it’s simple, trite even: behave professionally, create a controlled environment, explain things clearly and, almost as an afterthought, brief people about what’s going to happen. And yet this person’s repeated mention of the lead mediator suggests there was something striking about her approach. The claimant clearly felt in very safe hands.

That ‘to do’ list elegantly captures four faces of good mediation: trust, setting, word choice and preparation. Let’s consider each in turn.

Trust: “the professional way it was done”

The mediator had clearly gained the individual’s trust (and the other party’s – note the reference to no challenges). How did she do this? I imagine in part by her actions. Winslade and Monk, in their 2001 book Narrative Mediation, say of trust: “It is primarily an achievement, or a moment-by-moment series of little achievements.” Yet trustbuilding has an equally important negative side – NOT taking actions that betray trust, such as revealing confidences or causing someone to lose face. A nice metaphor for trust is the stalagmite, built in tiny increments yet snapped by a single blow.

Image provided by Pixabay: https://pixabay.com/photos/cave-frasassi-stalactite-cave-2703778/

At the same time the statement speaks of being as much as doing. Mediators must be seen as trustworthy – “the sort of person you can trust”. I have a hunch that effective mediators share an unwritten code of values, most likely built up by trial and error. Examples would be treating everyone as if they’re well-intentioned (Bush and Folger articulate this in their Ten Hallmarks of a Transformative Mediator); assuming that if something’s a problem for one it’s a problem for both; being careful and consistent about what’s confidential and what needn’t be; and the right combination of patience and impatience. It sounds odd but clients tend to appreciate both telling their stories AND being kept on track.

Setting: “the controlled environment”

This speaks both of physical setting and atmosphere. Effective mediators care deeply about what’s around them. They understand a simple truth: if the room isn’t right, most people won’t notice. But they’ll blame the other party or the mediator if things don’t go well.

By “the room” I mean a raft of factors: the seating (too close, too far away, socially awkward positioning, not comfortable enough, too comfortable?); the lighting (too bright, too dark, sun shining in someone’s eyes, glaring fluorescent light?); the table (small, large, low, high, none?). And of course the temperature! Ijzerman and Semin’s 2009 experiment found that warmer conditions induced (a) greater social proximity, (b) use of more concrete language, and (c) a more relational focus. Surely all matter to mediators. My most frantic moments can be the few minutes before parties arrive when I’m shown into a cold, impersonal boardroom dominated by a large, rectangular table pitting one ‘side’ against the other. Cue urgent furniture removal, light dimming and air-con tweaking.

“Atmosphere” refers to the intangible yet instantly detectable feeling in “the room”. To an extent it wafts in with the parties. Humans are pretty good at detecting atmospheres: warm, cold, wary, angry, defensive. Yet they can also trigger and exacerbate each other, one reading wariness as coldness; another reading nervous laughter as mockery. So alongside the physical environment mediators need to shape the atmosphere. If things are fraught they calm it down. Faced with despair they pep things up, injecting energy and focus. And if someone’s angry and threatening they have the confidence to steer into conflict, curious about what’s behind the behaviour. They use their whole humanity: tone of voice, facial expression, hands, posture.

Word Choice: “the clear wording that was used all the time”

This could be the whole blog. There is something of the poetic about mediators in full flow. Like poets, but with less time, mediators must carefully weigh the precise tone of each word. They can’t wait around for inspiration, which Picasso said “exists, but it has to find you at work.” (Thanks to poet Anthony Wilson for this gem). Mediators too have to keep working, carefully crafting each question, each evocation, each capturing of the moment as an offering, for taking or leaving. If something doesn’t work, try something else. Don’t give up.

It’s hard to say much more. I absolutely hate scripts. The right word, the “mot juste”, is rarely planned – it’s a reaction, a response to something said or some look given. It’s both emotional and rational. First, watch and listen; then speak; then watch and listen. When you get it right you know it. When a mediator’s words land the effect is visible and visceral. It can be sudden or it can be gradual. No matter. When done well the atmosphere changes and the conversation flips from confrontation and accusation to the exchange of perspectives, the solving of problems and the saving of face. So hats off to our lead mediator for her “clear wording”.

Preparation: “a proper briefing in advance”

Again much could be said. Because mediation is a mystery to most we need to explain what we’re about. This is not the same as the traditional mediator’s intro. Liz Stokoe, author of “Talk: The Science of Conversation“, once told our national mediation conference that when potential clients hear “mediation philosophy” (ie impartiality, confidentiality, not-judging) it’s a tumbleweed moment. They zone out. They prefer to hear something more concrete : what’s going to happen, who’ll be involved and how long will it take. Presumably the lead mediator’s briefing did this so well that it seemed almost effortless, hardly worth mentioning except as an afterthought.

What Does Good Mediation Look Like?

This is just a snapshot. The American Bar Association’s “Task Force on Research on Mediation Techniques” produced a 2017 report running to 69 pages. Very good it is, full of detailed insight and carefully weighed analysis. Yet there’s something appealing about my Scottish consumer’s depiction of a mediator at the top of her game. This small business-person was understated and mostly factual, having to be prompted to reflect on the process. It was a bit like asking someone fresh from surgery how good the doctor was. You might think the result is all that matters, but people who feel in really safe hands go to great lengths explaining what the doctor did and said that “made all the difference”. It’s as much art as science.

So for new mediators the prescription is straightforward: do as much as you can. Volunteer, observe, co-work, get out there (see the recent Kluwer Mediation blog for Rosemary Howell’s inspiring tale of three new mediators who have). Each mis-step will lead to learning. Get 50 mediations under your belt; then 100. And sooner or later someone will say about your work “It was a good process. Yes.”

More from our authors:

EU Mediation Law Handbook: Regulatory Robustness Ratings for Mediation Regimes by Nadja Alexander, Sabine Walsh, Martin Svatos (eds.) € 195 Essays on Mediation: Dealing with Disputes in the 21st Century by Ian Macduff (ed.) € 160.00

from Updates By Suzanne http://mediationblog.kluwerarbitration.com/2019/03/28/what-does-good-mediation-look-like-a-consumers-eye-view/

[theconservativebrief]

“Politicians lie, but this is different,” says a historian who studies presidential history and estimates the Trump administration easily ranks among the most corrupt in American history.

Robert Dallek is a presidential historian and the author of several books, including his latest about FDR titled Franklin Roosevelt: A Political Life. Writing recently for the Guardian, Dallek lamented the “disaster” that is the Trump presidency but also reminded readers that American democracy is surprisingly resilient and has survived far worse.

Despite Trump’s promises to “drain the swamp,” the first year of his administration has been plagued by resignations, investigations, and scandals. Dallek estimates that historical examples of corruption, like that of the Warren G. Harding administration, don’t hold a candle to how Trump and his people have conducted themselves in the White House.

History will judge Trump, and it will not be kind.

I spoke with Dallek about the history of corruption in American presidential politics and why he sees the Trump administration as “a low point in our history.” What makes Trump exceptionally dangerous, Dallek argues, is how effortlessly he lies and what kind of tone he has set in this White House.

“The fish rots from the head,” he told me, “and the stench of this administration starts at the very top.”

Our conversation, lightly edited for clarity, appears below.

Sean Illing

You’ve studied a lot of presidents and White Houses. Is the corruption and the lying in this administration unique in your mind?

Robert Dallek

This administration is a low point in our history. We’ve been through scandals before, going as far back as the Grant administration in the 19th century and the Harding administration in the early 20th century. Presidents have been accused of bribery and shady gift-giving. So it’s not entirely unique to see scandals subsume a White House.

But the shamelessness of this administration, the dishonesty, the total indifference to facts, is something I haven’t seen before — at least not this blatant. I think it’s demoralized people and made them even more cynical about politics.

Sean Illing

Is this the most dishonest administration you’ve ever seen or studied?

Robert Dallek

The short answer is yes. Politicians lie, but this is different. I suppose if you wanted to be generous, you might say this is the least effective and trustworthy administration since Warren G. Harding, whose administration was overwhelmed by the Teapot Dome scandal in 1921, in which Harding’s secretary of the interior leased Navy petroleum reserves in Wyoming and California to private oil companies at incredibly low rates without a competitive bidding process. That was a massive scandal, one of the biggest we’ve seen at the level of politics.

There are other examples, of course. Most obviously, there’s Nixon and Watergate, which was a watershed moment in American political history. Ulysses S. Grant’s reputation as a Civil War general was shattered by the Whiskey Ring scandal in 1875, in which Treasury officials basically stole tax dollars from alcohol distillers. Other presidents, like Bill Clinton, have lied shamelessly as well.

Still, I think what we’re seeing right now will, eventually, rise above these examples, with the possible exception of Watergate. But a lot of this depends on the outcome of the Russia investigation. If it goes the way it appears to be going, it will exceed even Watergate.

“This is a guy who will look right into the camera and lie without any hesitation at all”

Sean Illing

Do administrations tend to pay a political price when they deceive and overstep in this way?

Robert Dallek

Typically they do. Look at Trump’s numbers right now. For a president in the first year of his term to have never achieved 50 percent approval rating is something of a political disaster. I mean, Franklin Roosevelt never saw his approval rating dip below 50 percent during his 12-year presidency. Truman’s popularity slipped to 32 percent near the end of this administration due to the stalemate in Korea. Nixon’s support collapsed and went down to 25 percent during Watergate.

But Trump has been historically unpopular since the day he took office, in part because of how dishonestly he conducted himself during the campaign. What we’re seeing now is very ugly and, I think, very corrupting to our political system.

Sean Illing

How so?

Robert Dallek

Well, our system depends upon something like a consensus, something like majority rule. But now we have a president who outright lies about … everything. He lies about the number of votes he received, about the size of his inauguration crowd, about his own achievements, about Muslims cheering in the streets after 9/11, and so on. He lies about basic observable facts.

I think the cumulative effect of all this lying is to make people deeply cynical about our entire system, and that’s very corrupting.

Sean Illing

What, exactly, is so unique about this administration in terms of the corruption and the graft?

Robert Dallek

Obviously the examples of corruption are numerous: Trump refused to divest from his business interests; there are questions about whether he’s violating the emoluments clause by running Trump International Hotel in DC; there’s the indictment of his former campaign manager Paul Manafort; there’s the looming indictment of his former national security adviser Michael Flynn; Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law and adviser, failed to disclose $1 billion in loans connected to his real estate company; and of course several of his Cabinet heads are being investigated for profligate travel expenses.

But here’s what I think is unique: Often you see a lot of corruption result from a lack of oversight, but I think this administration is quite different in that Trump really sets the tone for all this. He encourages it, really. The fish rots from the head, and the stench of this administration starts at the very top.

Sean Illing

In what ways does he set the tone?

Robert Dallek

Trump is the head of government, and people know they can get away with things. Look at all the incidents of corruption I just laid out, and that’s not even close to a complete list. Like Nixon, Trump has created a culture in his administration in which people feel comfortable with corruption. Trump himself has shown a complete indifference to democratic norms, to rule of law, and that sends a pretty clear signal to the people beneath him.

Again, Trump’s lying is a big facilitator of all this corruption. This is a guy who will look right into the camera and lie without any hesitation at all. It’s hard to overstate what kind of tone that sets in an administration; it makes everyone more comfortable when they lie, when they deceive, when they cover things up.

“But the shamelessness of this administration, the dishonesty, the total indifference to facts, is something I haven’t seen before”

Sean Illing

Part of what I find so bizarre about Trump’s lying is how pointless it often is. Usually there is some utility behind a politician’s lie — they’re trying to cover something up, for instance. But Trump lies when he doesn’t have to lie, and he does it with an alacrity I’ve never seen before.

Robert Dallek

It’s pathological. This is the kind of thing you see when you’re dealing with a malignant narcissist, someone who believes everything revolves around him. Trump has to be the best, has to be admired, has to be the most successful. He lacks a rational restraint that you would hope to see in a leader or a president.

Sean Illing

You’ve got a pretty broad perspective on all this, having studied previous administrations. How alarmed are you by what we’re seeing in this White House?

Robert Dallek

I would be more alarmed if we didn’t have an outspoken opposition party and a powerful media opposition that does not bend a knee to the administration, that continues to ask hard questions and to report whatever the truth seems to be. This is a strength in the country, and I have optimism that the judicial system will also support the rule of law and help to sustain our traditions.

Now, am I sure of all that? Of course not. Anything can happen. But I’m hopeful that we will turn back in a more constructive direction in the next round in our presidential politics.

Sean Illing

Last question: When historians 100 years from now look back at this administration, what do you suppose they’ll say about Trump’s impact on the trajectory of American politics?

Robert Dallek

Well, it depends on what’s going to come next. If you’re right that there is a deepening cynicism, that there is a destructive outcome to Trump’s administration, they’ll see him as leading a great decline in our national political ethos. But Trump might also produce a positive reaction in the citizenry that leads to a renewed political dynamism and more engagement in civic life.

As a historian, I find faith in the past. In 1932, during the Great Depression, the country was so demoralized and so beaten down that nothing good seemed possible. But then along came Franklin Roosevelt, and almost overnight he raised the country’s hopes.

Is there another FDR around the corner? I have no idea. Frankly, I doubt it. But you’ve got to have hope nevertheless. I’m 83 years old, and I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime. I know how bad things can get, but I also know how quickly they can get better.

Original Source -> “The fish rots from the head”: a historian on the unique corruption of Trump’s White House

via The Conservative Brief

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