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high-warlock-of-brooklyn · 3 years

Text

would things be easier if there was a right way? (honey there is no right way) (Ao3 link)

@thehuntersmoondiscord Masquerade Exchange for @valinphatombeliver (Hope you like it!)

Ships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood (Alternate universe: This World Inverted)

Summary: After that fateful party at the Institute, Magnus's magic is not the only thing that comes back. His soulmark feels alive again, and this time, Magnus is not alone.

Alec feels like an idiot, betting his heart like that, especially after the sting of an almost rejected soulmark pains him worse than a broken heart. So he does the only thing he knows the best, he throws himself into work.

Little do they know that the universe doesn't make mistakes, and will keep pulling them together till they both truly see the truth for themselves.

Alec feels sick.

He’s planned exactly one hundred seventy events in his career, big or small. He’s got a stellar reputation, his own party planner business, his schedule is booked for the next five months in advance, and he’s put the full deposit down for his own apartment in the middle of the city, all at the mere age of twenty seven.

And yet, every time, those words are like a punch to the gut he would never admit out loud to anyone. It’s his own fault, he supposes. That he has to hear it so many times in just a week. And that every time, it’s a false alarm.

Well, all but one.

This one seemed different. This one felt different. At least for Alec.

But then, at the end, another one bit the dust.

Isabelle had warned him, when he showed her the words the day after his eleventh birthday. She’d looked so sad when he first told her about the career he’s chosen. Alec never understood why, until he heard those words for the first time at the first ever event he planned, a small, intimate birthday party for a Manhattan socialite.

Check it again, I’m on the list.

It had felt like he’d been electrocuted, and Alec had dashed outside to the door as fast as he could, pulling down a tablecloth with him as he went, the groans and yells of the restaurant staff unheeded by his heart. But it had been the grandfather of the birthday girl, and a voice in Alec’s heart told him to wait a little bit longer for his soulmate.

That voice had died down entirely after his eighteenth event.

Until this evening at the party at the Institute. Until he felt compelled to let that man in. Until Magnus.

And now, standing here, helping his crew clean up after the party, Alec feels his guts twist in a flurry of emotions he is too tired to process.

Fuck this . He’s just put on the most unique and successful party the business world of New York has ever seen. He deserves a break.

Alec grabs a bottle of whiskey on his way out.

-------------------

The first time the words appeared into his hands, Magnus didn’t understand them.

It had been in a strange script, the letters so different from the ones he’d only started to get acquainted with. But by then he’d been part of something stranger, and started to live with a green-skinned man with horns and white hair who called himself a ‘warlock’, and had told Magnus that he was one too. So knowing his soulmate might be from a strange distant land didn’t seem as jarring as it would have been.

Then he’d lived through times that would have seemed as dreams in his childhood. He’d lived through his travels in the wonderful country of Peru, then had fallen in love with Imasu knowing he wasn’t the one, and had gotten his heart broken. Axel hadn’t even given him a chance, and from what Magnus saw peeking out of the cuffs of his shirt, he’d already found his soulmate in the French court.

The words didn’t lose their effect through the centuries however. Every time he heard someone say ‘ what seems to be the problem? ’, Magnus could feel his pulse racing, his heart swelling, his mind going berserk at the possibility of being united with the one he’d been destined to be with.

It wasn’t the case any of the times. Often it was a Shadowhunter, trying to maintain their precious Law so that no so-called troublemaker Downworlders wouldn't disrupt the precious ‘peace’ they insisted on withholding. Sometimes it was a particularly demanding client, and Magnus delayed more just to piss them off.

One time though, it was a Mundane who came to his rescue to smooth things over when the guard at a bar took offense at Magnus’s general existence. Etta had been a beauty both inside and out, and Magnus had been genuinely happy for her when she left once she found her actual soulmate.

It didn’t make him sad to lose her. She was a friend more than anything else, and her story gave him hope to hold on longer.

After that there was Camille. A force to be reckoned with. Camille, with her sharp edges and sharper fangs. Camille, who made him believe in a love through the ages, only to be betrayed brutally. Camille, who he was ready to beg to so she’d come back to him. Camille, who never told him that her soulmate died the day she was turned, which Magnus found out on his own the day after she cheated on him. Magnus had felt hollow, and empty, and felt like a fool for holding on to hope.

The day he finally closed hell off permanently, he’d lost more than just his magic. Magnus had given up on hope entirely.

Then there was that one boy at a party Magnus wasn’t even invited to. Alec had said those words, looking at Magnus with eyes devouring every single aspect of him. Magnus had half expected himself to turn around and leave. But then Alec had surprised him, and made him come inside.

But then there was a demon attacking Clarissa and the blond boy, the first demon in almost a century. And Magnus had almost forgotten about the boy with those hazel eyes by the time he rushed home, magic singeing the inside of his coat pocket.

It must’ve not been meant to be, Magnus thinks as he nurses the same glass of Rosé for almost an hour, the once warm bathwater now running cold. He pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about what he’s about to do.

Magnus waves a finger, the movement graceless, halted. But the sparks come out anyway, the bathwater warming, turning light pink as Magnus focuses on summoning a bath bomb from his collection in the cabinet near the sink.

Magnus smiles. His soulmate doesn’t want to find him. But that’s okay. He’s got his magic.

Everything’s going to be just fine.

--------------

Alec is, most definitely, not doing fine.

“I need this banner yesterday.” Alec rubs his temple letting out a tired sigh, “I literally needed that last night so my team can finish setting up, and now you’re telling me it’s still not ready?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. Our primary printer caught on fire and we had to unplug all of them to manage the fire before it went out of hand, and all our orders were cancelled from the queue.”

Alec scrubs his face with the back of his hand, and groans, “My assistant put in the request almost two weeks ago. This is for a dinner party at a multinational company, Andrew. And as we both know, the one of the only things those people spend ridiculous amounts of money on is the banner. I can’t throw a party without one.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew’s smile is genuinely apologetic. “There’s really not much we can do. If it helps, there’s another customer in booth number three whose banner we were printing when it caught on fire, and he’s been on the list for almost over a month.”

“Eesh, poor guy.” Alec winces.

“Tell me about it.” Andrew tsks. “And he’s a really sweet guy too. Some customers throw a hissy fit if we’re ten minutes late in delivering a order they’ve put in maybe an hour ago, and he’s really understanding and patient. But it’s for his psychic shop and he’s checking in maybe the tenth time now. Kaelie was just telling me that we might lose that account for good. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Alec nods, then looks down as his phone pings with notifications from his team about going over swatch cards. “Andrew, is there nothing you can do? Is there no back alley super shady banner maker somewhere?”

“They make something vastly different than banners, Mr Lightwood.” Andrew chuckles good-naturedly, used to the antics of his long time customer. “Well, I could run to the place near 34th and Wilshire. My cousin works as a temp there. The price is way higher, but they can do a quick job.” Andrew taps away on his phone for a second. “Oh good, Artie says they’re open for another five hours at least.”

“Money’s not an issue.” Alec lets out a relieved sigh, and brings out his credit card. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” Andrew offers him a bright smile. “I’ll inform you as soon as it’s done.”

“Thank you.” Alec nods, before a thought flashes. “Oh, and, Andrew?”

“Yes, anything else, Mr Lightwood?”

“Yeah. I was thinking you could take the other guy’s order there too?” Alec jerks his head in the direction of the other booths in the shop, the silhouette of another customer visible through the blurry divider between the counters.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him.” Andrew gets up to approach the man, but Alec stops him.

“Don’t tell him anything, just put the extra fee on my card.”

“But-”

“It’s okay,” Alec smiles.

Andrew shakes his head, his golden curls shaking with the motion. “You’re a good egg, Mr Lightwood.”

“Just paying it forward.”

---------------

The fire alarm goes off after the second time. Magnus groans as the noise threatens to invoke a migraine. At least he can use his magic to soothe it this time.

The same magic that caused the fire he’s been scrambling to put out for the past thirty seconds. For a small cauldron fire, the sparks are notoriously hard to douse. Being dormant for almost a century, and then suddenly trying to make a magical banner for his kinda-sorta psychic business would do that to a warlock’s magic, he supposes.

Maybe he should consult a spellbook or something. Only there’s no precedent for a banner making spell because graphic designed banners didn’t exist by the time magic was last used.

Well, first time for everything.

The doorbell rings, and Magnus sighs, trying his best to smooth down the no doubt wild hair he’s got from running his hand over and over through it. Pardon him, it’s been a very stressful day.

“Mr Bane? This is Sananda from the Banner Emporium. I have a delivery for you.”

The girl with a neon green streak in her braid hands him a large roll of paper, which Magnus holds up with more than a little difficulty.

“Sign here please.” The girl says, chewing gum disinterestedly. Magnus puts the banner down before taking the signing sheet.

“I thought the shop printer broke.” Magnus returns the sheet. “Did you guys fix it already?”

“No clue, I just work as delivery.” The girl shrugs. “My boss told me to make two deliveries only today, one to you and another to some party planner office. Guess they did some fixing, huh?”

Magnus smiles, tipping the girl a twenty. The girl offers a mock salute, and walks away humming the tune of a pop song. Magnus closes the door behind her, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he uncoils the banner.

Bane: Psychic and tarot card readings

It looks perfect. But Magnus doesn’t get long to marvel at it, because the phone rings. His old landline, which means only one person could be calling.

“Hello Ragnor.” Magnus answers, happy to talk to one of his oldest and closest friends after such a long time.

“Magnus, why didn’t you call me? I had to hear from Catarina that you might have met your soulmate?” Ragnor goes right to the point, tone accusatory.

Magnus takes comfort in the fact that while the whole world might change, Ragnor Fell, ever the a wonderful friend, never will. “I’m not even sure myself, how was I supposed to tell you? I’ve heard a thousand of those Ragnor, you know that better than anyone.”

“Still, Magnus.” Ragnor’s voice comes out tinny, “You don’t have to have the perfect relationship, because there is nothing like that in the world. All we can do is take a leap of faith, and hope that it’s not an abyss. But you have to keep taking that leap.”

“Why are you giving me relationship advice at what is supposed to be early morning at yours?” Magnus asks, eager to change the subject.

“Because I never needed mine, and I’m happy that way, yet I know how much you’ve waited for yours. One of these days, you’re going to have to seize the opportunity no matter what, and take a chance upon love.”

By the time Magnus hangs up, it’s been almost hours. Ragnor’s phones are a rare commodity, the warlock ever so averse of technology, and they do have almost three years worth of conversations to catch up on. Magnus is exhausted, and even though he hates admitting it, Ragnor is right. He could’ve stayed at that party, checked up on Clarissa and her boyfriend, made sure their memories didn’t resurface.

He could have stayed and danced with Alec too.

But he’s been so freaked out, he tells himself. He’s been out of his mind with worry for the demon attack and his magic and different worlds and his probably shoddy memory spellwork.

And maybe he’s also been afraid. Afraid that if he went after Alec, he’d risk everything, his life, his secrets, his meticulously prepared facade that he’s totally fine, especially with the explicit probability that he might not be Alec’s soulmate, even if Alec is his.

Ugh. Magnus scrubs his face with the back of his hand. What a mess this is.

Chairman struts his way into the drawing room, fresh up from a nap, and rubs his face into Magnus’s calf demanding pets. Magnus picks him up, scratching him under his chin. The cat purrs happily, and Magnus makes a decision.

---------------

“One honey macchiato with extra whipped cream please.”

Jace turns to see the man on the other side of the counter, a small frown on his face as he tries to place the face somewhere in his memory. Magnus shuffles from toe to toe, lips pinched together tensely. Jace regards him closely, and doubt rises in the back of Magnus’s mind.

Did he do a sloppy job?

It’s not an exact science, to be frank. Memory magic hardly ever is. It’s not quantifiable like potions, and definitely not by the book like a summoning. Memory magic is, at its root, intuitive. Blindly stumbling about in another person’s mind and hoping as hell that you didn’t erase some developmental memories.

And if anyone knows anything about Magnus, it is that he really isn’t a coffee man. Not anymore anyway. He used to be, once upon a bygone era, when waking up after a night of partying and starting the day with another bout of partying had to be connected with the help of a magically summoned cup of coffee. But those days are far gone, and Magnus mostly prefers his jasmine tea with a touch of honey. Which is why he came to Java Jace to check up on the blond. He’s no more his old self than his magic is controllable.

Still, he’d hoped that it would’ve come back like riding a bicycle.

That hope seems pretty bleak now, as Jace crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the man in a white cardigan in front of him. “Is this his way of apologizing to me after he criticized my barista skill yesterday?”

“Uh….what?” Magnus asks confusedly.

“I told him that honey macchiato is my least ordered item and literally he’s the only one who orders it and that’s why I have to keep an entire thing on the menu, and get honey from the supermarket too.”

“Sorry, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Magnus winces.

“Wait, you don’t know the Lightwoods, do you?” Jace nods gravely, “And I just accused a customer for no reason at all, what a dumbass I am.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Magnus waves it off.

“No, no, seriously. Sorry man.” Jace goes to make the drink with a practiced hand. “But I have to say, you seem awfully familiar. Did I see you somewhere before? Maybe in college?”

“Uhh….” Magnus chuckles nervously, panic rising steadily in his heart, “I don’t think so. Unless you went to school in Indonesia.”

“That’s a no. Born in London but grew up here.” Jace nods. “Sorry, I can just really picture you and Clary inside a basement, I was there too.”

“Um-”

“Oh god that sounded so creepy. I swear it wasn’t something weird or anything, I can just remember feeling really scared all of a sudden. Maybe I should stop drinking from my own shop, huh?”

Jace’s casual grin does nothing to soothe Magnus’s nerves, and he smiles along politely, and sends wisps of magic through the minute contact between them as the barista hands over his order. Jace jolts immediately, looks down, curling and uncurling his fingers over and over.

“Everything okay?” Magnus asks tentatively. Jace throws an unsure smile his way.

“Yeah, just, almost burnt my fingers I guess. Hazards of working in the food industry, right?” Magnus doesn’t answer, instead brings out his card to pay, till Jace claps his hands loudly. “I knew it! I knew I remembered you from somewhere.”

Magnus’s heart sinks faster than lead in water, and he racks his brain for any spell that could come in handy for a quick memory erasure. Except it’s been over two centuries, and his memory is definitely not what it used to be when he used magic regularly.

“You’re that psychic right? The one Luke went to? You know, Luke Greymark? He owns a bookshop on the crossing of 22nd and Richardson.”

A breath of relief punches its way out of Magnus, shoulders sagging visibly. “Yes, I remember him. He’s a very good man.”

“He is.” Jace nods. “He’s my girlfriend’s godfather, actually.”

“Oh.” That’s all Magnus says, afraid to shake the still brittle effects of his spell. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

---------------

“Dude, I almost lost a customer because of you today.”

“What?” Alec asks, half of his attention on his phone where his assistant’s been sending him swatches for their latest event. “No no no, pink’s all wrong.” Alec mumbles as he types, “Go for lilac, much more elegant.”

“Here you go, one honey macchiato with chocolate drizzle.” Alec reaches for the cup bindly, but is met with blank space. He looks up finally, only to meet with Jace’s unimpressed glare. “What? I’m arranging a gala for a very, very, very moody client. I mean ‘changes the guest list every three minutes’ kind of moody.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Jace hands him his coffee finally, wincing as Alec takes a sip of the still hot drink. “Seriously, how does that not burn your throat?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Alec throws a lewd wink his way, making Jace throw a bunch of stirrers at him. Alec finally puts the phone down after a bout of rigorous texting, and looks up at Jace. “Now, what is this customer you were telling me about?”

“Just some psychic dude, came in and ordered that godforsaken drink you make me make you every morning. I half thought he was joking and you sent him.”

“I didn’t.” Alec shakes his head.

“Yeah, he told me. It’s all cool,” Jace shrugs. “Funny thing too, he seemed really sweet, and with a sweet tooth like yours. You would’ve liked him.”

“Uh huh.” Alec says off-handedly, already busy texting back to his team.

-----------------

The last gala Magnus went to was in 1903.

It’s been a hell of a time. Quite literally too, since a hellmouth opened in the middle of the dance floor. It had taken all the warlocks present to close it, and even then they couldn’t have done it without the Shadowhunters pouring in with weapons drawn.

It had also been the last time Magnus ever used magic in battle.

It seems that way now, bringing out the outfits that found their way in the back of Magnus’s closet, unused and unneeded for decades after decades. Magnus had lost touch with his magic, all warlocks did, but for someone like Magnus, someone breathing and living in magic day after day, needing it like air in his lungs, it had been drastic.

Magnus had cut ties with almost all of his old friends. It hadn’t been intentional, for most of the cases. Just seeing those warlocks ready and accepting eternity without magic made him despair far more than the actual reckoning of it. Catarina still comes around every few weeks, more often if she’s exhausted after an especially gruelling day at the ER. Ragnor still sends letters every few years aside from his phonecalls, his horned friend adamant on keeping the beautiful traditions of penpals alive by his sheer force of will.

But somewhere down the road, Magnus had stopped being the man he once was.

The clothes of an era bygone stare him in the eyes as he brings them out one by one- shirts, pants, breeches, boots, accessories that museums would give a limb and a half for.

The reason for all this, lies heavy at his desk in this other room.

Malcolm Fade was a wild man while he had magic. After losing his soulmate to the whims of the Nephilim, he’d grown almost mad it had seemed, until he lost his magic as well. Magnus had visited him a few times in the past, while everyone was still reeling from the loss of the Shadow World. Malcolm had seemed like his older self, more cheerful, more present in general. Magnus had been glad to see his old friend coming back to himself, and hoped this change will continue to be good for him.

It seems that his love for extravagant parties has not changed however.

The pale lavender envelope was hand delivered almost two days ago, making Magnus lose enough sleep over it already. What does it mean to have been invited to a gala, while his magic is back and in such a precarious way?

Magnus had stayed up staring at the invitation for hours, until he had decided to go at precisely 3:47 am, and to conceal the return of his magic until absolutely necessary.

Malcolm may be a friend, but he's a friend who suffered the loss of a soulmate, who Magnus last remembers having the Black Volume necessary for necromancy, and who isn’t above violence to get his Annabel back, if history is witness.

It’s better to bide his time. Learn to control it better.

And there's still a tiny part of him that thinks this is all temporary, and that this too will pass like a phase of the moon.

Magnus doesn’t pay any attention to that part, instead gathers up some clothes to take to the tailor nearby for a quick fitting.

---------------

“Holy fuck.” Alec gapes at the fabric lying on the fitting table at David’s tailor shop. It’s practically Manhattan’s worst kept secret at this point, that while a big name company may provide you a great designer dress or suit, you always come to David and his wife Genya for fitting. He’s seen them work wonders with his most nitpicky of clients, and for all the business the Lightwood name brings, he practically has an open access to the place.

The fabric’s unlike anything he’s seen before, the threadwork in gold and the artistically arranged deep brown buckles might seem too much, but yet it all ties perfectly together somehow.

“Is it the fabric you’re making my waistcoat in? Please say yes!” Alec tries to make a pleading face, but Genya hits his slouching back with the back of her measurement board.

“Stand still. Or I can’t work on you, and you can go wherever you’re going in this weird bulging state.” If it had been anyone else, Alec would’ve had a comeback, but Genya is a force to be reckoned with, and that eyebrow quirk is sure to leave his gambit backfiring. So Alec keeps his mouth shut, and the ginger hums appreciatively.

“This isn’t ours, sorry Alec.” David answers him with an apologetic smile.

“All good.” Alec offers, standing as still as possible, so as to not anger the seamstress currently working on the seam of his cuffs.

“That’s actually from one of our oldest clients.” Genya says, her voice muffled as she turns to work on Alec’s pants. “He came in and said his great grandfather had this made from us in the early 1900s. Said he’s going to a themed party and needed a refit.”

“Funny, the party I’m arranging is also themed around the early twentieth century.” Alec nods, before rolling his eyes. “Though honestly my client has made it into an hodgepodge if you ask me.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna do a wonderful job either way.” Genya offers, David nodding along with his wife.

They always seem such an odd couple, Genya with her fiery heart and strong smile and eager to talk to everyone, and David with his quiet sketches and always busy doing something . Alec has never seen two people so opposite, yet so in love.

His soulmark itches in the corner of his ribs, and Alec moves involuntarily, making Genya tut loudly. He doesn’t have time to think about wherever his soulmate is, whatever he’s doing.

He can’t.

That’s why he took this gig, after so many of his friends gave up trying to coordinate with Malcolm Fade’s- ahem, eccentric- choices. They all warned him about it, about the insufferability of it all, but he needed something, anything , after that day. Because no matter what he did, those kind brown eyes would come back to haunt him in his sleep, the smile in them so cruel, so mocking.

Genya taps on his shoulder, shattering his thoughts for the time being, and Alec’s grateful for the little intervention before his thoughts could turn dark like they’ve been for a few days now. Alec understands it, has heard of it. It’s the lack of the bond while coming so close to his soulmate. The bond is snapping forward, trying to find its twin, only to meet with emptiness.

Alec wants to rip it out of himself.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Alec. You’re going to be okay.” Genya says, not unkindly. She’s always had the uncanny ability to understand exactly what goes on inside someone’s head, and no matter how much Alec tries, it works on him nonetheless. It used to unnerve him, now it just feels familiar.

“I’m going to be more than okay,” Alec jokes, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m going to be fabulous in this suit. You’ve truly outdone yourself, David.”

The man in question only smiles a little, while Genya looks over her husband proudly, love shining in her blue eyes. Alec looks away from them, the bond screaming all alone in his chest. It’s too painful to look at people so clearly in love.

“When they come back to pick it up, tell them I said they have excellent taste.” Alec spares one last glance at the cloth lying on the table, before walking out to the counter.

---------------------

Magnus is late to his first proper gala in over a century.

It’s really the Chairman's fault, he sighs to himself. If the cat hadn’t decided to be an absolute arse today, he would’ve been out the door to get his waistcoat at least an hour earlier. It’s a miracle he’s not missing the party entirely.

Well, a miracle and maybe a little bit of magic.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

It’s dangerous to try out portalling at such an early stage of his magic’s comeback, Magnus knows. The theory has also been proven multiple times as he stumbled across a petting zoo in France and an abandoned ruins of a church in Rome for the past hour. It took him three tries to finally get the location right. At least, knowing New York traffic, he’s still earlier than it would’ve taken him in a taxi.

Maybe he shouldn’t have uninstalled uber so soon.

The doorman regards him closely, and Magnus feels himself stiffen under the strict scrutiny. He feels like an actor playing pretense, his clothes and makeup all done in the hands of a man he no longer is. But, it’s still fun to see so many familiar faces under the same roof.

Whoever planned this party did a wonderful job of it, Magnus thinks. The chandelier is reflecting all the disco lights currently hanging from the ballroom, a swath of artifacts and activities from several different decades all in the same place, as is Malcolm’s taste, Magnus remembers.

But there’s still order in this chaos, a type of organized mess of a beauty, and Magnus can appreciate it. His thoughts flow, unbridled, as he takes a glass of soda on the rocks from the bartender, about a similar party he went to not too long ago, and how everything changed since then.

His moment of tranquil appreciation is soon interrupted by a pink-skinned phouka slamming into him. Magnus loses balance at the collision, and the world flips the centre of gravity in a blink of an eye, his drink spilling everywhere.

“Shit.” Magnus swears low in his throat.

“Can’ye see w’er y’er goin’?” The phouka yells in a deep accent, startling Magnus.

“I’m sorry.” Magnus apologizes, knowing full well it was not, in fact, his fault. It’s not in his nature to cause conflict. Even if he’s the one drenched in soda.

Even if his magic is crackling at his fingertips for a retaliation.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Magnus feels his magic going into overdrive, his skin feels too tight- too hot- too everything . He’s feeling like he’s seeing the whole party from a different perspective, the colours feel more vibrant, the chandelier a little sparklier, the sweet stench of the spilled drink a little stronger.

He feels drunk without having a single sip of anything.

“This nothin’ nobody’s tryna ge’ in the par’y for a quick sip, I reckon. I doubt he’s even in the list Mr Fade gave’em.” The phouka gives him a dirty glance. Magnus considers baring his eyes- his true eyes- for him to see exactly who this ‘nothing nobody’ is.

He decides against it at the last moment, instead pulls himself to his full height, towering over the barely four feet tall fae. Magnus juts his chin out the way he’s seen his best friend do every time he asks Raphael for a movie night, puts his mask away, and buttons the open jacket, regardless of its now drenched state. “My name is Magnus Bane. Check your damn list again.”

“Magnus.”

----------------

Alec feels like he’s dreaming.

This party is a dream in itself, the setting is done deliberately to emulate a sort of dream like chaos. He’s chosen his own outfit accordingly, a white a black ensemble, with an elaborate angel mask that covers his cheekbones in what looks like wings.

He looks divine and he knows it.

He was ready to be a professional tonight, making sure everything goes off without a hitch, half because Mr Fade is late to his own party, and half because he had to be, because staying cooped up in his apartment with netflix and pizza sounds a lot less appealing than whatever happens here.

Even though his mind is swimming with pain from the almost rejected bond.

Even though the pain of it seems imprinted on his very soul.

But then there’s a disturbance, one of Malcolm’s tiny bouncers yelling at a man who smells like the kind of expensive soda Isabelle likes. A man wearing the same jacket Alec saw on David’s table only a few hours ago.

Alec had been delighted, ready to make conversation with the man wearing the jacket he’s been so fond of- the same man in that simple yet elegant black and white handheld domino mask, until he’d noticed his eyes.

Until he’d said those words.

Alec feels the floor tilt from under him, every inch of his body screaming to go up to him, to introduce himself, to dance with him until they can’t anymore. It seems like a different sort of madness, and Alec’s not sure he’s objecting.

“Magnus?” He asks, hope blossoming like ivy under his skin.

“Alec.”

His name on those lips is what leaves Alec undone. All his professionalism, all his suaveness, everything Alec Lightwood ever is or ever will be, concentrated on those two syllables from the man Alec has waited a long- maybe too long- to meet.

Alec starts forward, a step taken almost unconsciously, his words warm against his ribs. Magnus has put his mask down minutes ago, and as he looks at his face, Alec feels like he’s falling into a never ending tunnel of love.

Those simple strokes of metallic eyeliner, like starlight bathed in gold. And in between them, the kindest, most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.

“Magnus.” Alec chokes out again, unable to say anything else. Magnus stretches a hand out for him to hold, and Alec takes it like a drowning man being offered a raft.

It takes him a moment to realize that the words have stopped hurting, as if a simple touch from Magnus have doused the burning flame into cool waves of calm.

---------------

Magnus takes a leap of faith.

Alec’s voice feels choked, like it hurts him to breathe anymore, and Magnus feels his whole life flash in front of him, all eight hundred years of it. It’s been too long, far too long, since he’s taken a chance on love. He’s gone cozy in his little comfort zone, happy to stay unrejected.

But he doesn’t want to do that anymore. So he offers a hand, a simple gesture masking a thousand words.

I’m sorry it took me so long.

I’m sorry I ran away.

I’m sorry I didn’t look for you.

I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere else.

Alec catches his hand, holding him close like the only hope in his whole world, and Magnus feels like he’s weightless, floating on clouds.

“Dance with me?” Alec asks, the question more of a request than anything else.

Magnus doesn’t find it in himself to say no, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to either. So he smiles, eyes crinkling with hope and happiness and possibility. “I thought you’d never ask.”

------------

The fast pop music changes into a slow waltz as the two of them go down to the dancefloor, a round ballroom stretching almost fifty meters every which way. Alec pulls Magnus right underneath the enormous chandelier, the reflected golden light painting them both in halos. They sway together, happy to just be close for the moment, and Alec is grateful. He doesn’t have it in him to talk right now, not when everything feels too perfect and too much like everything he’s ever wanted.

Finally, the music ends, and Magnus looks at him for a long moment right in the middle of the dance floor. Alec feels uncharacteristically nervous, everything he is laid bare in front of his soulmate. But he doesn’t shy away, instead he meets his gaze head on, before Magnus grabs his hand. Alec lets himself be led out of the ballroom, away from the crowd, finally stopping at the adjoined balcony, away from prying eyes.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Both men speak at the same time, before pausing to comprehend what just happened. A small smile graces Magnus’s face, and Alec wants to live in it, revel in it, spend his forever in it.

“I’ll go first,” Magnus says, “I’m sorry I walked out on you abruptly that day. There was an emergency and I had to leave.”

“Emergency?” Alec asks, concerned, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. Everything is fine.” Magnus assures him. “Just- I told myself I left for that reason only, but the truth is, I was scared. I’ve heard those words a million times before, and every time they scarred me like a blade. I was so scared- scared of everything that I would be taking a chance on- afraid what I would be risking. I’m sorry. Really really sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Alec stops Magnus, clasping both his hands with his own, “I could have looked for you, tried to understand why you left, why you didn’t talk to me. I’ve heard my words too, over and over and over again. Until they hurt like a million paper cuts at the same time. And- and after you, I was so caught up in my own hurt, I didn’t stop to think there could be a second explanation.”

“I’m so sorry.” Magnus lowers his eyes, guilt overflowing his heart.

“Don’t be. Please don’t be.” Alec brings up Magnus’s hands, kissing them both, “You came back to me, that’s all that matters. I’m so so so happy to see you again.”

“This whole time I’ve been running up and down the whole city, trying to forget you somehow , but it’s like the more I tried to forget everything, the more the world just pulled me towards you.” Alec lets out a surprised chuckle. “I tried to plan a corporate party, but the banner place fucked up, and I had to get it done from somewhere else, and they told me about this other guy who’d been the same kind of bindup like me, and that he’s sweet and polite and that he’s been trying to get his banner for weeks, and all I could picture was you, and I just- I just couldn’t not help him.”

Magnus feels recognition hit him full force. “You’re the one who told Andrew to get my banner done in time?”

Alec stares at him for a full minute before speaking. “Oh god. Please don’t tell me it was you who went to Jace’s to get the same order as me.”

“You know Jace?”

“Our parents are high school friends, we practically grew up together.” Alec explains. “Honey macchiato?”

“Honey macchiato.” Magnus smiles, the two sharing a secret between just them under the night sky while the party rages on inside.

“And you were at David and Genya’s,” Alec says half to himself, before smiling mirthfully, “I told them to tell the owner of the jacket that they have great taste.”

“And?” Magnus goads him on.

“And I’ve decided that the owner has amazing taste, especially in soulmates.” Alec winks. “Though their taste is not enough to rival my own, because my soulmate is better, prettier, more amazing, than everyone else in the world. Brighter than all the stars in the sky.”

Magnus sputters for a second at the compliment, splotchy blush blooming on his golden cheeks as he ducks his head. Alec can’t stop grinning.

“Can we get out of here?” Magnus says in a stroke of sudden confidence, the surety in his voice evaporating as soon as the words leave his lips.

Alec makes an exaggerated gesture of being surprised, and Magnus can’t be annoyed with him even if he wanted to. “Mr Bane. Oh my. So forward.”

“You don’t have to.” Magnus adds quickly. “I get it, this is your event, and we can leave once it’s over. It’s okay.”

“I didn’t say that, Magnus.” Alec practically bounces the way to the reception, and signs off on a few papers, before explaining some things to his assistants. All the while holding Magnus’s hand in his own, like it’s his second nature by now.

Magnus feels like he’s walking on sunshine.

-------------------

Later, Magnus and Alec stumble into his shop-in-apartment in Brooklyn, tangled together with limbs and mouths and hearts and bonds, losing touch with the reality of where one begins and another ends, words of love and promises whispered into every kiss.

I love you.

I’m not going to leave.

We’re together.

Everything’s going to be alright.

----------------

#alec lightwood #magnus bane #hmdiscord #malec #malec fanfic #jay.fic #mine #writing #my writing #this world inverted #twi!alec #twi!magnus #alternate alec #alternate magnus

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rpbetter · 3 years

Note

Today I learned a popular vent blog is repressing submissions about the drama with the now defunct resource blog. They probably have a relationship to the resource blog admin, or they are the admin. I know two people who sent submissions that were not published, but new submissions they made after were. The admin is silent after inquiries about it. They are ignoring everyone who tries to talk about it. It is so hard to find a place in the rpc that is transparent right now, a place that does not censor people who need to get things off their chest. Of all places that should keep their bias in check. It should not be a vent blog. That is one of the last places people go when they can not confide in their rp partners, or people in real life. Sometimes just having a vent post published can be everything. It is more silencing than people think.

Okay, I do know what you're talking about. I've said in the past that I specifically look around the RPC to gauge a rounder set of experiences, problems, etc. That blog is such a place that I have visited in the past to do so, and I have both noticed and been told what you're telling me now. I will admit, because I do believe in honesty here as a part of transparency one should strive to uphold off of their RP and personal blogs, that I have held exactly these suspicions since the blog choose to "handle" recent events the way they did. That is why I was paying attention to the disparity in both original submissions published and the responses to them.

What I have seen is a little uncomfortable feeling. It isn't just The Topic itself, it's also anything relating too closely to that mun's repeatedly expressed positions on things as well. Well, you know, a frightening number of people do feel the same way, do engage in those behaviors, so I am willing to believe that I am merely seeing shit where it doesn't exist. I am, after all, just a person, doing what people do, being fallible. I'm not acting on any information that anyone else out there isn't privy to, I also want t be clear about that. It's the opposite of my interest to withhold information, make it up, or inflame the situation.

Like everyone else in the RPC right now, it's incredibly difficult to not be suspicious. So many really ugly things were revealed and transpired, it was like every three hours there was something horrifying and new going on. And the way that it was left off, with the meme blog mun and with that vent blog just served to chafe those feelings for many.

So, again, while I am not trying to give this all a spritzer of gasoline, and neither am I acting on any knowledge none of you have, I've had suspicions since the time that vent blog decided that it was fully appropriate to refuse action for what went on that there was a bit of a personal connection going on. When your blog has established that it will mass-block people for far less, but suddenly, over this, it's a useless effort not going to help anyone? I'm sorry, that's suspicious to me. If nothing else, it was incredibly shitty to tell muns who were targetted because of interactions on their blog to just get over it and be adults when the adult thing is to approach the mods (hello, it does stand for moderator) with concerns, and this is a serious concern.

One that has done exactly as you say - effectively shut down venting and communication on that blog. I love that the direction is constantly to take things to the comments lmao gee, I wonder why no one is willing to openly comment anymore? Total mystery! Could it be that even you feel you can handle potential harassment, you don't want to endanger anyone else who might not be able to? Possibly.

Venting has a negative connotation here anyway, that doesn't help. Months before this all happened, I was seeing an increasing number of people equating such blogs to burnbooks, or at best, "childish echo chambers."

However, venting on one's own blog is not alright either. We're not supposed to have a visible problem with anyone or anything they're doing, ever. It's supposed to work out every time like this: you approach the person(s) causing you this problem and discuss it maturely with them in private, the issue is resolved, and everyone goes off into the sunset crapping rainbows. Double ones, even.

The problem is...it doesn't work out like that very often. That isn't to say it shouldn't be your first action, it should. Sometimes, especially if you've been both lucky and extremely careful about your writing partners, you'll be wonderfully surprised and it'll be a great conversation that helps both muns. So much of the time though, it instigates a fight because everyone is automatically defensive as hell, or one or both muns are so afraid of that happening that they'll refuse to have a meaningful confrontation (confrontation is not always negative, we need to stop viewing it that way). One or both say whatever is necessary to smooth over the problem, while they change nothing at all, making the feelings of anger so much worse.

And maybe, this problem isn't that big of a deal, one needs to work themselves up into addressing it, or they've cause to actually fear the other mun's response to them.

So, they have three options, and none of them is alright with the RPC:

vent to a friend - this is unacceptable because it is always seen as talking shit behind another mun's back, bringing drama to others, and trying to force people to take sides, no matter how much none of these may be the case and hold a lot of variables depending on the type of venting and the relationship of the muns involved

vent/vague on the dash - not always the same thing, not always occurring at the same time, and not always invalid either, but always viewed as incredibly malicious and wrong. Even if the result was either getting the friend who wouldn't stop refusing to engage to have a meaningful conversation with you or finding a new partner because someone else has been experiencing it too, you know you're not going to do this to each other, and a mutual you've been ignoring is now a valued partner

vent on a vent blog - seen as even worse than venting on one's blog in some corners because it's a more open to visit place, it's just stirring up drama and fights, this makes everyone feel vagued about and suspicions and accusations of being mentioned/mentioning someone run wild. Everyone wants a drama-free dash, no one wants to allow anyone a better place to do it

Venting is important. I think it is necessary to maintaining a less explosive environment. It's called "venting" for a reason!

Maybe it is the most ridiculous complaint in history, but those things do build. And build. And build. Until they blow up all over in someone's face, it might even be someone totally innocent who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time with exactly the worst coincidental words spoken to you. These places allow for people to get it out without hurting anyone's feelings or starting a massive argument when it wasn't even anything that serious. They offer, or used to, different perspectives that let muns feel seen while helping them to decide whether they are just blowing things out of proportion, misunderstanding/potentially unaware of another aspect, or even in a worse situation than they were allowing themselves to be aware of with a harmful relationship.

It goes beyond just venting when there are conversations going on about the topics! Sometimes, people just need to feel like they're not so isolated. Sometimes, they legitimately lack the tools and perspectives to approach a problem more directly or successfully. And yes, sometimes, they even need to see that this is kind of shitty of them and they should reevaluate.

Vent blogs are difficult to manage.

We all have biases, and when it comes to more personal situations we can recognize or see ourselves within, that is never more likely to become a point of extra difficulty to keep in check. This is actually why I left that vent blog the first time around, there was way too much bias being expressed with a mod taking it upon themselves to opine on submissions, fight with people about them, and refuse to post them while vaguing about them. Among other, increasingly perturbing behaviors I had no desire to keep seeing daily on my dash.

When you decide to create or accept a position moderating such a blog, you have to know that you will be thus challenged. Someone is going to vent about someone you'll recognize, a situation you feel passionately about, or say something in a vent that upsets you. You have got to remain visibly impartial. Go on and vent about it yourself to friends, write a post on your personal, do whatever the hell you need to in order to not be visibly biased and acting upon that bias.

I see blogs like this, as well as other places of moderation, often becoming incensed and offering the angry justification that "mods are people." Yes, I should hope you are! No one is saying you must be an impossibly perfect person without opinions, biases, or mistakes. We are holding you to a higher standard of you deal with these things out in the open where you hold this position, yes. That's literally what your job is, my friends. Go off about it, feel your feelings, even cultivate a block list from that blog! But you don't show it, you don't ever make people feel worse when the point of your blog is to allow them a voice.

The only time you need to give a personal opinion is when it is requested or you need to express that a submission was declined/comment had to be moderated due to you exercising your judgment that it violated the rules.

This is supposed to be a safe place for muns to anonymously let it out of their systems and discuss these topics. Not a place where they'll feel exposed, judged by the mods themselves, and denied a voice because of a mod's biases being exercised.

And I'm extremely sorry that people are being made to feel this way, all over again in some cases, because someone cannot handle the position they took up. I'm sorry for the whole community who has lost an important outlet. I wish that I could recommend another place for people to go that might provide a better experience, but as yet, I do not. Hopefully, that'll be changing in the near-enough future, but for right now...all of the vent blogs I was familiar with have long since closed down.

If anyone has any currently running vent blog suggestions, I'd love to know about them and share them! Please, they do have to be legitimate vent blogs. I'm not going to recommend here that might be too close to actually being burnbook-like, deals in publishing URLs, and so on. If you want to engage with that, it's absolutely your choice, but it's not something I want to give certified approval to on this blog, and I hope you understand why. If they're legitimately anonymous, safer places serving as vent blogs, let me know so I can check them out for a few days and publish your ask!

It wasn't my intention with this blog, though I did offer that a couple of times just to get people talking about problems important to them in the past, but if you want to vent here, I'll do my best to publish them (unless you request otherwise) in a relatively timely fashion.

I'm just not a proper vent blog, and people should be aware of that! I do offer opinions on those matters. It's more in line with the point of this blog to do so - I want to be able to give some point of assistance in publishing them. I cannot promise, therefore, to be impartial, but I can promise to not judge you or ignore what you send because I don't agree, am tired of it, etc.

I'd just ask that, once again, everyone realize that sending hateful messages to me isn't going to result in me being nice to you in return. If you've a complaint to lodge, lodge it respectfully if you desire to be treated that way yourself. This blog will publish anon hate, that doesn't mean I'm going to be nice when you send it. Anything else, however, I will genuinely try to offer you the opportunity to be seen and heard, some advice, experiences I might have had with a similar issue, and to approach it fairly.

Sorry that everyone is going through a hard time, that it just doesn't seem to stop, and probably will not for some time now. Thank you for sending this, I hope it made you feel a little better! That has been, and will continue to be, my objective in publishing asks relating to this matter - I just want everyone to feel like they have some agency and respect somewhere, that they're being seen, and that they have the support of others in the community.

#answered #anonymous #vent blogs #tumblr rpc #drama cw

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

Note

1- Oh, I guess we must have different interpretations of it then. Cuz in 7.21, Cas says, "They're from the Garrison – my old Garrison... I was there captain." And then in season 4.16, Dean says to Cas, "Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?" implying Cas had previously been in charge, but his superiors switched things up when they saw how he was acting with Dean.

2- It seemed to me that Cas took over the garrison after Anna fell. I know Zachariah was always his superior, but Cas was still captain of the garrison. Anyway, I always just thought it strange that Cas was given any authority, even tho we know from Naomi that he's "Never done as he's told. Not completely." I know in canon, we only SEE him being reprogrammed a couple times, but this line implies he's always been a troublemaker.

***

Ok, I was confused. In 7.21, the only time he ever mentions being captain, it’s... odd. It’s hesitant, almost like he can’t really believe it. It’s practically an afterthought. It’s possible he was just the next guy in line in the hierarchy after Anna fell. But knowing what we know of his position even in 1901 (when he wasn’t even in charge of his own flight yet), and that Anna had been in charge until her fall (which we know happened in 1985, making her human body 25 in 4.09, so Cas’s leadership role would’ve spanned less than that amount of time), and the fact we don’t know what exactly being a “Captain” entails-- was that (with later canon about him having his own flight) equivalent to Ishim’s position in 12.10? Or was that equivalent to Anna’s position before her fall? It’s just... not clear enough for me to make firm statements about it. Heaven hierarchies in this show are just... mishmosh mostly.

Regardless: Here’s the quote from the superwiki transcript:

DEAN: Cas, what happened back there? Who were those guys?CASTIEL: They're from the Garrison – my old Garrison. Looks like Hester's taken over. We were assigned to watch the earth. Often, it was boring. The wars were very boring and the sex – you know, the repetition. Anyway, I was, uh... I was their captain. Isn't that strange?

There’s also the fact that Cas was... really, really not himself in this episode. Since this is the only time he gives himself the label of “captain,” and it happens to be in the same episode where he repeatedly refused to engage with reality, declared “I watch the bees,” booped a prophet on the nose, and deflected all responsibility for, like... everything...

I think his OWN surprise (and the “Isn’t that strange?”) at the fact he was ever a leader of any sort in Heaven (especially considering he led the rebellion in s6, not because he wanted to, but because he was the rallying point for all the angels who didn’t want the apocalypse) lines up pretty well with YOUR feeling of confusion over why such a rebel would’ve ever been put in a position of authority like that. But honestly? If you’ve got someone who breaks rules a lot, put them at the top of the pile where you can keep an eye on them. I mean, that’s one strategy to deal with a troublemaker, I suppose?

It’s also possible that during one of his reprogramming attempts, they programmed him to believe he’d been in charge before, but now I’m getting into “this is definitely not canon” territory, just trying to explain away Cas’s obvious bewilderment by that statement. Because it’s weird.

You’d think if he’d been In Charge at the time he rescued Dean from Hell, he would’ve announced himself like he was in charge, and not just another subordinate following orders. It’s yet another reason that waiting nearly four years after he’s introduced as a character to reveal that tidbit of info, and then only giving it to us in this strange non sequitur of a comment while Cas is barely engaged with reality, and then never mentioned the fact again over the ensuing 7 seasons... I have a hard time giving it much weight, you know? Especially knowing how LITTLE trust Heaven showed in Cas, right from the start. Throughout s4, even before Cas rebelled, had to be reprogrammed, and then broke free again in 4.22, he... was not anywhere NEAR the top of the information food chain.

Cas had no idea that Uriel was a double agent for Team Lucifer until after it nearly cost Dean his life. Cas had no idea that the angels weren’t trying to STOP the apocalypse, but were actively working to bring it about. When he found out their true plan... that’s when Heaven brought him back for reprogramming, in 4.20, before he could pass that information on to Dean. Which makes me think if Cas ever was in charge of the garrison, it was a largely ceremonial title, since he was otherwise entirely left out of the loop of actual in-charge-ness, you know? Even Uriel, his supposed subordinate before 4.16, seemed far more aware of what was really going on.

And considering the fact that it was later widely known that the apocalypse had been long prophesied, and Dean himself had been a part of that prophecy, it seems like they had to actively withhold that information from Cas for him not to have been aware of it, you know? Was that part of the reason they had to mind wipe him so many times? Because he HAD been aware (like, if he was in charge of the garrison for a time) and OBJECTED? To all of it? And that’s why he lost his position, as we saw happening throughout s4?

(as an aside here, it also makes one wonder if that’s why Anna chose to fall, as well. As sort of a conscientious objector to the entire apocalypse agenda... until she was again reprogrammed after Cas turned her in in 4.21)

Now all of this is conjecture, but I’ve never adequately been able to justify the fact of Cas having been in charge of the Garrison, considering just how little he’d known of what was really going on. And that, combined with Zachariah collectively lumping him in with the foot soldiers of Heaven in 4.22... well, that sort of makes Cas out to be a dupe of heaven if he had been placed in the Captain’s Chair, you know? So I think I personally prefer to not think of him as actually having been in charge, of any of it. From 4.22:

DEAN: But me and Sam, we can stop... (he cuts off, having an epiphany) You don't want to stop it, do you?ZACHARIAH: Nope. Never did. The end is nigh. The apocalypse is coming, kiddo, to a theater near you.DEAN: What was all that crap about saving seals?ZACHARIAH: Our grunts on the ground -- we couldn't just tell them the whole truth. We'd have a full-scale rebellion on our hands. I mean, think about it. Would we really let 65 seals get broken unless senior management wanted it that way?DEAN: But why?ZACHARIAH: Why not? The apocalypse? Poor name, bad marketing -- puts people off. When all it is is Ali/Foreman. On a... slightly larger scale. And we like our chances. When our side wins -- and we will -- it's paradise on earth. Now, what's not to like about that?

The angels who hadn’t known the truth were what Zachariah considered “grunts.” Not management, you know? I have such a difficult time reconciling the reality of what we knew from s4 with the baffled statement Cas made in 7.21. Almost as if he realized how he’d been used by Heaven while the real control happened way above his own head. He was just as manipulated as the Winchesters were. I think that realization truly did baffle him at the time.

But the line in 4.16 I assumed was referencing 4.07, 4.09, and 4.10, in which Uriel followed Cas’s lead throughout those episodes. It was clear there that Uriel was the subordinate, even when he appeared to be barely restrained and visibly and vocally didn’t approve of Cas’s orders. I think that’s what Dean’s referencing there.

The other thing is that, as much as I love him and his writing, 7.21 was written by Ben Edlund, who has famously put a few other odd lines like this into Cas’s mouth over the years. Edlund... adored Cas. And he often elevated Cas in these sorts of subtle ways. Like in 8.05, having Cas refer to himself as a seraph (the only time in canon Cas ever uses that word for himself, and the only other time it’s ever been said in canon was in 12.10 as part of Akobel’s death sentence that Cas read out). No other angel has referred to themselves nor any other angel with this title in canon. So... let’s say I have a few items on the list of “this is Edlund canon” in the same way I have my feud with Robbie Thompson over his obsession with the Samulet. It’s one of those things I would really need to hear from any other writer in any other context for me to assume it was the full and honest truth in a way that fit in with the reality of the entire rest of canon. Because it kinda... doesn’t...

#castiel winchester #spn 7.21 #spn 4.22 #spn 4.16 #spn 4.07 #spn 4.09 #spn 4.10 #angels and souls #Anonymous

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cindylouwho-2 · 5 years

Text

TOP NEWS & ARTICLES

US Amazon sellers were told via email that they will have to pay taxes on some Amazon fees, as Etsy has been doing with sellers in the EU and in Quebec.

The Instagram look may be dropping out of favour; apparently, reality is in. “Instagram museums and walls were built to allow normal people to take influencer-quality photographs—but they worked so well, those types of photos became common enough that they don’t resonate like they used to. “#unfiltered

In case you missed it, my review of Etsy’s Spring & Summer Trends Guide, including all of the keyword data (which you do need to check out, as they reveal some interesting search info).

ETSY NEWS

Etsy published a new census/survey of sellers in its 6 core countries, and also did a summary (if you don’t want to read the whole thing). “More than nine out of ten Etsy sellers (91%) are the sole owner of their businesses.”... “The majority (82%) of Etsy sellers would like to grow their business, but more than three out of five would not want to grow so big that they would have to hire more help.”

The bugs & errors with financial statements and records continue; Etsy botched the VAT statements yet again, even overwriting them all the way back to 2016. No word on whether any sellers have notified EU authorities on this yet.

New seller handbook article covers advertising; not much new or gripping, but it does discuss general ad approaches, not just Etsy’s.

There is also a new free shipping tool, in case you didn’t realize that Etsy wants more sellers to offer free shipping more often. “When we talk to shoppers during research, many say things like “I want to feel like I’m getting a deal!” and “I would love to see free shipping across the board, even if it meant increased prices.” Offering free shipping can be a great way to give customers like these the shopping experience they are looking for.”

CEO Josh Silverman participated in The Wall Street Journal’s “In the Elevator” interview series [video link]. Every 90 seconds, an engagement ring or wedding ring sells on Etsy. He also talks about free & fast shipping not always being a reasonable expectation when shopping on Etsy, unlike Amazon.

Speaking of free shipping, a limited number of US customers will be getting it from Etsy, with Etsy reimbursing sellers for the costs. Non-US sellers and buyers get nothing.

Etsy’s 2019 1st quarter results will be available May 8.

SEO: GOOGLE & OTHER SEARCH ENGINES

Rand Fishkin released Part 5 of his Learn SEO in 1 Hour series: technical SEO [video & written transcript]. This is the one most of you can skip or just skim over, as it does talk a lot about coding.Some tips are important to everyone, however, like page linking/site structure (for websites), and having https set up.

Part 6 covers link building, in 10 minutes. Remember, if you are going to put effort into getting links, do it for your website & not your Etsy shop or other marketplace page. If you are creating traffic, make sure you own it.

Don’t forget looking beyond Google for your search engine traffic; this podcast [with written transcript] breaks down an approach to several of the biggest ones beyond Google. Spoiler: they only recommend worrying about the biggest, Bing, if you have around 1000 unique search visitors to your website per day.

How to get keyword ideas from the Google search results: there’s a lot more available now, beyond the search bar suggestions.

Google is asking local businesses if they would pay for their Google My Business listings. This possibility raises concerns about the impact on organic rankings.

More SEO tips for Amazon, including discussion of the various factors involved.

If pages on your website aren’t indexed by Google, there are some steps you can take to fix them. (For websites only, not Etsy shops)

Advanced/semi-advanced content: Great tips on using bookmarklets in Chrome to get SEO things done quickly. (A lot of these involve tools that work best in the paid version, so I suspect most of us will not have much use for this, yet.)

Possible Google algorithm update last week. (I am seeing changes)

CONTENT MARKETING & SOCIAL MEDIA (includes blogging & emails)

Looking for new hashtags for your social media accounts? Try: https://www.tagshitter.com (apologies for the name; that’s what they call it. It’s good, too! Just like its regular keyword research partner, http://keywordshitter.com/ )

Email subject lines [infographic] are crucial to top interaction with your newsletter etc. Includes Dos & Don’ts, plus the shockingly low open rates in most industries.

Selling through social media directly is a great way to avoid people losing interest as they keep clicking. Note that this seems to work best with items under $50, though, which they suggest solutions to in the next part of the article.

Despite all the scandals and negative media coverage, US social media use hasn’t really changed in the past few years. “A 2018 Center survey found that some Facebook users had recently taken steps to moderate their use of the site – such as deleting the Facebook app from their phone or taking a break from the platform for some time. But despite these findings and amid some high profile controversies, Facebook users as a whole are just as active on the site today as they were a year ago.”

Facebook scandal watch: FB’s “stock price jumped after it said it expects to incur a fine of up to $5 billion from the Federal Trade Commission. And that’s all you really need to know about whether the historically large penalty matters to the company.”

Also:

they admitted to asking for your email password then importing all of your contacts. “...Facebook disclosed to Business Insider that 1.5 million people's contacts were collected this way and fed into Facebook's systems, where they were used to improve Facebook's ad targeting, build Facebook's web of social connections, and recommend friends to add.”

The Canadian Privacy Commissioner is taking FB to court over breaches of Canadian privacy law.

But hey, it’s all fine, because they beat earnings expectations in the first quarter.

70% of YouTube videos watched are recommended by its algorithm. “ The recommendations are fueled by the artificial-intelligence arm, Google Brain, of YouTube’s parent company. The machine-learning models help identify videos that aren’t exactly what you just watched, but similar enough that you might like them.“

Does directing people to the link in your Instagram bio really work? Testing says that it probably doesn’t work for most accounts, and more importantly, that Instagram may be limiting the algorithm visibility of posts that direct visitors to the link in your bio.

Twitter has now limited the number of accounts you can follow in 1 day, to 400 down from 1000; this is intended to cut back on spammers.

US Twitter users are better educated & better off than the average American.(Good article for target market considerations)

ONLINE ADVERTISING (SEARCH ENGINES, SOCIAL MEDIA, & OTHERS)

Amazon is reducing/removing the ads for its own products, possibly due to increased complaints of unfair competition. “Amazon is now the third-largest digital advertising platform, behind Google and Facebook”, and could grow 50% this year alone, based on projections.

Facebook retargeting tips. And everything you need to know about the Facebook pixel for tracking your ad performance.

STATS, DATA, OTHER TRACKING

Some Google Analytics tips for websites - almost beginner level!

The Google Search Console delays are nearly all fixed.

Stats programs all give you different numbers, and that isn’t likely to improve. (This piece is semi-advanced; don’t bother with it if you aren’t a stats geek.)

ECOMMERCE NEWS, IDEAS, TRENDS

eBay’s Spring Marketplace Updates include several back end changes and a fee increase for sellers who run afoul of eBay’s seller performance standards.

Amazon sellers can buy so-called “black hat” services to beat its algorithms. These include tips from Amazon employees who are making money by reporting on Amazon’s inner workings. Amazon “also said it takes action against sellers who pay for internal information; penalties include terminating their selling accounts, deleting reviews, withholding funds, and taking legal action.” No doubt the company already has closed some of the loopholes discussed in the article.

Amazon also fires warehouse workers by algorithm, based on productivity.

GoDaddy launches an ecommerce sharing tool that lets you list across multiple websites including your standalone. Current marketplace options include Etsy, Amazon, eBay, Jet & Walmart. They bought Sellbrite as part of this move. Quite a few different entities are releasing this type of service, so shop around if it is something you are interested in.

eBay released their 1st quarter 2019 results on April 23. Total sales were down 4% from 2018 (they were close to even when currency fluctuations were accounted for), but eBay’s own income from seller fees was up. “eBay reduced their marketing by a significant amount where their cash was being used to effectively subsidise the sales of high value items. Put simply, eBay have been buying sales and now they’ve stopped and this has seen a reduction in high ticket items being sold in comparison to sales of lower value items.” Easter being later this year may have slowed ecommerce growth overall in the quarter.

...but Amazon reported record revenue, up 16.9% over 2018. Despite that, analysts note that growth is slowing, & that Amazon’s own projections for the second quarter are lower than many predicted. “Amazon’s CFO Brian Olsavsky said during the call with analysts that part of the lower guidance is due to an $800 million investment in making free one-day delivery shipping the default for Prime members.” - if you thought buyers wanted stuff yesterday already, wait til this becomes the norm ... I mean, Walmart & Target stocks fell after the announcement. Walmart is already hinting at offering the same.

You can return your Amazon purchases at Kohl’s in the US, starting everywhere in July. Ease of returns is going to be a bigger battleground in the next few years, as retailers continue to increase free & speedy shipping options.

BUSINESS & CONSUMER STUDIES, STATS & REPORTS; SOCIOLOGY & PSYCHOLOGY, CUSTOMER SERVICE

Generation Z will be making 40% of US retail purchases by next year; they are going to change a lot about selling. “ Fair trade products, ethical business practices, and a strong mission statement have never been more essential. Vend reports, “Research has shown that this particular generation cares about various environmental issues (76% are concerned about humanity’s impact on the planet) as well as social causes such as racial, gender, and income inequality.” [Gen Z come after millennials, and are currently more numerous than millennials or boomers.]

Millennials & Gen Z are big gift card buyers in the US - over 1/3 buy a card every 3 months.

Brick & mortar stores & malls are using your phone location data (location analytics) to make marketing and product decisions. “Every company interviewed for this story said it chooses not to use information that could identify individuals. But for the most part they’re on an honor system because rules governing data remain relatively lax.” This surprised me: “To glean details, including an individual’s age, income, ethnicity, education level, number of children and more, firms connect the phone’s evening location with U.S. Census data”

MISCELLANEOUS

US copyright law: the USSC rules that your copyright registration must be finished/approved before you can sue an infringer in federal court.

If you hate Gmail’s current layout, you will love this Chrome extension.

And if you use Google Sheets fairly often, you will likely learn something useful from these tips.

Google’s parent company, Alphabet, missed industry revenue expectations in the first quarter of 2019.

#seo #search engine optimization #etsynews #analytics #stats #social media #contentmarketing #ecommerce #smallbiz #cindylouwho2newsupdates

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myssthyss · 6 years

Text

Lost Dreamer ch1 - Distraction

Forsaken's story was a time for Myss, but not for the reasons you may initially think.

With @amara-the-average-hunter | On AO3

Casper, Iris, and both Hunters had felt poor Sundance go. The immense blast of Light she’d held shook them to their core and filled them with dread, their vision blinded for a moment. They’d fought their way down, trying to get to their Vanguard as soon as possible, but the corrupted Fallen kept blocking their way. Amara elected to run ahead, deftly dodging every enemy she could - just to try and reach Cayde in time - while Myss hung back to cull the horde.

They were too late.

She’d run up on the scene just as the Exo uttered his last words. Her partner was already knelt at his side, the cracks in her already weak composure visibly splitting as he - their Vanguard, their mentor, her girlfriend’s best friend - died his final death.

Amara had frivolously begun pleading for him to return, uttering denials that would never be heeded. There was nothing they could do now except comfort each other in mourning. Myss immediately slid in beside her girlfriend and took her into her arms. Amara roughly grabbed whatever pieces of Myss’ jacket she could get a hold of, and wailed.

Neither of them noticed Petra enter the room until she too knelt beside the body of their friend, a practiced, stern look barely masking the grief she shared with the pair. A blue, lightly illuminated hand was placed on Cayde’s chest, just over the hand he left there.

“I’m… So sorry.” was all the Queenless Queen’s Wrath could muster, meeting Myss’ glowing, grief-swollen eyes for a moment, before she shook her head, stood, and left the room. Whether she was apologizing to the pair of mourning Hunters, or to Cayde, Myss couldn’t be certain.

It was nearly an hour before they gathered the composure necessary to contact the Vanguard.

Returning to the City with Cayde in tow lasted a lifetime. How would the City respond? The Vanguard? The Guardians? The rest of their fellow Hunters? Everyone would mourn, she was certain, but what would be the response after that?

Ikora was angry. Vengeful, even, and rightfully so. Zavala was calm and calculated, processing his grief by putting his position as Commander, his people, first.

Myss fell more on Zavala’s side of the situation. It was irresponsible and reckless to send every single Guardian to tear apart the Reef hunting down a single Awoken target and his Baron lackeys.

She knew it wasn’t her place, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t want to exact revenge.

Cayde’s death was meant to buy Uldren and the Barons time, to allow them to properly organize whatever scheme they were planning, but… If Uldren thought that his actions would leave them free to roam, he was sorely mistaken. At least a third of all Guardians now placed a large target on the back of the Prince’s head. It wasn’t currently known how many of them would actively seek to hit it, but one who would try her damnedest to make sure she would be the one to hit it first was about to make herself known.

“You won’t have to.” Amara spoke up, prompted by the Commander’s refusal to bury any more friends. She stepped forward out of Myss’ arms, wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks. “Uldren Sov… is mine.”

The redhead marched out of the room, all eyes following in surprise for a moment, before Myss quickly retreated behind her.

Once they were further down the hallway, Myss noticed that Amara wasn’t heading to the exit, down the usual way they went home. She was making her way to the hangar, and panic began to take root in Myss’ chest. She didn’t think Amara would act this soon.

“You can’t do this alone.” Myss called after her girlfriend, reaching for her shoulder.

“I have to.” The redhead said, never missing a beat in her stride towards the hangar. “If Zavala and Ikora aren’t going to do anything, someone has to.”

“It’s suicide!” The taller Hunter said with unusual force and frenzy. “You saw who he’s dealing with. He’s got two Kell-sized Fallen on his side, one of which makes zombies out of dead vandals, and there’s six more besides them! Who knows what tricks they have up their sleeves.”

Amara never faltered in her stride. “I don’t care. I have to. For Cayde.”

Myss’ hand finally makes purchase on Amara’s shoulder, trying to stop her advance.

“Let go.” The redhead snapped as she glared at her girlfriend, lightly jostling her shoulder to escape from Myss’ grip. “You can’t stop me from going.”

“I know.” She sighed, burying her reaction to Amara’s snap as she placed her other hand on her cheek. “I’m going with you.”

“Oh, Myss...” Amara tutted, shaking her head as she removed Myss’ hands. “Don’t. You don’t have to. You yourself said it’s suicide.”

“I’m not losing you too, ‘Mara.” Myss glared back, a small frown etching its way into her cheeks. “If nothing else, you need someone to watch your back. To make sure you can pull the trigger.”

A moment of silent understanding passed between them, then Amara took Myss’ hand and bolted for the hangar.

A week’s gone by, and they’ve managed to take down two Barons: The Rider and the Trickster, Yaviks and Araskes. The Rider’s toxic fuel still sat heavy in their lungs, and the Trickster’s sick games made them continuously wary of every engram they picked up.

Otherwise, the other Barons remained elusive, their progress slowed to a crawl, and Myss can’t stop staring at the Watchtower.

As soon as they landed in the Shore and she saw that immense structure in the distance, the Awoken couldn’t keep her mind, or her eyes, off of it. She felt a pull, a draw, to the gorgeous porcelain-like tower. Petra hadn’t told them much - if anything - about the massive building, other than its Queen-ordered sealed state and her theories on the Prince’s endgame plan.

And yet it continued to beckon her.

Myss had felt a pull to return to the Reef since her revival, but it was always quiet enough to ignore. Now that she’s here, the call is deafening, and she found herself staring off in the distance more often than not. She wondered what the structure holds, what secrets and answers it must contain in order for it to have been calling to her. They were here to hunt the Barons, get Uldren, and avenge Cayde, but all she could think about was getting closer to that tower.

“I shouldn’t be telling you - Guardians - this, but…” Petra had begun, eyes trained on the ground as she composed herself. “My people’s - our people’s…” The Queen’s Wrath shot Myss a brief, pointed look, before turning back to Amara. “...greatest secrets lie beyond that Watchtower.”

Myss’ attention hyperfocused on that information as Petra continued debriefing about Uldren and the Barons. Could the other Awoken sense her curiosity and desperation? Was she dropping hints? Whetting her appetite? Luring her into the hunt with the hope of ending up at the tower, and finding what she’d been searching for? She wished she could ask more, but the mission is the focus, and Petra’s known to be very good at withholding sensitive details.

Over all, Myss is distracted by the potentiality within and beyond the tower, while Amara is angry and neck-deep in the hunt.

During the initial part of their mission, small rift forms between the Hunters. Myss is there to watch Amara’s back, but she can barely keep her eyes on Amara for more than five minutes before they take on a thousand-yard stare in the vague direction of the tower. Amara barely seems to notice, as her eyes are always pointed forward, focused on the mission and exacting revenge. Their conversations began to dwindle, they spent most evenings in less-than-comfortable silence, and they often found themselves doing anything but sleeping during the night.

It’s only after the fourth Baron, the Hangman - Reksis Vahn, was defeated that the two begin to open up to each other about their individual struggles with their mission.

Amara was scared of what this hunt was turning her into. She didn’t like feeling so angry, acting so cold, being so distant from her loved ones. Was this hunt worth it? Would it really make her feel better? Killing Uldren wouldn’t bring Cayde back, which is what she truly wanted, after all. A healthier way of dealing with her grief needed to be found, because the current method was making it harder for her to deal with the loss.

Myss shared her feelings regarding her distraction. This was the closest to her people, to the last place she lived - in her first life - that she’s ever been, and she felt like the Watchtower held answers to hundreds of questions she’d never even thought to ask. She had no idea why the draw was so powerful, why it was consuming ninety-eight percent of her attention, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had answers, however she managed to get them.

Amara ensured Myss’ draw to the Tower and her people is valid, despite the taboo of Guardians looking into their past lives. The origin of the Awoken was shrouded in so much mystery that even the most far-fetched theories seemed plausible. Her people have an endless list of never-answered questions that often manifested in wildly varying, vivid, cryptic dreams, which Myss couldn’t even identify with until very recently.

Myss comforted Amara in her anger and grief, allowing her to let it out, to cry in her arms, to be held, to be loved the way she needed to be loved. In addition, she brought Amara to an isolated corner of the Shore that she had found, a place that she’d be free to scream and curse if she so chose. She did both rather promptly once her chains were let loose.

In the end, they made a comfortable camp in a cave, next to some ancient white statues. Myss had Casper transmat her guitar and began strumming, while Amara joins in with her voice after some coaxing. The pair formed a tune not yet heard by either of their ears, but had been brewing in their hearts during the mission. This didn’t fully close the rift that Cayde’s death and the subsequent hunt had torn between them, but it helped it begin to heal.

The pair began openly communicating again shortly after. Amara regularly pulls Myss out of her reveries, and Myss in turn keeps Amara focused on the greater good of the mission. Together, they managed to take down the next three Barons in a matter of days, and were ready and eager to move on to the Fanatic and Uldren.

The next day, Petra’s final reconnaissance update made Myss’ breath catch in her throat. Uldren and the Fanatic were already on their way to the Watchtower, and they’d need to move immediately in order to stop the Prince and his last pawn.

They barely had a chance to celebrate the last Baron’s defeat before Petra was eagerly ushering them into the Watchtower.

As they approached, it took every ounce of Myss’ restraint to not stand still and just marvel at the ancient architecture. She’d spent the last week and a half staring at this massive structure from miles away, and now... she was here, standing in front of it - within its vestibule, its foyer. All she wanted to do was explore the building, learn its secrets, discover everything she could. But there would - hopefully - be time for that later.

They had a gun to reclaim first.

As they ascended the first small set of stairs into the grand foyer, intricately carved from an ethereal marble, Myss slowed her pace ever so slightly. She marveled at the dozen or so statues lining the walls, the crystalline glint on the floor, and the glowing threshold ahead. Only Petra’s voice chiming in over the comms was enough to pull her attention.

“Guardians. No one has stood where you are since the Queen closed these doors.” The Queen’s Wrath said gently. Then, after a beat, “Welcome home, cousin.”

Myss stopped dead in her tracks, her free hand flying to cover her mouth in surprise. A small, excited, yet sad whine left her throat, and her eyes began to well. Had Amara heard that, or had Petra said that to her alone?

“Babe? You okay?” She felt a tug at her shoulder… from above? When did she end up on her knees? “C’mon, we gotta go. We’ll come back after.”

She sniffled and returned to her feet, bow nocked and ready. “Right.”

The following events were a blur. They inspected several devices and artifacts along the way, all of which were either impossible or ancient. They traversed the... Ascendant Plane? They fought a haunted, or Taken, or possessed Servitor? It was all so insane and confusing, but now they had a broken and battered Prince Uldren laying at their feet, and Amara had the - equally broken and battered - Ace of Spades in her grasp.

Uldren said that the line between Light and Dark is immensely thin, and asked if they knew which side they were on. Amara scoffed, and dug her heel into the Prince’s chest.

“Do you?” She retorted.

And fired.

The first thing they did was report in to the Vanguard, to alert them of their progress. Zavala’s opinion was unwavering, but he congratulated them nonetheless. Ikora’s pleased with their progress, and commended them on a job well done. If nothing else, they helped stabilize the Tangled Shore, returning some law to the once lawless frontier.

Once they disconnected from the comms, the Hunters exhaled, and shared a quick kiss - elated that the Hunt was over and Cayde’s killers had faced justice for their numerous crimes. Hopefully they’d be able to return home soon and begin to fully heal from the loss.

But first…

“Petra.” Myss called as she approached the Queen’s Wrath. She’d already sent the Prince’s body to her ship, and was stood in front of the now-active portal’s control stone. “I have some questions.”

“I know.” Petra said, looking up from the stone. “As do I.” A hand is placed on her hip. “I am… aware of what Guardianship entails. That you would have died and been reborn in the Light, without knowledge of who you were before, in order to be who you are now.” She sighed. “...But I knew you in your first life, as Myss Thyss, Iris Commander.”

Myss inhaled sharply, training her eyes on the floor before she fished her pendant from her breast.

Petra nods, quickly reading the Awoken symbols that bore Myss’ first identity. “I’ve met many a reborn Awoken that took a new name, and was surprised when you introduced yourself with your first name.” A pause. “You were lost at the same time we believed Uldren and… Mara to be lost.” She sighs and, after a beat, places a hand on Myss’ shoulder. “The Light chose well.”

“I like to think so.” Myss chuckled, and managed a weak smile. “But… I have so many questions. About who I was, who I am. The Awoken and their - our history. There are thousands of Awoken Guardians that feel like they have no identity… because of how secretive they - we are.” She sighed. “I’ve felt drawn to this Tower since we first entered the Shore’s region and, now that I’m here, I have more questions than answers. I feel like I’ve made it but the final door is hidden.”

Petra nodded. “I understand, cousin. Here.” The Queen’s Wrath retrieved a small, broken statue from her pack - one that looked not unlike the statues they had passed on their journey to the top of the Tower. “Repair this talisman, and I’ll answer every question you have. When it is fixed, return here, and I will show you the way.”

Myss nodded in return as she took the small figure. “I’ll be back soon.”

Petra smiled, releasing her hold on Myss. “I look forward to it. Talk to the Spider for your first clue.” In the next moment, Petra returned to her ship.

“Sounds like you’ve got a quest of your own.” Amara called from behind.

“I - Yeah.” Myss responded, holding the talisman to her chest. “This is my key to the answers I’m looking for.”

“Better get to it.”

“Right.” Myss said as she summoned Casper. “You coming?”

Amara thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. This is something you need to do. It’s your people. Besides…” The redhead brandished the Ace of Spades, holding it gingerly in her grip. “I gotta repair her. I don’t know what Uldren did to make her look like such shit, but I need to fix it.”

“Mm.” Myss hummed in agreement. “Banshee will know what to do.”

“Yeah.” Amara smiled, holstering Ace to instead take both of Myss’ hands. “Good luck, babe.”

Myss gave a toothy grin in return, leaning to give her girlfriend a kiss. “Thanks, hon. You too.” She rested her forehead against Amara’s, relaxing her breath. “See you soon.”

“Not soon enough.” Amara squeezed their intertwined hands, and is suddenly gone - transmatted to her ship.

Myss is left alone in the massive Awoken structure, her own journey just beginning.

#destiny fanfic #destiny 2 #destiny 2 forsaken #forsaken spoilers #[fic]#[c:myss]#[c:amara]#[s:myssmara]#[npc:petra]

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scriptautistic · 6 years

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Part 1. I'm not sure if I should ask here or scriptmedic but her asks are off, but this probably requires both of your help. Well, two of my characters got in an accident, the allistic one is unconscious and obviously can't help but the autistic one is severely injured. Anyway his injuries would be cracked ribs, steel bar cut into his stomach, crushed arm, broken arm, broken leg, and a really bloody head that has to get checked for concussion. He can't stim as usual due to the immense pain, he's

Part 2. He can’t stim as usual due to the immense pain, he’s absolutely terrified, and just screams and cries because he’s in distress (due to both the pain but especially autism), it’s even worse when the EMT’s attempt to touch him. I can’t figure out a way for the EMT’s to deal with him since they don’t know about him being autisitc and they can’t communicate [he doesn’t even talk], while the whole thing is being extremely stressful for the autistic character. What should be happening for the

Part 3. How should the EMTs and the hospital to effectively help? Would they even recognize that he may be autistic or have some kind of mental issue and perhaps send for a psychiatrist? What would a psychiatrist suggest? Also, the hospital they are taking him to doesn’t have any of his medical files. Thanks. Sorry for the long ask.

Sorry, this isn’t really anything in our area of expertise - the questions are all about the medical practitioners rather than the autistic character. None of us have experience with this sort of situation, but EMS workers do have a lot of experience dealing with agitated patients. Maybe some of our followers might have ideas, either because they are an EMT/paramedic or because they have been through a similar situation?

We’ll approach this more from the perspective of the autistic character because that is an area where we do have expertise!

First of all, a person in agonising pain because of horrible wounds is probably not “screaming and crying because of the pain but especially autism”. Screaming and crying due to pain is not atypical. They are probably screaming and crying mainly because of pain and distress. Being autistic may mean that they have additional causes for distress than a typical patient in the same situation … but it is not just “autism” making them scream; having “cracked ribs, steel bar cut into his stomach, crushed arm, broken arm, broken leg, and a really bloody head” is enough to cause someone extreme pain and distress regardless of their neurotype. Even if you believe that the pain is not enough to cause this reaction, it helps to remember that “autistic people do not do the visibly autistic things we do because of “autism,” full stop. We do things because, like non-autistic people, we are responding to our experiences of the world, and one of the characteristics of being autistic is that our experiences of the world differ from those of non-autistic people.” (from the article Writing Autistic Characters: Behaviorizing vs. Humanizing Approaches)

If the EMTs cannot communicate with the character at all, they will treat him as lacking capacity to consent and do what they feel is in his best interests. They will use any information available, like they would for any other unidentified patient who did not have the capacity to communicate (because they are unconscious for example).

However, being unable to speak does not mean that the character cannot communicate. The medical personnel would narrate what they were doing, and can ask yes or no questions that the character might be able to respond to. Using words is not the only way to communicate. The character can show agreement by nodding or shaking their head, making noises to mean “no” or “yes”, and use other techniques suggested in this post.

Depending on the situation, EMTs do sometimes have to use restraint (this will be if a patient presents a danger to themselves or to others, and will only be after they have tried other ways of calming the patient).

Autistic people are more likely to be subject to restraint (both in a medical setting and in life in general). Restraint is traumatic and can present a risk to life if not done properly. Sometimes it becomes necessary for the safety of an individual, but often use of restraint is avoidable. Being physically restrained, drugged, and locked up are an assault on an individual’s autonomy and can have a big impact on how they see themselves. I do not think that your character would be restrained by EMS, but if it becomes an issue at any point during his treatment I would hope to see you acknowledge the emotional impact it has on the character.

I managed to get in touch with a paramedic I know who says:

Restraint is a last resort, but the character’s injuries are potentially life-threatening, and without knowing the history of the character, EMS’s assumption is that the behavioral changes are due to head trauma, not underlying pathology or neuroatypicality. The ER is going to feel the same way (especially with the bloody head.) If the character is specifically sensitive to touch, they’re going to have a Bad Day™. There willl be hands, IVs, oxygen sensors, EKG electrodes, and probably a cast for the broken arm. Also, remember that the character will likely get pain medication, either by EMS or in the ER, and those have significant sedative effects. Also, this character is going in a CT scanner at some point to scan their brain, and that may mean having to sedate them enough to get compliance, because you can’t scan a moving head. So there’s likely to be chemical and/or physical restraint, especially if the character attempts to strike a staff member, even if that strike is, from the character’s POV, self-defense.

The emergency medical services’ priority will be treating any life-threatening injuries. The character himself is likely to be extremely traumatised by the event, having experienced an accident, severe pain, and being placed in a situation where he was unable to communicate, as well as possible experience of medical trauma and undergoing medical procedures without the ability to give or withhold consent.

-Mod SnailWas this helpful? Consider buying me a coffee and checking out the FAQ

#injury cw #restraint cw #medical abuse cw #medicine #pain #question #mod snail #trauma #ask #mild gore cw

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theonewithpurplehair · 6 years

Text

Why is Everyone Blaming Vice Admiral Holdo?

I adored Star Wars: The Last Jedi. I have my gripes, but the thematic arcs, the meta commentary on Star Wars itself as a franchise and its fanbase, and most of the character beats are so damn good that even those flaws don’t undermine my love for it. I’ve pretty much been thinking and talking about it to whoever would listen for the past three weeks since it came out. The only thing I’m really salty about is a subset of the fanbase (you know the one) that lobs any and every critique imaginable at the film because they’re really upset that the film no longer centers cishet white male protagonists. One of the critiques currently at the top of my list of “Why Is This What People Are Mad About?” is the criticism of Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo not telling Poe the plan.

People seem to be forgetting that she’s his commanding officer. She is under absolutely no obligation to tell a subordinate all of her plans, especially if he is not involved in the carrying out of those plans. Note that none of the other subordinates on the ship—who also may not have agreed with her decisions and would have liked to know the plans just as much as Poe did—felt the need to mutiny except for those he was able to convince to join his side. Kaydel Ko Connix (played by Billie Lourd if you don’t know the character name), Finn, and Rose likely wouldn’t have mutinied without Poe is what I’m saying.

Also note that, as Holdo’s subordinate, he was required by military regulation to tell his commanding officer (Holdo) the information that he gleaned from Rose and Finn about the tracker. That information and the subsequent plan is only “need to know” but she’s his superior officer and the one in charge of the Resistance fleet. She most definitely needs to know every piece of intel in order to make an informed decision as to what’s best for the fleet. What Poe says about her ‘not needing to know’ is absolute bullshit and comes from a place of wounded pride (don’t worry, I’ll come back to this).

To me, one of the only reasons I can see that people don’t recognize that Holdo was not obligated to tell Poe but he was obligated to inform her is the gendered nature of their dynamic. Switch the genders around and I have a hard time believing that the same people who are mad that Holdo didn’t tell Poe would be upset that a male Vice Admiral Holdo didn’t tell female subordinate pilot Poe about all of his plans. It would be clear that a male Vice Admiral Holdo was the one in charge and was not required to tell his subordinates his plans. Rather, it was their job, as his subordinates, to do as he instructed regardless of whether or not they had all of the information or even agreed with all of the choices he was making. That’s the nature of command.

When I hear the complaint that Holdo should have told Poe what she was doing, it sounds suspiciously like “FEMALE commander ought to have told her MALE subordinate her plans so that he could approve of them.” Honestly, that’s what people are asking for, that Poe get a chance to comment on or change his commanding officer’s plans based on information that he intentionally withheld from her because he was mad he didn’t get a voice in a decision he had no right to be involved in, but for some reason felt entitled to. In business management terms, Poe believed it was a Type 3 decision (one that required group input to reach a conclusion), when really, it was a Type 1 decision (it was Holdo’s decision and required to input).

That she wasn’t obligated to tell him anything seems to be the stance the film has taken as well. We never get an explanation for why she didn’t tell him, because none is necessary. I like the headcanon that she was concerned about a spy given that she had no clue about the Imperial tracker (thanks to Poe) and thus may have suspected someone on board was feeding Hux intel to track them through hyperspace. However, that’s not even necessary. Poe felt entitled to an explanation of the plan and maybe audiences did, too. But she wasn’t obligated to give one. All Poe needed to do was trust her because she was second to Leia and his commanding officer. He didn’t.

Why? Based on what we see on screen, Poe not being named the replacement leader in Leia’s place when she was in a coma visibly upsets him. He seems to have been under the impression that he would be named commander in her place. Why? I have no idea. He had just been not just verbally taken to task but demoted. Yet still he felt he would be put in charge. He’s already predisposed to resent Holdo’s leadership based on his expectations. Then, she shuts him out of the decision making process. As I said, she wasn’t under any obligation to include him. Moreover, Poe just defied orders, cost the Resistance dozens of lives and ships they couldn’t afford to lose. He’s reckless, hotheaded, and prone to feats of self-defined ‘heroism’ with costly consequences and very little tangible results. Finn has the same impulse actually. As Melissa Hillman put it,

Both Poe and Finn ignore orders from women to stand down and escape in favor of chasing glorious, but pyrrhic, victories.

The Last Jedi spends an enormous amount of time and care on the theme “sometimes escape is the more sensible option, and glorious victories too often come at such a high cost they become failures.” Women in the Resistance are constantly fighting against cocky young men chasing glory, constantly trying to save lives that these cocky young men would sacrifice for that glory. This is a film that sees glorious sacrifice as a last resort and escape as a pragmatic and sensible choice. This is a film about discretion being the better part of valor.

He’s honestly the last person Holdo would want involved in a plan focused on attrition, running from the enemy, and ultimately planning a secret escape. Her plan required secrecy, discretion, levelheadedness, and seeming stagnation. So…the opposite of Poe’s personality and fighting style. Why would she even want to include him at all? He’s a risk.

Poe actually proves her right by allowing his wounded pride to dictate his actions instead of taking a more levelheaded approach. Rather than inform her of the significant intel he gleans from Rose and Finn, he nurses his disgruntlement. He plays ‘tit for tat’ in a game he doesn’t know all the moves of and ends up getting people killed. He’s mad she won’t include him in a decision he has no right to be involved in, so he excludes her from information and a decision she has every right to be involved in and he was actually going against military protocol to exclude her from.

Maybe if he had gone to Holdo with Finn and Rose’s conclusions about the tracker, she might have approved of his plan. Maybe, by proving that he was someone who could think clearly and follow orders by giving her information she needed, she might have trusted him and included him in her plan. Maybe not. And it would have been within her rights as the commander of the fleet to do any of those things. According to military code, she doesn’t have to act on his intel, but he has to give it to her.

Yet, somehow, Holdo is the one taking all the flak for what happened. But the fault doesn’t like in Holdo for not giving sensitive information to a recently demoted subordinate who got in trouble for being unwilling to listen to orders and subsequently getting good people killed. The fault lies in Poe for believing his sense of (unearned) entitlement to information meant he could do whatever he wanted even when it went against military code. Even if it went against the established chain of command. Even if not giving Holdo his information meant endangered everyone in the fleet and actually got people killed with DJ betrayed Finn and Rose.

He felt entitled to information his commanding officer held while simultaneously believing he had a right to withhold critical information as punishment even if it was a risk and against the rules. He thought himself above the rules. Not just once, but multiple times. He learns, which is great, but to blame Holdo ignores the fact that his belligerence and pride where she is concerned are not condoned by the film. “You have to tell me yours, but I don’t have to tell you mine”—that’s entitlement and wounded pride, plain and simple.

He’s the one at fault here. From where I sit, blaming Holdo for Poe’s entitlement and wounded pride looks remarkably like sexism.

Image Courtesy of Disney and Lucasfilm

Why is Everyone Blaming Vice Admiral Holdo? was originally published on The Raconteur

#Amilyn Holdo #Poe Dameron #sexism #star wars #The Last Jedi #Vice Admiral Holdo #my blog #crosspost

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lewepstein · 3 years

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Big Lies In Politics and Life

All lies are potentially dangerous but some are more dangerous than others. If we want to understand the nature of lies we need to think about the notion of power. Sometimes lies are attempts to gain power over others by manipulating reality. In other situations lies disempower people by withholding important information that they need to know. One thing that lies have in common is that they impede our distinctly human and universal quest to arrive at something that we commonly call, “the truth.”

We tend to make a distinction between public and private lies. Public lies are often seen as opportunistic, practiced by corporations and politicians who play with the truth to increase their wealth or power. Private lies occur in our personal lives and may involve our intimate relationships, relatives and friends - they are the family secrets, marital affairs, and patterns of deception that allow people to hide their dalliances and avoid facing their guilt and their shame. I’ve worked with families in which parents pretended someone wasn’t an alcoholic who really was. They lied to their children about this and insisted that all family members present a united front to the outside world. I’ve also seen secrets about child sexual abuse passed down the generations with family members sworn to secrecy because of the shame it would expose. Perhaps the most egregious lies I have witnessed have had to do with wives who have been brainwashed to believe that they are the cause of their husband’s abusive behavior, rather than their partners’ deep sense of inadequacy. When we look at repeated lies that brainwash family members, along with pressures to be loyal to the authority of the clan, how different is this from the more public lies that occur in politics?

So much of my role as a therapist has to do with getting to the truth. In Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, the question, “Is this true?,” is a big part of the self reflection so useful in challenging our personal distortions. Of course, there isn’t one universally agreed upon truth and partners in a marriage certainly disagree about many things. That is usually why they seek help in the first place. But what I have found over the years is that there are almost always underlying truths - things going on below the surface that nobody wants to speak about. This has occurred so often that I now see most couple’s therapy as a crisis of honesty in one form or another. It is not that people seeking help are consciously lying or trying to cover something up. It has more to do with what we all fall prey to at times - not wanting to deal with issues that we know will be uncomfortable to bring up. It may seem easier, at least in the short run, to avoid things that we consider difficult to examine. Who among us hasn’t had the thought at one time or another, “Why rock the boat?” The problem with that type of thinking is that the things that we tend to avoid - the little lies and lies of omission, can become big lies over time. They can take an outsize toll on our marriages, our families and ourselves.

Big lies in politics may seem different from personal lies, but there are some interesting parallels. The philosophy of the “big lie” in the twentieth century is mostly associated with Joseph Goebbels, Nazi Minister of Propaganda from 1933 through 1945. He is attributed with saying, “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually believe it.” Goebbels used the big lie to blame “international Jewery” for Germany’s defeat in World War I, turning long standing anti-Semitism into mass extermination.

During World War II, in 1943, the United States office of Strategic Services published a “psychological analysis of Adolph Hitler,” which has “the big lie” as its core component:

“Never allow the public to cool off. Never admit a fault or a wrong, never concede that there might be something good in your enemy, never leave room for alterations, never accept blame….people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it.”

If this profile sounds familiar, it is. It is not just a psychological portrait of Adolph Hitler, it is also the “big lie” element of Donald Trump’s personality and political playbook. Although his fact checked lies during four years in office number approximately twenty three thousand, the following are some of his biggest:

The “birther lie” regarding Barack Obama’s citizenship.

The “jobs that he was going to bring back,” lie.

The “border wall that Mexico was going to pay for,” lie.

The “ better health care plan that was coming soon,” lie.

The “Covid-19 is not dangerous and will soon disappear,” lie.

The “Antifa is the biggest threat and not white nationalists” lie.

The “election fraud is in predominantly Black majority cities,” lie

The “election was stolen and therefore you need to attack the capitol,” lie.

These lies and others were told again and again, in Tweets to his devoted followers, during press conferences and at rallies. The falsehoods were aided and abetted by other Republican politicians who were willing to climb on the Trump bandwagon, avoided calling him out and decided to forego the truth in order to avoid the political fallout. The lies were further amplified by the right wing echo chambers of Fox “”news,” Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Glen Beck, among others.

The consequences of big lies - their repetition when they suit someone’s political ambitions and the refusal by others to call them out and repudiate them in a clear and consistent way, are having a powerful and negative impact on our society. We might say that our country is suffering from a crisis of honesty as well as a pandemic. How different is this really from a family in which abuse is going on - sexual, physical or emotional - and no one in that family is willing to talk about it honestly and openly? Sadly, the abuser remains in a position of power, while others are disempowered by the maintaining of the lie. On a national scale, political parties and parts of the population may continue to pay homage to the abuser, some believing that he will somehow, magically change. Meanwhile, our national family is becoming sicker and members continue to suffer.

Even as a new administration takes over in Washington, a vaccination program is ramping up and our national economy may be on the mend as the pandemic hopefully wanes, there is a cloud hanging over our society. Beyond the physical and economic realities there is a moral crisis and a crisis of truth that needs to be reckoned with. It is most visible in the Republican Party which is polarizing around self interest but also around the issue of what is true and what is not - what narratives are the party leadership going to embrace? The clinging to known lies is creating a bad deal between some of the party leadership and its base - one feeding off of and validating the other. Reinforcing tribal hatred and prejudice is part of this devil’s bargain that is now connected to an autocratic and fascistic movement.

The reckoning that is necessary when it comes to lies, whether they be personal or political is for those who are buttressing the lies and the liar to break free. It has to do with re-establishing one’s integrity - one’s own relationship with the truth. Family members and party leaders are best positioned to explode the myths surrounding the liar and his big lies. They can transform themselves and their organizations in the process. Tribunals and investigations, like the recent impeachment trial of Donald Trump, have their place in countering pernicious and poisonous narratives like, “the election was stolen.” But it is up to the entire Republican party, both leaders and voters, to cleanse themselves or face the judgment of history. There can be no reconciliation without truth.

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

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Countless Roads - Chapter 15

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 15 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

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“I can’t do it,” Len says immediately once they're both downstairs and out of hearing range. “You don't understand, I can’t –”

“You can and you will,” Lewis snaps. “Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of the old man, son; once he returns, he’ll have an iron grip on power, and we’ll be the only ones who know his secret – think of the power we’ll have, you and I –”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Len hisses. “I was – I wasn’t serious –”

“Be quiet,” Lewis snarls. “Not in the house! He might decide to come back into Cabrera –”

“He can’t hear us,” Len says impatiently; he needs his dad to understand what they're dealing with so that they can hurry up and get to the point in which Len refuses to do this, Lewis beats the crap out of him, and then, with luck, they part ways. Sometimes Lewis demands Len make it up to him somehow, whether by helping with a heist or something like that; Len can do that. Len cannot do this. This is worse than blasphemy; the mere suggestion is an abomination. “Tomio's definitely gone for the moment. Cabrera controls when he comes and goes; that’s why he uses the cigar. It’s the guide that draws Tomio in. As long as it’s lit, Tomio has the body; when it’s out, Cabrera returns. It’s obvious.”

“Huh,” Lewis says, looking contemplative. “He always said –”

“Of course he always said; he doesn’t want to appear weak! But –”

“You talking back to me, boy?” Lewis asks, and his voice has gone cold.

Len falters. He’s reminded of how much his body hurts, his head aching terribly, his bruises tender, his chest all tight with anxiety. Worse, he's reminded of how much it could hurt. What he feels now is nothing; his dad always knew how to identify Len's limits and go past them in an effort to teach Len what he called 'lessons', no matter what Len did. He's the one who taught Len what his limits were in the first place; everything Len's ever learned about hurting another human being, he learned from the man standing before him now. “No, sir.”

"Good," Lewis says with satisfaction.

"What did you do to me?" Len asks instead, because that’s what he really cares about right now when you put aside the whole awful request. The way he is right now, he couldn't do it anyway, which means his dad has figured out something that Len hasn't, and that doesn't happen that often.

But it's not just that cold calculation, that worry that his dad has an ace up his sleeve - his dad always has an ace, that's how he operates. He'd never go after Len without some sort of plan to put Len under his thumb once more.

It's just terror. Bone-deep terror, of the sort Len's never felt before, not even when he thought was going to die. Terror beyond the fear of whatever else his dad has planned, because right now Len can't hear his ghosts and he's totally losing it. He never even questioned it before; he never knew how the whispers of the ghosts were his constant backdrop until now. He never knew how much his whole world was based on what he had thought was an unalterable fact of his existence.

It’s so quiet.

He has to find a way to make the quiet stop or else he’ll go mad.

Len forces himself to add, "Dad. Don Santini said it was your secret, but..."

Lewis laughs, cruel and ugly. "Oh, you always thought you were so much smarter than your old man, didn't you?" he asks. "Always thought you could fix my heists, like they needed fixing – you were always so squeamish, trying to save lives, like that's at all important compared to getting the job done. Well, I've figured you out. I know how to shut you off."

"But how?"

Lewis smiles and puts a hand on Len's shoulder. His fingers dig in, less out of a desire to make a point than sheer habitual malice. "Don't think you need to know that right now, son."

Len's fingers clench. But he knows his role, as much as he hates it. "Of course not," he says, studying the ground. "But, Dad, how can I learn my lesson if you don't tell me?"

Lewis smirks.

One thing Len knows: Lewis never could keep from boasting about his goddamn cleverness. It’s a trait Len knows all too well that he’s inherited; he’s tried to manage the downsides of such a trait by restricting his crowing about his stunts to Mick, who listens fondly to the thousandth round of ‘and then I did this – you know because you were there, but it was so awesome’, and even then he sometimes finds himself having to call off jobs because he's opened his big mouth and boasted about it to the wrong person.

But getting Lewis to that stage – well, sometimes it takes a few steps.

Len swallows his pride. Ego isn't going to help him now. "Please?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lewis says, drawing the words out. “Maybe I don’t think you need to know this one at all.”

Len bows his head. “Sure, dad,” he says meekly. “Guess I’ll just never know how you taught me.”

Lewis frowns a little. Nothing like the thought of his cleverness going unrecognized to make him reconsider a decision to withhold information – especially if it looks like Len’s not going to suffer from fits of curiosity like Lewis would like him too. No point in dangling something the other side doesn’t visibly want, after all.

Not when the point of withholding the information is to cause suffering, anyway.

After a few moments – and shoving Len into the passenger side of the car, like he couldn’t get in himself – Lewis snorts, and Len knows he's won the battle, if not the war; Lewis won't be able to resist telling him. “Glass,” Lewis says.

“What?” Len asks, thrown. That makes no sense.

"Glass," Lewis repeats. "It's glass."

At Len's dumbfounded look, he laughs.

“You were sixteen or something,” Lewis says, reminiscing with a faint smirk. “I had the Santinis over and you got underfoot the way you always did, being annoying and disturbing people –” Len never willingly interrupted a Family meeting his dad was holding, but this isn’t the first time they’ve disagreed over what constitutes being a disturbance. Sitting quietly in the corner not doing anything when someone gets angry, for instance. “—and when Piero tried being nice to you, you brushed him off like trash. Remember that?”

Len does remember that, actually; Piero – now Don Piero Santini, head of the Santini Family’s hooker wing, dipping his filthy fingers both into running the local pimps and importing new ones through trafficking – had been young, then, just another one of Don Tomio’s sons, not even a Don in his own right yet, but he’d been just as awful. Len had been bringing out beers for everyone all evening, his father’s version of hospitality, and Piero had followed Len back into the kitchen when he’d been taking the empty bottles to throw away, and he’d grabbed Len, put his sticky fingers over him, and Len had pulled away in revulsion. It hadn’t even been voluntary, his disgust momentarily overriding his instincts for self-preservation.

Piero had grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over Len’s head.

Don Tomio had laughed.

Yeah, Len remembers that. That’d been the time he’d gone to the hospital despite his father’s edicts against it. The time he'd panicked terribly and thought he was dying, that he'd nearly died. The time he’d told Mick about the black book.

First time they’d kissed.

“You made such a goddamn fuss,” Lewis says, shaking his head in memory. “Little scratch on the head like that, it was nothing – I had to escort the Santinis out of there, apologizing for you the whole time, ‘cause you were being such a baby, and then before I came home to show you what’s what, your stupid sister called the ambulance. Cost us a pretty penny.”

Len nods mutely. When it looks like Lewis isn’t going to continue, lost in memory, still grumbling about the cost of the goddamn ambulance that was probably the only thing that saved Len’s life, Len asks, “But, Dad, what’s that got to do with the ghosts? I know I’m dumb, but I don’t get it.”

“You are dumb,” Lewis says, appeased, puffing up his chest a bit at the thought of understanding something Len doesn’t. “Last thing I heard when we was walking out was you caterwauling like a crazy person, screaming about how you couldn’t see Mick – that stupid invisible friend you were always whispering with, and also that partner you showed up with some years later – and when I found out about Lisa's little talent after the black hole business, I put two and two together. I knew at once that it wasn't Lisa, she never spoke to the air or had invisible friends or nothing, so it had to be you, and then I remembered you and the glass and all that screaming - yeah, it was easy enough to figure out. It’s the glass, y’see.”

They said you had glass in your skull, Len remembers Mick saying, sounding so young, so upset.

The back of his head throbs.

“You put glass in my head,” Len says dully.

“Didn’t need much,” Lewis confirms. “Your stupid ma always did say a hundredth part was enough of anything. She’s where you got it from, I bet. Stupid bitch never told me, not even when we could've used it - selfish, she was, always selfish.”

Len doesn’t bother arguing.

Glass. He’d never known. He'd never even thought back on that time enough to guess.

It’s so quiet.

"Now,” Lewis says. “Why don’t we talk instead about what you'll be needing to do what Don Santini asks."

Len swallows. The black book – a ghost’s fondest dream, to come back to life whole and entire, not as a ghost, not even as the close-enough mimicry that Len’s given to Mick, but life itself. Their own life back, instead of leeching off the life of others; everything any ghost's ever wanted.

He can't. He doesn't know what it'll do - to him, to them, to the universe.

But he lied, all those years ago, when he told Mick he didn't know how to do it.

The worst thing you can do, his mother had told him, eyes wistful, thinking of her own family where she learned all of this, is also the easiest. If I could not tell you, I would, and let the damned knowledge die forever. But it's too easy, baby, too easy to get wrong, and I won't let you blunder into it by accident when I can save you from that fate. So let me tell you how it's done, so you don't ever do it. Let me teach you. Let me tell you how to make the dead dance on this earth again. But, my son: this you must never do!

But Lewis can’t ever know that. No one can.

Len can't do it.

Len won't do it.

And with that decision made, all that's left is finding out how much it's going to hurt him - how much Lewis is going to hurt him - for refusing.

"Dad – " he starts, aiming for conciliatory, something to soothe the blow of Len’s refusal.

"Do you know what this is?" Lewis asks abruptly, showing him a remote he pulls out of his pocket.

Len hesitates. He doesn't. A remote can be programmed to anything, and his father is the worst sort of cunning. Lewis Snart always has an ace up his sleeve. Always.

"This is your sister's life."

Len's blood runs cold. "No."

"This here remote is programmed to set off a bomb," Lewis says, and smiles. Len doesn't see a lie in that smile, no matter how desperately he searches for one. “You didn’t think you’re the only one with a piece of glass in their head, do you?”

“Glass –”

“High end fiber optics set up,” Lewis says with satisfaction. “I click this button, it activates the frequency. Keep it on long enough, well.” He mimes an explosion with one hand, making a fist and then spreading his fingers wide. “Her pretty little head goes boom.”

“But Lisa ain’t got the power,” Len protests. “You know she doesn't. I’m the only one that does. You don’t need to put glass in her.”

If he can get Lewis to remove the threat to Lisa –

“I know,” Lewis says, crushing Len’s tiny shred of hope. “But it’s always good to have a Plan B, especially since I’m going to have to pull the glass out of you to let you do your thing. Can't have you taking advantage of that little break to start summoning up whoever you please for a rescue mission.”

Len looks down at his lap, where his hands are clenched so tight that his nails have started to draw blood from his palms. As much as he hates to give his dad credit for anything, it’s not a bad plan.

There’s every chance that it’ll work, actually. Len can’t risk anything happening to Lisa, he’s never been able to risk that, and he believes his father when he says that he’s put a bomb in her head, as monstrous an idea as it is. And without his ability, he'd never be able to get someone to warn Lisa of the danger - like him, she probably just figured that the pain in her head was the results of having been knocked out, not of having a bomb in there. She'd be confused, annoyed, but not scared, and she wouldn't bother going to a doctor to get it checked out. She'd never know to do it.

Just as bad, Len has no idea what happens to Mick if Len’s power is shut off – he’s still a ghost, in the end; a strong one, yes, one that people can see, but if he spends the life energy that Len gave him in a futile attempt to find Len, to save him, then by the time Mick actually does find him, he’ll be weak enough for Cabrera’s bindings to trap him. And that would be utterly intolerable, as intolerable as the idea of anything happening to Lisa.

And Len won’t even be able to see him to warn him. The fact that he saw Cabrera’s possession – mediums are the creepiest goddamn creatures in the world, well beyond ghosts, it’s official – while Lewis and Nicolas didn’t even flinch means that he’s still got some of his ability, buried as it is beneath the glass, but the ghosts make no noise anymore and he hasn't seen or heard a single one, even though he knows how many there are in this city.

It’s so quiet.

Len has no doubt that they’ll get Mick, either; Tomio rose to rule the Santini Family with an iron fist from the unenvious position of being the seventh grandson, born on the right side of the sheets via a marriage taking place less than two weeks before his birth, and he did it by virtue of being more ruthless than everyone else. Assuming Mick's still out there and free somewhere, it wouldn’t be hard to lure Mick in – Len foolishly gave him the task of dealing with the Santini problem, and Mick’s only gotten more and more obsessed with the issue after repeated failures. Now that Len’s gone missing, if there’s so much as a hint that someone knows something, Mick will be there, and Cabrera will be waiting.

And then, with both Mick and Lisa under threat, Len will be under his dad’s thumb for good. At least until he raises the dead too many times and his soul, and very likely his life, is lost for good.

It’s like Lewis always told him. There’s no escape. Lewis will always win in the end, and this whole time, Len’s just been kidding himself, thinking he's been free, thinking he somehow won his freedom. So many years of freedom. With Lisa, with Mick…

No.

Len didn’t give up and given in to Lewis' plots when he was a kid, and he’s damn well not giving up now.

He just needs time.

“Now what ingredients do you need for the resurrection ritual?” Lewis asks.

“Earth,” Len says, trying to think of something that sounds realistic. He's never done a ritual in his life; his curse doesn't work that way, but Cabrera's powers clearly do, and Lewis is obviously assuming they run on similar lines. False, but Len's never one to correct his opponent's mistakes for them. “You know – ashes to ashes, dust to dust –”

That’s a Christian thing, not a Jewish thing, but it sounds good, and what does Lewis know of Judaism anyway?

“It’d be best if it’s from Don Tomio’s home," Len adds, thinking of vampire myths. "The real one, back in Italy. That'd be the best, so it’s associated with him –”

“Easy enough to get,” Lewis says carelessly, crushing Len's hopes. “The Santinis import plants from their hometown in Italy, dirt and all; we’ll get some. What else?”

Len tries to think – everything that comes to mind, earth, blood, whatever, it’s all too easy to get; he needs to play for time, he needs something hard to get, something that would be guarded –

“Diamonds,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“Diamonds,” Len says. “Blood diamonds, unmarked by modern light.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Means they can’t have the new IDs engraved on them,” Len says. He has absolutely no idea what’s coming out of his mouth, but it seems to be working so he's going to lean into it. “You know how glass shuts me up? Lasers nowadays are all glass and mirrors; using them fucks with the purity of the diamonds.”

“What the hell do you need a diamond for, though?” Lewis asks skeptically, but not as disdainfully or disbelievingly as Len might have feared.

“The soul is more precious than diamonds, and nothing you desire compares to her,” Len misquotes, butchering the Biblical language horribly to make it fit his needs. He never learned the Bible properly, not even the Hebrew one like he was supposed to, but Mick was a good Irish boy raised in the 1930s and he’d had it strapped into his backside so thoroughly that even Len has picked up some parts of it by proxy. “For she is a tree of life to those who take hold of her.” He thinks a bit more. There’s got to be more quotes he can use. “The sin of men is written down with an iron stylus, and it's with diamond point that it's engraved on the tablet of their heart.”

It’s all bullshit, of course; from what he recalls of the relevant quotation, it's knowledge that is more precious than rubies, and which gives life, it’s all goddamn metaphor, and the second bit wasn’t even from the same goddamn book as the first part and at any rate is talking about something entirely different.

But it sounds half convincing.

If only half.

“So we need diamonds?” Lewis asks, screwing up his face in annoyance.

“I never said it was cheap,” Len says, keeping his voice as calm as possible when he wants to scream and beg for Lewis not to do this. But that never helped before; only calmness and coldness can help. Just like Lewis always taught him. “Human lives rarely are.”

Lewis grunts thoughtfully.

Len can’t believe this is working.

“You put in a hell of a lot of effort to get that Kahndaq diamond those months back,” Lewis finally says, and Len has to force his shoulders straight and to make himself hide the sudden overwhelming flood of relief. It worked, he's done it; he’s convinced Lewis of his lies, bought himself precious time to think of a plan to get out of this, and all because that particular gem has an association with marriage. Even when Mick isn't present, he's saving Len's ass. “That was an old one, and a biggie; bet you needed that for that stunt you pulled on Black Hole Day. All those ghosts swarming over the city – like something out of a goddamn movie, that was.”

Like out of Ghostbusters, actually. Mick had made the joke at least a thousand times, and Barry at least a thousand times more, and then Lisa had gotten in on it, and that’s not counting the number of times the other ghosts had joined in.

Sadly, Len had smirked every single goddamn time someone had made the joke, because he’d thought it was never going to not be funny.

Looks like he found the one time it isn’t.

“That how you found out about me?” Len asks. “The curse, I mean?”

“What curse?”

“My ability,” Len explains. “With ghosts.”

Lewis snorts. “Doesn’t sound like a curse to me,” he opines. “You could make serious bank with that, m’boy, but you use it for frivolities like playing around with that ghost partner of yours. Guess it explains why no one was ever able to kill him and make it stick – hard to kill the dead, ain't it?”

“Yeah,” Len says. Might as well admit it, since Lewis already knows the rest of it.

“Easier to bind them, though, according to Cabrera.”

Len remains silent. That jab hurt, but he can't let Lewis see that, or he'll just keep going after the sore spot.

“Yeah, that’s when I figured out you weren’t just nutso,” Lewis continues. “Always thought you were a bit conked in the head, honestly; just like that whore of a mother of yours. Pity I never cottoned on to her, now that would have been a hell of a lot more of a money-maker than her ass ever was –”

Len grits his teeth, then releases the tension with a force of will. He's not going to let his dad goad him into a reaction that he'll just get punished for having.

“You’re a bad son,” Lewis taunts. “Not even saying anything to defend your ma anymore?”

“No, Dad,” Len says, forcing his tone as even as he can get it. “I know better than to argue with you.”

“Damn right you do,” Lewis says, satisfied. “Now tell me where we can get your unmarked diamonds.”

“How would I know?”

“Son…”

Len knows that tone of voice. Lewis doesn't care that Len hasn't had time to plan, that he's asking the impossible; that tone suggests that Lewis did Len the favor of giving him life, all those years ago, and that Len's failure to immediately produce results means that he's got to start repaying that debt right away, and that Lewis will make Len regret every minute of it. That tone is nothing but a prelude to pain.

Len thinks fast.

“Dalamar’s provides all the security for high-end jewel stores in the city,” hesays, fishing the factoid out of his brain in a fit of desperation. He’d looked up their location and floor plans for a separate heist, but he'd opted against doing anything rash like hitting the security headquarters itself. Once he hit Dalamar's, it would be far too risky hitting a store right where they expected to be hit; that isn't why he kept an eye on it, anyway. In his view, it was always good to keep up with the newest developments in what technology was actually being used in the city, and there was nothing like a security shop for finding that out. But if you were desperate to find a diamond and you didn't much care about keeping a low profile... “Their HQ will have a list of all the important imports and exports, plus blueprints of the relevant building plans. We can break in there, easy, and from there we can go get the diamonds.”

“Knew you knew something,” Lewis says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “It's a plan, then. We’ll hit the HQ for the blueprints, gather up a crew – I’ve already got some help waiting, knew it wouldn’t be that easy – then we’ll go in after the diamonds. You can use some for your resurrection bullshit, and the rest can serve as, heh, a bit of spending money, getting Tomio back in power and me by his side.”

Len personally thinks that Tomio will have Lewis shot the second he can in order to hide the details of his resurrection; unlike Cabrera or Len, Lewis possesses nothing that Tomio won’t be able to do himself. Lewis might have some leverage with his control over Len, but that won’t last forever, not once Tomio figures out the details of the glass trick and the fact that he can do it just as well without Lewis' assistance. Better, probably; Tomio lacked many of Lewis' more easily exploitable faults.

He knows this isn't a solution. Len’s bought himself some time, at most; even his father’s slapdash heists still need a day or two of planning. He has time to try to plan a way out of this, even though his entire body is tensed up in panic and his brain is screaming for lack of noise, a quiet so deep that his brain keeps coming back to it, beating helplessly against it, making it impossible to think for more than a few seconds straight.

It's so quiet.

He hates it.

“So where’s the Dalamar HQ?”

But Len will think of something - some way to save Lisa, some way to save Mick, some way to save himself, because he can't do it. He can't bring Tomio back to wreak havoc on the world. He'll think of something.

He has to.

“Fifth and Hoyt,” Len says and closes his eyes.

#dccoldwave #leonard snart #mick rory #lewis snart #my fic #deadfic

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messrprongs · 7 years

Text

Pretend boyfriend (AU: Lily/James)

In which Lily blurts out she is dating James Potter. And she would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for that meddling James.

Not for the first time during their ten minute interaction, Petunia wrinkles her nose in distaste. Lily is unsure what her sister disapproves of now since the salon holds an endless list of possibilities. Only mildly interested, Lily follows her stony gaze to the stylist working next to her station.

There it is, Lily thinks and, for some reason, she struggles to suppress a smirk. Of course her sister would hold purple hair in contempt, no matter how gorgeous it looked on the person wearing it.

“Anyway,” her sister continues, eyes back on her. Lily notes how the derision in her demeanor does not soften a bit as she looks at her. “It's going to be a very tasteful ceremony. Very elegant.” She says this with a pointed, meaningful edge in her voice.

Lily almost rolls her eyes. She abstains, sure Petunia will see her through the mirror at her station. “Tasteful, elegant,”she repeats with a nod. Uptight. Obnoxious. “Got it.”

Petunia is unimpressed. “Do you?” she asks impatiently. “Because most of our guests are very distinguished clients from Vernon’s firm and I will not tolerate anything that might embarrass us.”

Lily wants to inform her that marrying someone like Vernon Dursley was embarrassment enough, but she bites back the retort. Her eyes fall on the clock and she realizes her next appointment will be in soon. Lily's stomach lurches briefly at the realization.

She decides to offer a reply that promises to shorten the conversation. On most days, this entails agreeing with her sister and withholding all the snark from her replies.

“I'll be as proper as ever,” Lily says, but even to her ears, the words sound sarcastic. So much for withholding snark.

Petunia notices too and her lips press together tightly. “None of your radical expressions when you talk to my guests,” she starts sternly. She says this far too loudly, attempting to make her point over the sound of chatter from other clients and blow dryers.

Anger begins to flare up in the pit of Lily's stomach. “Right,” Lily says tartly, interrupting what promised to be a long list of forbidden behaviors. “Is there anything else you needed, because I have to get back to work.”

Petunia’s lip curls mockingly at the word work. Again, she glances at the hair salon with an expression of someone in the middle of a pigpen. Lily feels her cheeks flush, the urge to defend her career making itself known. It is the same reaction to Petunia’s constant jabs about Lily's profession as a hair stylist. This time, however, Lily successfully swallows down her words, thinking instead of how her next client would be there any minute now. Again, her heart swoops slightly.

Wordlessly, Petunia holds out an envelope to her. There is reluctance in the action, as though an invisible someone holds a gun to her head. “Your invitation will say you can bring a guest,” she says. A wicked glint lights her eyes as she adds, “A date, perhaps?” Petunia looks as though she is about to cackle. “Not that you'll need it.”

The words offend her more than they should. In reality, Lily is far more furious at herself than at her sister for letting the comment hurt her.

Lily's love life, or lack thereof, is another of Petunia’s favorite things to criticize about Lily. Lately, all Petunia can do is compare her own impending wedding to Lily's lack of serious romantic suitors. Her sister delights in telling everyone that will listen about how her life is falling into place now that she's marrying a man from a good family and with an impressive career. She delights even more in following this proclamation by pointing out how, meanwhile, her sister is nowhere near finding quite a catch, let alone the promise of a good marriage. And every time, Lily stifles the urge to correct her sister and inform her that a lack of suitors is not a problem Lily has to worry about and even if it was, there is more purpose to her life than a man. But, more often than not, Lily sagely chooses to say nothing. She is absolutely certain that fiercely recounting her many romantic conquests, no matter how short lived, will only spur Petunia on.

Lily can feel the words rising up to her throat even now, but she refrains. She didn't want to give her sister a live example of what she considered Lily’s “radical views.”

There is something about Petunia’s condescending smirk, though, that makes Lily say, “Maybe I will need it.”

The words had been out before Lily registered the intention of saying them. She quickly decides that the lie will be no problem. She would simply ask—no, beg — her mate Benjy Fenwick to go as her date.

“Really?” her sister sneers. “Who? Your friend? That lowly musician you took to mother’s birthday?”

Fuck. Lily had forgotten. Belatedly, she also realizes she has already taken Benjy to several of her family's events throughout the years. It had become clear to everyone in her family that he was simply her friend.

Lily tries to remain unfazed. “I'm seeing someone, ” she informs her as convincingly as she could. “That's who I'm taking.”

Petunia laughs derisively. “And who is that?”

Lily is unable to think of any names. She is aware of the long pause that stretches as she struggles to think of a bloody name. “James,” she blurts out, thinking of her next client. “His name is James Potter.”

By the unmoving expression on her face, Petunia doesn't recognize his name. “Since when?” she challenges.

“Since four months ago,” she returns, just as defiant. At least this isn’t a complete lie. Four months is the time she had known the real James Potter.

Unconvinced, Petunia opens her mouth, no doubt to pester Lily with more questions that would slowly expose her. However, before any words leave her, Hestia, the hair salon’s front desk attendant, is at their side.

“Lily,” she says apologetically, visibly sorry for the interruption. “James is here.”

With a stab of panic, Lily's eyes search for him in the waiting area. Sure enough, he is there, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs that looks far too small for his long frame. He is not looking at her, his attention fixed on his phone. He swipes his free hand through his hair and Lily is unable to suppress a smile. On his last visit, Lily had teasingly informed him of this nervous tick, but James had denied it quite passionately, saying he’s not a big enough prat to continuously run his hand through his hair. On the chair next to him, Lily can see a brown bag from a restaurant nearby. This time, she does smile. It had been James’s solemn duty to bring her lunch from his favorite places ever since she proclaimed there was “nothing good to eat” in the area.

Almost as if sensing her eyes on him, James looks up from his phone. When their eyes meet, he gives her a lopsided half smile. Her stomach dives again.

“Is it okay if he comes back here?” Hestia says, alerting Lily of her presence. She had forgotten she was still there, waiting. Hestia’s eyes fall on Petunia. Lily had almost forgotten about her sister, too. She feels little remorse about that.

It is Petunia who speaks, the false sweetness in her voice making Lily sick. “Yes, absolutely,” she tells Hestia without looking at her, as though she was a servant. “I’d love to meet him.”

Lily knows this is far from the truth. Petunia had never showed any interest in any aspect of Lily’s life. What Petunia would love to do is expose Lily and make her subject of even more relentless teasing.

Panic sweeps over her as Hestia nods at him and he walks over to her station. Lily takes in a deep, shaky breath, attempting to abate her dread.

Why did she have to say his name?

Their eyes meet again and this time, he flashes her a full smile, one that is so customary of him and so charming that Lily briefly forgets her idiocy.

Oh, she thinks stupidly. That’s why.

His step—usually confident— halters only slightly at the sight of Petunia. Lily is unsure if he’s momentarily disconcerted by the presence of someone new or by the almost maniacal smile on her sister’s face.

Lily’s throat is dry by the time James nears them. She musters the nerve to smile sweetly at him, hoping she is a far better actress than liar.

“Hey, you,” Lily says in what she hopes is a loving, flirtatious voice. She inwardly cringes at how the effect is ruined when her voice cracks slightly on the last word.

James raises his eyebrows.

Her heart is a raging storm in her chest as she walks up to meet him a safe distance away from Petunia. It threatens to beat itself out of her chest at the thought of what she is about to do. Before her nerve fails her, and with a quick mental fuck it, she lifts herself on her tiptoes and presses a kiss on his cheek.

He freezes.

“Please go with it,” she implores in a small whisper before pulling away from him.

James doesn’t move and for an awful moment, Lily fears he might have not heard her plea. In his silence, she begins to feel the weight of her action crush her. She kissed a client. Worst, she kissed her favorite client, James, who seemed so repulsed by it that he was rendered speechless.

The silence between them roars. Desperate, Lily looks around at anything except her sister, afraid of the spectacle she had just made. But no one is looking at them, all the other stylists too busy with their own work . She is about to open her mouth and spew out apologies that would be too rushed, too tangled to be comprehensible, but James regains his movement.

He smirks, the gesture making his already handsome face even more so. As Lily looks at him, she swears she can detect a small blush on his face, but she has no time to dwell on it.

“Hey, you,” he returns, leaning in to kiss her cheek in a much more casual and convincing manner than she had. He lifts the brown bag at her. “Brought you lunch.”

She could kiss him. Again.

Her smile is real as she looks at him gratefully. “You’re too good to me,” she tells him, and this too, she realizes, is not acting.

“Anything for you,” he returns without missing a beat. For good measure, he kisses her forehead and Lily's breath catches. “Did you make dessert?”

As part of their lunch arrangement on his visits, Lily offered to make her famous pastries. At least, famous to her friends, family, and now James.

She nods. “I made treacle tart this time,” she informs him.

James hums approvingly.

“Just for you,” she quips.

“I'll consider myself lucky, then.”

“That, you are.”

“The luckiest,” he agrees.

Except for the kisses and the sweet, melodious tone coating their voices, the exchange is not unlike their usual ones. At least their conversations didn't have to be faked.

He makes a show to look up at Petunia and feigns brief confusion. He is a damn good actor, she notes. Another thing to add to his already long list of talents. “Are you with a client?”

For the second time, Lily had forgotten her sister was there. This makes Lily feel the most ridiculous since the boyfriend act is for her benefit.

Petunia is watching them with discontent. Arms crossed tightly across her chest, she takes in James's appearance, starting with his disheveled hair, made wilder still by his hand, running predictably through it. Her eyes move down to his glasses, passing his ever present jovial smirk, and resting on his attire. He is wearing a faded band t-shirt, layered with a plaid shirt. An outfit that betrays nothing of his family's hair product empire and their insurmountable wealth, according to Google. They also happen to be the two articles of clothing Petunia despises the most.

“James, this is my sister, Petunia Evans,” Lily says, moving to stand next to James. “Petunia, this is James Potter.”

Lily feels James's arm move as he begins to extend it, but Lily places her own hand over his forearm, halting the movement. She is positive Petunia will not feign enough civility to shake his hand and Lily is unwilling to allow him to suffer that humiliation.

“So,” Petunia says instead of a greeting, “You’re Lily’s boyfriend.”

“That I am,” he says confidently.

Petunia does not look suspicious. Instead, she looks angered as her small eyes swivel to Lily briefly. “For how long?” she asks James, determined to find a flaw.

“Four months,” he replies without hesitation, throwing an arm around Lily. She attempts to quell the fluttering in her stomach.

Disappointment, defeat, and anger crash in her sister's expression.

“Best four months of my life, actually,” James adds, pressing another kiss on the top of Lily's forehead.

Heat blooms from Lily’s neck to her face. She braves a quick look at James to find he is already looking down at her, his smile disappears completely, replaced by a rare seriousness that is alien to him. Before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to say something, though she is unsure what. She closes it and the movement draws his attention to her mouth. His eyes rest on her lips briefly and Lily feels as though caught in a spell.

“How did you meet?” Petunia’s shrill voice demands.

And just like that, the spell is broken.

James's eyebrows shoot up briefly, no doubt feeling as though he is part of an interrogation rather than an introduction. It would have been sweet, coming from any other pair of siblings. An older sister meeting her little sister’s boyfriend for the first time and asking question after question to make sure he was good enough for her. Lily feels a small pang at the thought. It had never been that way with Petunia.

“My family is in the hair styling business,” he says simply. Lily almost laughs at the understatement. “I was at this location on business and I was told Lily is the best hairstylist in the area. So I had to see it for myself.” He looks down at Lily briefly, his smile returning. “She is also lovelier than anyone I’ve ever met before so I had to pretend like I needed a haircut every two weeks as an excuse to see her.”

Lily does laugh at that.

Petunia, on the other hand, is unaffected. Lily can see her jaw working, the way it does when she was pensive.

Before her sister can think of any more questions to hurl at James, she asks, “Was there anything else?”

Petunia looks as though there are a million different questions she wants to ask, hoping one will reveal their lie. She opens her mouth but closes it immediately, scowl deepening. “No,” she says at last, pursing her lips with false dignity. “Just remember what I asked you for my wedding.” Her eyes fall on James and his plaid shirt. “It'll be a black tie wedding.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “We'll do our best,” she says sardonically.

“See that you do,” Petunia counters acridly as she turns to leave.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet the famous Tuney,” James says cheerfully, arm still around Lily's shoulder.

Petunia looks at him as though he had slapped her. She directs her glare at Lily who only smiles innocently at her. Lips pressed so tight that they appear ghostly white, she all but storms out of the salon.

James waits a full minute after Petunia disappears before he lets his arm fall. Lily tries not to miss its warmth.

“Thank you,” she begins, the words a blur as she tries to explain. “She was being so awful about bringing a date to her wedding and I just— ”

But James is shaking his head, putting up a hand to pause her. “Don't mention it, Evans,” he says, setting the sealed brown bag of food on the counter next to Lily’s station. “Believe me, I know what it's like to be pressured by family.” He wrinkles his nose. “Although, my mum is not that determined when she asks me about my love life.”

Lily grimaces. “Sorry about her,” she says with a sigh. “I reckon she knew I was lying and was trying to prove it.”

James laughs. “She looked furious,” he comments. “So I think we convinced her.” He finishes this statement with a wink that makes her face flush yet again.

There is a brief silence as he takes his usual seat in the styling chair. Lily lowers it as far as it goes before draping the black nylon cape over him.

“You’re an impressive liar,” she comments as she fastens it at the back of his neck.

James doesn’t reply. He is looking at her through the mirror, all traces of humor vanished from his face. “I didn’t lie.”

Despite his serious expression as he looks at her, Lily laughs uncertainly. James, however, does not join her in her amusement, as he typically does. Instead, he watches her for a long time, so long that Lily has to look away.

“Best four months of my life, actually,” he had said.

The memory of the words send a thrill through her.

Like before, she opens her mouth, but this time she does know what she wants to say. She wants to say that the last four months have been pretty good for her too. She wants to properly tell him that she looks forward to his appointments and their shared lunches. That his ridiculous jokes keep her grinning for two weeks, until she sees him again. That two weeks is entirely too long to go without seeing him.

But Lily does not feel brave enough to say it. Instead, she brushes through the chaos that is his hair.

“Evans?” he says quietly, his voice almost entirely lost in the sound of the blow dryers nearby.

“Hmm?” she allows, not looking up from his hair.

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to look up at him and meet his eyes through the mirror. When she does, he is grinning effortlessly at her. “You do realize now you have to take me to her wedding?”

“You don’t have to go,” she assures him quickly. “I can tell them you had somewhere else to be.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he tells her.

Again, Lily schools her features, masking the intoxicating rush his words send through her. He is entirely too good at doing that.

“I couldn’t ask you go through all that pretending again,” she insists. “And for an entire evening.”

James considers this, though his expression is far too exaggerated to be entirely genuine. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says finally. “I don’t want to go through all that pretending.”

Lily gives him a single nod, looking down at his hair again. She tries to dismiss the disappointment.

“That’s why I should go as your real date,” he says simply.

Her eyes fly up to meet his again and she is ready to detect hints of humor on his face. There are none. He is looking at her expectantly, shifting slightly in his chair. For a moment, she imagines his hand flying up to his hair as he waits.

This silence is the longest by far.

“No,” she says at last.

His expression dissolves into surprise, followed by apprehension and finally settling on disappointment.

“Er...right,” he begins, looking so completely unlike his usual confident self that Lily bites down a smirk. His face flushes with color as he struggles to find what to say next and it is so endearing to her that she is unable to contain a laugh.

James blinks.

“I refuse to spend our first date in the presence of my parents, my sister, and Vernon Dursley,” she explains, saying the last two words with unrestrained horror.

James’s shoulders drop, his relief palpable in the crooked smirk that dawns on his face and gives way to a laugh. “So you’re telling me I have to take you out many times before then?”

“Precisely,” she says quite seriously. “And you’ve only got three weeks to do it.”

“Well, then,” he says, matching her faux business-like tone. “We should get started right away. Tonight at eight?”

“Tonight at eight,” she repeats with a nod.

“You’re going to grow sick of seeing my face,” he warns her.

Lily breaks and laughs at that. Her eyes trace the edges of his defined jaw through the mirror. She is quite certain he is aware she is watching him so intently, but she doesn’t care.

Feeling elated, she says, “I highly doubt that, Potter.”

A/N: Yeah. There’s that. My first “Fake Dating” AU. Definitely won’t be the last. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!

P.S. I discovered I hate writing in present tense. But momma didn’t raise a quitter.

Finally: I made a page for all my fics that I am weirdly proud of.

#James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily and James #Jily #AU #fake dating #my writing #hiiiii #i have time to write again #write well?#the world will never know

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blondennerdy · 7 years

Text

Time Travel Tuesday!!!

So I used Time Travel Tuesday to finally sit down and write out one of my numerous AU ideas. (Thank you @poplitealqueen for this)

Please Let me know what you think. I have very little XP in writing but I am working on it. I am also planning on maybe adding to this some feedback would be appreciated.

Depa Billaba carefully counted the number of fancy bath bombs she had left. Mace had given her a new set after her appointment to the Jedi Council a few days previous and she did not want to go through them too quickly. But the meeting had been a strange one, leaving her with a splitting headache and more questions than answers.

Depa had told Mace after the meeting, only her third, that she had thought it was the Councils job to answer questions not find more of them. Mace had just snorted and said that was normally true, except if the meeting had Master Qui Gon Jinn involved. He had seemed to think the meeting was relatively normal. Depa was not as convinced.

Right as she had chosen to cut one of the larger bombs in half Depa heard a soft knock on her door. Hopefully that was Mace, he always wandered by a couple times a week. When she opened the door however it was two padawans instead. After blinking for second in surprise she remembered her manners and Depa said “How may I be of assistance?”

That was when her brain caught up with the new situation and recognized the two in front of her. It was Padawan Kenobi and the young twi’lek time traveler.

Padawan Kenobi’s cheeks had a tinge of red as he started to say something but was interrupted. “You are the Jedi named Depa Billaba, correct?” The girl’s accent seemed stronger than in the Council Chamber, it was rough and untraceable to single planet or region. A classic spacer accent.

Slowly Depa nodded and spoke “Yes I am.”

Still unsure why the duo was at her door. The council had decided since the young twi’lek was still underage, 17 Ryloth year cycles to be exact, that they could not make a decision without a parent of guardian. Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi were assigned to help find the family.

“Do you need assistance in locating your family in this era?”

“I’m pretty sure we got it covered now.” The girl’s response did not actually say why she was here then so Depa just waited for her to continue speaking.

It was an awkward few seconds until Padawan Kenobi broke and whispered, “Introduce yourself like you did for me.”

That caused the girl to straighten up “Oh right duh.” She gave Depa a short bow, almost a mock of the ones Jedi often give each other and announced “My name is Dawn Depa Syndulla, it is a pleasure to meet you, Grandmother.”

Depa opened her mouth a few times before anything came out “Would you like to come in and discuss this further.” She stepped back and opened the door for the two teens. As soon as she saw them pass over the threshold Depa headed over to her kitchen to make the biggest strangest cup of tea that she could. Her headache was only going to get worse at this rate and she was definitely using a whole bath bomb tonight.

Depa like a good Jedi used the brewing of tea to collect her thoughts. She was pretty sure the real reason the Council had decided to withhold from making a decision without an adult representing Dawn was to avoid having to make any decision. The council was pretty spilt on asking her about the future and ignoring her until they find a way to get her back to her proper place in time.

Mace had wanted to further question the girl, since he saw many shatter points clustered around her. Master Yoda and Master Jinn had favored avoiding talks of the future claiming that even if she knew a piece of the future it would not be enough to make any solid decisions on without taking the risk of greater consequences.

Depa herself had mixed feeling and had mostly styed neutral. Now it seemed like that was no longer an option.

Movement caught Depa’s eye while she was waiting for the kettle to boil. Dawn seemed to be causally looking around in the different nooks and crannies of the small apartment. Except, every time she stopped to poke at something Depa could fell a small tendril of the force being released from Dawn. It was subtle, easy to overlook, but Depa was looking.

“She is checking for listening devices.” Padawan Kenobi informed Depa, each word practically dripping with polite disbelief.

“Hey, I already found a little bugger in your apartment remember. Plus, it’s just what you are supposed to do, check your surroundings for any nasty surprises and little buggers. Especially if you plan on having a serious talk about the fate of the galaxy with a visitor from the future.”

While she could not see him Depa was sure Padawan Kenobi was rolling his eyes “It was a piece of lint or dirt I must have missed while cleaning. You are paranoid and the fate of galaxy does not reside in our hands.”

Now seemed like a good time to come in with tea. They had more important things to discuss then whether or not Dawn was paranoid and it did not bode well for any of them if she might have a reason for it.

“I would like to ask a question to you Dawn?” Depa paused to arrange cups on the low table where Kenobi sat “That is if you are comfortable with the security of my personal quarters?” Making sure Dawn was comfortable enough to speak truthfully would probably go a long way in the upcoming discussion.

Said teen nodded and took a seat on the couch next to Kenobi. “I was pretty sure your place was clean coming in but Mom always said it never hurts to do a second sweep.”

Kenobi made advisable effort to hold back a comment, instead he turned to Depa giving her the lead of the conversation.

“I felt you using the Force in your search for dangers. It will affect the decisions that need to be made so please answer truthfully, are you a Jedi?”

“Ummmm” Dawn muttered before taking a hasty sip of tea burning her tongue slightly. “It’s kinda a tricky question, it really depends on who you ask.”

“No it’s not. You are either a Jedi or you are not. There is no point of view about that.” Then Kenobi remember that there was a council member in the room as well “Apologies Master…”

Depa waved a hand “No need for that here Padawan Kenobi, I agree with you anyways but let Dawn speak more we do not yet know what kind of circumstances she is in.”

While Depa said that out loud she privately doubted that Dawn had grown up like all Jedi here in the temple. She could tell just by watching her next to Padawan Kenobi. All the patterns of speech and behaviors that Jedi learned in the crèche were absent in the young girl. While Kenobi held himself with a firm posture and polite decorum, Dawn draped herself on the couch with relaxed posture and a close eye on all the exits.

“Well, it’s not like there is a governing body of all the Jedi in my time that can make decisions like that. Everyone just has to make the decision themselves these day. Or I guess will have to make them. Tenses are weird now.”

Both Jedi were locked in stunned silence. Dawn took a very long sip from too hot tea just as unsure of what to say.

“But if there is no Jedi Council then who runs the Order.” Kenobi’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Well it ah, fell when the council did. Long before I was born, back when my dad was a kid himself. Younger than I am now actually. It happened back during the Clone Wars, or I guess it happened in the earlier days of the Empire. It’s sorta in between.”

“Perhaps this story would benefit from starting at the beginning.” Depa voice remained steady and her face was calm but Jedi learned in the crèche how to hide behind a blank mask.

“Well, so when I was born the Empire was basically, no wait gotta explain about the Empire so I guess when my parents met. No the Old Jedi Order had already fallen by then. The rise of the Emprie, but that needs to explanation about the Clone Wars.” Dawn paused looking up at the ceiling collecting her thoughts.

“Yeah, so the best place to start is probably the Clone Wars. So it was this big galactic war that was the Clone and Jedi army of the Republic versus the droid army of the… the other side. I don’t remember their name. The important part was they wanted out of the Republic and the Republic did not like that. So it sent the clones and the Jedi to fight them.”

Dawn paused expecting either Depa or Obi Wan to say something but they both were still processing what was being said to them. Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, louder than before. Depa excused herself, praying to the Force that it was Mace for real this time so that she could have someone with her in the mess.

Her wish was granted when she saw her master standing casually at her door holding a bag of food products.

Depa visibly sagged with relief “Thank the Force you are here.”

Pulling him in quickly to the rooms. The living room and the kitchen had no wall separating them so as Mace went to start preparing the evening meal, as was their routine, he saw the two awkward young adults sitting on Depa’s couch trying to look anywhere but at each other. The face he gave Depa was a familiar one from her padawan days. It clearly asked her ‘what in the world did you get yourself into’.

Depa sighed and decided it was best to just go for it. “This is Dawn Depa Syndulla my granddaughter. Her father will be my padawan. She was just telling us about how the Order fell when he was a youngling.”

Mace closed him eyes for a brief moment, when he opened them he gazed slowly around the room. Reading the shatter points most likely. When his eyes finally refocused on Depa’s face he spoke “If we are to speak of the downfall of the Order, then it is best done with a full stomach” With that he turned to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Dawn took the opportunity to stand and asked “Do you need any help cooking?” she sounded very hopefully “I usually help my dad with the cooking because my mom can and will burn water if she tries.”

Mace held out a knife “Can you tell your story and do this.”

“Of course” With a flourish Dawn took the knife and started telling the story of the future starting with the Clone Wars and going until the time she lived in. The stories got more detailed as they progressed. Mace and Depa tried to ask questions for more details about the lead up to the fall of the Order but Dawn just shrugged and could not answer most.

“My dad was only fourteen when it went down, he barely remembers. Plus the Empire did not just kill Jedi during the Jedi Purges, they also erased their history. So it’s not taught in school or anything.”

By the time the food was finished everyone was ready for a break so they mostly traded embarrassing stories and silent thinking during dinner. Shortly after the meal and a bit of dessert the two Masters sent the younger ones to bed. Obi-Wan had tried to return to his own rooms but Depa insisted that he spend the night in her empty padawan rooms with Dawn. It was a nearly fifteen minute walk to the little nook of an apartment that Jinn claimed as his own.

Mace claimed to have slept on the couch but Depa doubted he got any more sleep than she did. Instead, she had turned over everything that had been said and tried to find a clear path forward.

The truth of the matter was that they did not have enough information. All that Dawn could tell them was from her memory of stories, many she admitted had been bed time tales from her father. Depa was pretty sure she was going to have to spend all of her bath bombs.

#Star Wars #Depa Billaba #Kanan Jarrus #Obi Wan Kenobi #dawn syndulla #Kanera Baby #My Stuff #My Writing

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warmdevs · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://warmdevs.com/visibility-of-system-status.html

Visibility of System Status

The first of Jakob Nielsen’s ten heuristics — visibility of system status — relates to so much more than user-interface design. At its essence, it is about communication and transparency, which are critical to many aspects of life. People strive for predictability and control, and, in most cases, more information translates to better decision making.

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, take a few moments to look around and note the various types of systems around you, and how they communicate their current status. Your phone or laptop display how much battery life remains; your email application tells you how many unread emails you have; a sign in the subway indicates the next stop (or, if you’ve missed the last one, how many minutes until the next train arrives at the station). All these nuggets of information allow you to accurately assess the current state of the systems you interact with.

Definition: The visibility of system status refers to how well the state of the system is conveyed to its users. Ideally, systems should always keep users informed about what is going on, through appropriate feedback within reasonable time.

Knowledge Is Power

Only by knowing what the current system status is can you change it — that is, you can overcome the gulf of evaluation and figure out what you need to do next in order to reach your goal.

For instance, when you drive a car, you need to continuously see its speed to decide if you need to go faster or slow down. Those who have ever driven a car where the speedometer was broken can attest to the fact that it’s quite difficult. When this happened to me, I felt at the mercy of the cars around me, as I attempted to keep pace and blindly trust that they were going at a reasonable speed. A lack of information often equates to a lack of control.

Appropriate Feedback

Whenever users interact with a system, they need to know whether the interaction was successful. Did the system actually catch that button press or was it busy with something else and it ignored it? Did the item get added to cart? Did the request go through? (One reason users have these questions is that they have been burned before by technology that didn’t work properly. However, even when the happy day of bug-free technology arrives, people will still wonder if they really clicked or tapped correctly.)

Appropriate feedback for a user action is perhaps the most basic guideline of user-interface design. It serves to keep users informed of the current status and to allow them to steer the interaction in the right direction, without wasting effort.

Such feedback can be as simple as a change of color once the user has clicked on a button, or a progress indicator when a process needs a little longer to finish. These indicators communicate that the system is working, and reduce uncertainty — preventing users from, say, tapping the same button multiple times because they weren’t sure if the first time worked.

Changing the color and adding a checkmark to buttons on a selection screen communicates that the system has registered the user’s choices (left). Progress indicators reassure the user that a longer wait is normal, and that the system is still working (right).

Your browser does not support the video tag.

In this video clip from our mobile eyetracking study, the user has clicked on a button and is unsure whether a new page is actually loading because there is no feedback. The hollow red circle shows where the user is fixating on the screen. We can see that she looks back and forth between the button and the top of the screen, where a progress indicator for the page load typically appears, to assess whether anything is happening. (In most browsers, hover over the video to display the controls if they’re not already visible.)

Providing immediate feedback for interactive events allows users to quickly identify the source of errors and fix them as soon as they were made. In fact, immediate feedback is one of the main benefits of direct manipulation, an interaction style in which users can act directly upon different UI objects. In contrast to direct-manipulation UIs, command-line interfaces do not display the current state of the system, nor do they give immediate feedback. Programmers know how difficult it can be to locate the source of an error in an interface which lacks immediate feedback; they often have to resort to tools such as breakpoints and stepping to understand how the state of the system changes with each action specified in their code.

Do you want your users to feel like they’re using DOS or Unix? The real difference between these ancient command-line UIs and modern GUI designs is not the presence of colorful icons. It’s visibility of system status.

The Amazon Music app on iOS allows users to directly manipulate the order of items within a playlist. Users are aware of the system status at all times, and thus can easily identify and correct an error.

Even when users cannot see the effect of an action because the system does not have a screen (like is the case for voice-only devices such as Amazon Echo and Google Home), a minimum feedback that the command was heard is essential. Amazon’s Echo displays a ring of light on the device to indicate that it is currently listening or working on the command. This on–off type of indicator isn’t as good as a running timer, for example, but at least the user can be assured that the system heard the command and the timer was set in the first place.

Compel Users to Action

Modern systems are often complex, and it is unreasonable to assume that all the variables that describe the state of a system can be communicated to the user. Many backstage components, such as what JavaScript files are downloading and executing to make a site work, are of little interest to users. Yet, occasionally backstage aspects can actually play an important role frontstage.

Take, for instance, the case of inventory size. How much stock is available for a product is usually not relevant to users and should not be displayed. Yet, there are two exceptions:

When the stock is low: If people know that there are just a few items left, they are more likely to act immediately — following biases such as scarcity and social proof.

When there are no items in stock: This information can save the users the effort of trying to add to cart products that are no longer available. (Losing the immediate order is preferable to losing credibility for future orders, which will never be placed if users feel that they cannot trust you.)

The J.Crew site displays a notification that there are “Only a Few Left!” when the user moves the mouse over low-stock sizes of a product. Some sizes are already sold out, and thus shown crossed out in light gray.

Communicating how far away a user currently is from qualifying for free shipping or another type of deal can also encourage additional purchases.

NatureBox.com: A banner across the top of the page communicates how much more money the user needs to spend to qualify for free shipping.

To communicate backstage events that may impact users, you can use either notifications or indicators. Modal dialogs are also used to inform people of state changes that can significantly affect them.

Communication Creates Trust

When, in a real-life relationship with a person, that person withholds information from us or makes decisions unilaterally, we start losing trust and feel that the relationship is no longer on equal footing. The same thing happens when we interact with a system.

When we understand the system’s state, we feel in control — we can rely on the system to act as expected in all circumstances. The predictability of the interaction creates trust not only in the mechanics of the site or the app, but also in the brand itself.

Sites and apps should clearly communicate to users what the system’s state is — no action with consequences to users should be taken without informing them. When an external event or the passage of time caused a change in the state of the system, explain it in brief but understandable terms.

For example, what should happen when a user revisits a previously created wish list that now contains items that are out of stock or no longer sold? The worst user experience would be if those items simply disappeared from the list, with no explanation why. How about a notification at the top of the screen? This would be only slightly better because it would not help the user remember what items had previously been on the list to find suitable replacements. Both of these methods take control away from the user and degrade trust — users may stop relying on the wish list if the items in it sometimes disappear on their own.

A better way to build trust is to explicitly communicate the current system’s status — which items are no longer available — and then allow the user to either remove them from the list or keep them visible for future reference.

Loft.com continues to display out-of-stock items in wish lists, with appropriate messaging to communicate the status of the item to the user.

Conclusion

The visibility of system status is a basic tenet of a great user experience. At its core, this heuristic encourages open and continuous communication, which is fundamental to all relationships — whether with people or devices. Users who are uninformed about the system’s current status cannot decide what to do next in order to accomplish their goals, nor can they figure out if their actions were effective or if they made a mistake. Don’t blindfold your users!

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lodelss · 4 years

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Soraya Roberts | Longreads | January 2020 | 8 minutes (1,978 words)

“And when they bombed other people’s houses, we / protested / but not enough, we opposed them but not / enough …” On January 3rd, Ukrainian immigrant Ilya Kaminsky quote-tweeted his poem, “We Lived Happily During the War,” after it went viral the day Iranian general Qassem Suleimani was assassinated on the order of President Donald Trump. The poem appeared in his long-awaited 2019 poetry collection, Deaf Republic, about a town that responds to the killing of a deaf child by itself going deaf, a parable of the present-day United States, a country that responds to its own demise (and the rest of the world’s) by blocking its ears. His tweet went up in the midst of increasing tensions between the U.S. and Iran and ahead of the death of more than 50 people in a stampede during Suleimani’s funeral procession. It went up months into bushfires ravaging New South Wales that have destroyed millions of hectares and killed roughly half a billion animals. It went up in the wake of a slew of antisemitic attacks across the country. Last Sunday, while thousands in New York marched in solidarity with the Jewish community, the Hollywood awards season kicked off in Los Angeles with the Golden Globes, and the media started gleefully tweeting about couture as though the destruction of the world had politely paused for the occasion. The timing made me think of a friend who recently asked: What if all the people who went to see Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker — tens of millions of Americans — protested instead?

“Now’s NOT the time to live happily,” read Kaminsky’s tweet after he extended his thanks for his poetry’s dissemination. He did not squander the moment the way so many of us often do, advising instead that we “write quality journalism & spicy op-eds & protest poems, get out in the street if you’re able. We won’t live happily during another war.”

But aren’t we already?

* * *

In April, when the Notre-Dame threatened to burn to the ground, a bunch of billionaires fell all over themselves pledging to restore the Gothic cathedral (which turned out to be a lot of bluster — the fundraising goal was largely met by small donations). The mega-rich have been comparatively quiet in response to Australia’s bushfires, which are exponentially more devastating, broadcasting their priorities all the louder. Columnist Louis Staples noted that billionaires tend to run businesses with the sorts of carbon footprints that fuel climate change, the clear cause of the conflagrations. “Also Notre Dame is a landmark in a world famous city,” he wrote, “whereas the Australian wildfires have mostly affected rural, sparsely populated areas.” This confers a kind of poetry on their predilection. Notre-Dame is not only one of France’s most powerful religious and cultural symbols, it was also looted during the French Revolution because it was emblematic of the country’s — and the church’s and the monarchy’s — plutocracy. Marie Antoinette lost her head, but so too did Notre-Dame’s statues. That billionaires pledged to rebuild this historic monument to inequity amidst worldwide uprisings against oppression and large-scale environmental destruction speaks to where their allegiances continue to lie.

More than morals, more than guilt, the number one concern of the ultra-rich appears to be rebellion — the threat of those with less coming for those with more. In the New Yorker this month, a profile of the Patriotic Millionaires, “a couple hundred” rich Americans (at least $1 million in income; more than $5 million in assets) who push for policies to address income inequality, had them voicing this fear repeatedly. Tech exec William Battle, who was raised Republican but veered left after Trump’s election, somewhat comically told the magazine (in a whisper, I have to imagine), “We could have — I don’t want to say it, but, riots.” It tickles me to think of a bunch of exceedingly rich idiots walking around with their knickers in a twist of terror over an imaginary enemy, while in reality the horrors of the world largely originate with them. Paraphrasing Walter Scheidel, author of The Great Leveler: Violence and the History of Inequality from the Stone Age to the Twenty-first Century, the New Yorker’s Sheelah Kolkhatar explained, “levelling happens much more often because of the collapse of a state, such as the fall of the Roman Empire; because of deadly pandemics, like the black death of the thirteen-hundreds, which killed so many people that there were labor shortages and workers’ wages went up; and because of mass-mobilization warfare, such as the two World Wars.” Sound familiar? States are too in control to bow to pitchforks; what they can’t control are natural (“natural”) disasters. Fire, flooding, starvation, disease. Which isn’t to say they aren’t trying.

“Disarm the lifeboats.” This is the title Jonathan M. Katz, who made his name reporting on the 2010 Haiti earthquake, chose for his latest The Long Version newsletter. It’s a reference to journalist Christian Parenti’s 2011 book Tropic of Chaos: Climate Change and the New Geography of Violence, which builds on a model of panic proposed by Lee Clarke and Caron Chess. These two academics claim that panic weakens social bonds, reducing the likelihood of crisis resolution, but that it is in fact rare in disaster situations. But people’s enduring belief in this myth — the truthy trope that the public panics in a crisis — ironically leads to actual “elite panic”: powerful people hoarding authority and resources and withholding information. And this panic is actually worse. “Because the positions they occupy command the power to move resources,” Clarke and Chess write, “elite panic is more consequential than public panic.” To get an idea of the sort of consequences they’re talking about, go to any newspaper. It will bear out Parenti’s prediction that elite panic results in what he calls “the politics of the armed lifeboats,” where “strong states with developed economies will succumb to a politics of xenophobia, racism, police repression, surveillance, and militarism and thus transform themselves into fortress societies while the rest of the world slips into collapse.” The failure to mitigate disaster — through cooperation and redistribution, through working together instead of apart — inevitably leads to the collapse of these lifeboats as well.

But in the meantime, as Kaminsky wrote, “I was / in my bed, around my bed America / was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house.” Within the center of the country’s plush cocoon, far away from the laps of floods, or the waves of heat, or the growling hunger, or the roving pestilence, we are comfortable enough to be lulled into complacency. Sprawling homes constructed by capitalism have taught us to individualize and to consume, and so in the midst of a crisis, we respond by purchasing self-help, by buying into self-care, by looking after ourselves as a first port of call, as though anything else really comes second, as though after that massage we will actually extend a hand to anyone else. “I believe that each person has the opportunity to offer the gift of their own higher level of consciousness,” Oprah told The Today Show earlier this month. “You can only heal the world when you are healed yourself.” The feel-good cliché is hard to shake because it isn’t entirely wrong. You do have to be well before you can take care of others, right? Aren’t we always told during in-flight safety routines to put the mask on ourselves first? Except we never seem to get further than that. Those in distress, who feel less cocooned, always seem to be fighting alone. In a recent interview with The Guardian, DeRay McKesson discussed the burnout faced by people of color who have been part of Black Lives Matter protests while the larger population sat in bed and watched on TV. “We saw that people were going to say, ‘Oh, my God, people should be in the street,’ but would never join us,” he said. “We saw that people weren’t willing to risk much.” Outside the lifeboat, they got tired, and inside the lifeboat, the messiah — the one on Netflix, I mean — provided a higher calling.

* * *

“In the street of money in the city of money in the country of money, our great country of money, we (forgive us) / lived happily during the war.” The last line of Kaminsky’s poem seemed to be host Ricky Gervais’s inspiration at the Golden Globes on Sunday. Before anyone could even take the stage, he castigated the ballroom full of famous faces for living happily, despite some of them — including Michelle Williams and Patricia Arquette — going on to address the war raging outside. “If you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech,” he warned. “You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything.” And yet Gervais himself broke his own rule, pleading at the end of the show to “please donate to Australia.” I consider this about-face a positive sign, the synthetic lifeboat losing buoyancy despite itself. Gervais’s inability to follow his own dictate shows the weakness of the fortress the West tries so hard to enforce in the face of the current calamity; the invisible ruins have suddenly become visible, even when we are watching from our bedrooms. This is the sound of Australia denouncing its prime minister for refusing to acknowledge the climate change, the sound of Americans protesting their president for attacking Iran, it is even the sound of Anand Giridharadas’s viral tweet pointing out that 500 of the richest people in the world could save the planet, if only they would work together.

“Climate scientists have modeled out how global temperatures might shift in different geopolitical scenarios,” wrote environmental journalist Emily Atkin in her newsletter Heated last week. “And the scenario that always ends up with the planet in fiery climate chaos is the so-called ‘regional rivalry’ scenario — to put it simply, the one where everyone is fighting, borders are closed, and rich white-led countries like the U.S. are super racist toward less-wealthy countries filled with brown people.” Which means the opposite is also true, the planet survives in the global community scenario in which everyone is cooperating, borders are open, and all countries are equal. So here’s the choice: You can face guaranteed death in the comfort of solitude, the chaos outside muffled by Disney and Netflix, Justin Trudeau’s beard, and Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s royal defection, by any solipsistic interest, really, which does not involve engaging with the external world. Or you can face the cataclysm, you can bathe in discomfort and unrest, you can engage with it in your work and your life along with everyone else, and with them work toward survival. Refusing to rock the boat for fear of making anyone uncomfortable right now does not mean the boat is not still fated to sink in the end. If we keep continuing as we have, the Crisis of the Third Century, in which the Roman Empire almost folded due to combined political, social, and economic crises, could very well become the Crisis of the Twenty-First. In an interview with Chinese Poetry Quarterly in 2011, Kaminsky even compared present-day America to latter-day Rome. “The Roman Empire has produced many things that were valuable to modern civilization. But at what cost to other nations? This is the question anyone living in the U.S.A. today, particularly its authors, should be asking,” he said. “Anyone who reads and writes books should attempt to see with clarity the world they live in, pay taxes in, support by mere being there. Not everyone is guilty, Dostoevsky used to say, but everyone is responsible.”

By which he means: Rock the boat, especially if you’re in it, even if you don’t have a life jacket of your own.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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easyweight101 · 7 years

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LumaGlow Eye Cream Review (UPDATED 2017): Don’t Buy Before You Read This!

LumaGlow Eye Cream is a product that claims to be the secret to youthful, refreshed eyes. This product targets fine lines and wrinkles with use, as well as bags and dark circles.

LumaGlow Eye Cream is made from a blend that relies primarily on hyaluronic acid to deliver the advertised benefits. And while they don’t explain how, the makers of this product claim that it works to stimulate collagen production for a firmer, younger look.

Kremovage is a firming and lifting cream that does so much more. This eye cream features a balanced mix of plant oils and extracts, along with Matrixyl 3000, peptides, and ocean-based retinol. Click here to read more about how Kremovage can tackle loss of collagen, fine lines, and more.

Do You Know the Best Eye Creams of 2017 ?

LumaGlow Eye Cream Ingredients and Side Effects

LumaGlow Eye Cream only mentions one ingredient, hyaluronic acid in the website copy. Now, we know HA on its own is not a complete eye cream. We don’t know what else is in this product, and the company that makes it does not give consumers the option to learn more about it.

Regardless, here is a little more about hyaluronic acid and its effect on the skin:

Hyaluronic Acid

Hyaluronic Acid: Hyaluronic acid is an ingredient that keeps skin moisturized—a humectant—which works to keep skin looking plump, supple, and hydrated.

Hyaluronic acid is made naturally in the body and it keeps joints and eyes moist—when used topically, this ingredient helps reduce the appearance of wrinkles and fine lines—which look more visible when skin is dry.

Firm up your under-eye skin! A look at the best eye creams for eliminating that dreaded sagging.

LumaGlow Eye Cream Quality of Ingredients

LumaGlow Eye Cream can’t possibly achieve all the benefits advertised through hyaluronic acid alone. This ingredient is well-suited for all skin types, and certainly has a place in any skincare regimen, but as a standalone ingredient, it can’t do much more than hydrate.

The website mentions collagen production a few times, but does not acknowledge any collagen-stimulating components in this blend. HA is a good companion to the more potent stuff like vitamin C or peptides, which promote quicker cell turnover—but we don’t know if either of these items are present.

Overall, it seems like this formula is incomplete or the manufacturer is withholding information about the product. In any case, if you want hyaluronic acid alone, it’s much more affordable than the $89 cream LumaGlow is offering.

Eliminate sagging, dark circles, and crow’s feet — check out our reviews that discuss the pros and cons of various eye creams.

EDITOR’S TIP: Combine this product with a proven eye cream such as Kremovage for better results.

The Price and Quality of LumaGlow Eye Cream

LumaGlow Eye Cream is not available in stores or any traditional e-commerce settings. This product is available only through signing up for a free sample, which kick starts a membership in an ongoing subscription scheme.

The deal is, you get a “free” 30-day supply of the cream, but you must pay the $4.95 shipping and handling fee. The catch is, you must cancel your subscription within 18 days of placing an order—if you don’t you’re on the hook for $89.95 every month.

There are multiple websites offering this trial, lumaglow.org, lumaglowskincare.net, and more. All sites appear to be copy and pasted from the same template.

Not using an eye cream? Here’s a look at why this extra step in your routine can make a major difference for your skin.

Business of LumaGlow Eye Cream

LumaGlow Eye Cream doesn’t readily reveal the manufacturer of this product, nor does it provide a clear view of how to get in touch with a customer service rep.

The web copy feels a bit amiss, too. For example, it says things like “wrinkles and fine lines make people look withered and aged,” which could be seen as disrespectful to the consumer.

There are so many of these products out there that invite users to “claim a free jar,” “rush your trial,” and so on. LumaGlow falls into this same category.

The makers of these products do not care if they’re putting out a quality cream that’ll eventually attract repeat customers. The makers of LumaGlow Eye Cream rely on trickery to trap customers into an ongoing automatic payment cycle.

But unlike most subscription services like Netflix or Birchbox, you’re not presented with a pricing structure that informs your buying decision. The $90 monthly payment typically comes as a shock to most consumers who have reported countless problems with getting out of the arrangement.

The LumaGlow website does provide a little more detail about the shipping arrangement than competing free trial schemes. However, they make it more complicated than is reasona.

The disclaimer at the foot of the site states users must call customer service to cancel the billing agreement and return the free trial—whether or not it was used. If you use all of it, the company wants the empty container back.

It seems they are making this process as inconvenient as possible in order to keep people on the hook for payments on creams they don’t want or need.

That, to us, sounds deceptive. Our recommendation is to avoid LumaGlow Eye Cream and any products that follow this questionable business model.

Customer Opinions of LumaGlow Eye Cream

LumaGlow Eye Cream has very few reviews that bring up basic things like, how well it worked for reducing the appearance of wrinkles and fine lines. We don’t know if it promotes collagen production like it claims to, or if it contains any harmful ingredients.

Luckily, we were able to track down some reviews from people who tried the free trial—most of which regretted making this decision.

Here is a look through some of the comments we found posted online:

“This product is a total scam. If you don’t call them to opt out of the auto-ship program, and trust me, you’ll want to, they will charge you. You won’t know how much it costs until it shows up on your statement.”

“I called customer service to complain after my skin became red and irritated with use. Customer service was rude and did not cancel my account. They said I can return product at my expense, but pay for the trial.”

“Completely outrageous prices on a product I can’t even use. Seriously, it’s like it’s made of acid. My skin was red and blotchy and when I complained, customer service basically accused me of lying.”

“This is a really bad product. It not only irritates your skin, but you’re charged a lot of money for something that doesn’t work. I have no idea what’s in this product, but it doesn’t feel safe for human use.”

The comments were all essentially the same. Customers felt as though they had been scammed and weren’t being heard by customer service reps, who clearly are not there to help.

Some users reported irritated skin and redness with use. Not knowing the ingredients is bad news—consumers can’t read the label to identify any ingredients that might be a trigger. This company may just be bottling a collection of harsh ingredients and passing it off to shoppers.

These are dangerous and abusive practices, and the makers of LumaGlow Eye Cream clearly do not have the consumers’ best interests at heart.

From rich night creams to sunscreens and gels, here’s a look the products that best protect your skin from damage.

Conclusion – Does LumaGlow Eye Cream Work?

After careful consideration, we have come to the conclusion that LumaGlow Eye Cream is a scam. This product was designed to prey on people looking for free samples—often older or low-income people who saw a Facebook ad or a YouTube video.

There are so many of these automatic payment schemes out there and consumers need to be careful. You can identify a scheme like this by the structure of the website. Often the web copy is rife with errors and doesn’t back up any claims. There are no mentions of price, only free trials—but in limited amounts.

There is no ingredient label available for LumaGlow Eye Cream, but the site talks about the importance of collagen at great length. In the end, it’s clear that this product is no good—we don’t even know what it is and the benefits appear to be overblown. Because this type of fraudulent behavior has become increasingly common, users should do some research before signing up for any free trials. There’s always a catch, after all.

Kremovage consistently brings the best results to users seeking a product that hydrates, lifts, and protects the delicate under-eye skin from damage. The formula contains Matrixyl 3000, squalane, retinol and plant oils—which work together to produce lasting results in the form of a younger-looking face.

Kremovage was made in a certified lab facility using a blend of potent and proven anti-aging solutions. For more information about getting started with Kremovage, visit our website today.

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