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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years

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Inkubus x Vampire!Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Always There

Notes:

I think outta all Englund's characters on this blog, I like writing for Inkubus the most. Which is criminal seeing as I write for him the least. I need to change that haha.

Plot: You meet up with a very old friend of yours and you spend some time catching up. And he's so clearly in love with you, its unbelievable and torturous to him that no matter what he does, you don't notice.

Warnings: A very unreliable narrator (In terms of particular other peoples clear feelings for her), BLOOD, DRINKING BLOOD, DRAINING SOMEONE OF BLOOD (But in a sort of polite way? Hah), MENTIONS OF AN ABUSIVE EX PARTNER, vampires and incubus'.

The smell of iron and petrichor fills your nostrils, disgusting and refreshing and also, just... relieving... in equal measure filling you up as you kneel by the victim - the man you'd chosen, - for tonight; A needle and tube attached to a blood bag between your fingers and digging into the poor mans neck.

You hate doing this, knowing this guy will be weak and sick feeling for the next day - maybe two depending on how much you take from him, - without understanding why. But, its for sure better then the alternative- which is just digging in right here and now with your teeth. That's messy, and the marks you leave behind aren't easy to explain away as 'animal attacks' anymore.

You need the blood, but you aren't a savage, jeez. You always catch any new vampire movies or shows together with your daughter and watch those actors with blood all over their chins, and think... How old are these vamps supposed to be?? 300 hundred years old!?

And they don't know how to eat without getting it all over their face?

Pfft! Rolling your eyes, you gently shake your head at the memories of bloody Edward Cullen and Lestat and Damon Salvetore swimming around in your head as watch the man's breathing. To be fair, you love them all - Twilight, Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Diaries, Nosferatu, Vampires Vs the Bronx, etc, - but that's just because its more fiction then truth- and that's coming from an honest to goodness bloodsucker.

Finally deciding you've taken enough without truly hurting the man, you put pressure on his neck and pull out the needle, carefully wipe away any mess with a cotton ball from your bag and put a band aid on him.

"Now," You talk firmly, softly, as you look into his eyes - which are dull, almost sleeping. A nice touch to the docile state you put your victims, in so they can at least not feel any pain or fear while you're collecting your feed, - , hands on his shoulders. "You're not going to remember this, or me. You're going to get a taxi home," You tuck some money in his shirt pocket, a thank you for his service; Its the least you could do. "Then get into bed and have a wonderful sleep with lots of lovely dreams. Thank you so much."

After you watch the man get up, still in a bit of daze but shaking it off - and not even noticing your presence, crouched down by where he's standing, - and leave the alleyway, you carefully pack away the blood bag and the tube and needle (In a separate plastic bag, for you to clean and sanitise when you get home) in your satchel and finally get back up, wrapping the strap over your head and resting it on your shoulder.

Brushing a hand through your hair, you turn to leave the alleyway and go home- when a familiar voice speaks up from the very back of the alley- and immediately your hopes rise.

"You look even more beautiful every time I see you."

You smile, peering into the darkness. "Oh, that's very sweet... but you and I both know I look like trash. I haven't eaten for a week!" When he just chuckles back, you tilt your head and waive him over. "Come out here so I can see you!; When did you get into town?"

Gracefully - more so then even you can manage, being a goddamn vampire, - Inkubus slips out of the darkness and you're happy to see he looks well. Its been forever since you say him last - 40 years? 70? - and you always have it in the back of your head for some reason that next time you see your friend, it'll be the last time. So its always lovely when he turns up and looks just as healthy as he always does.

"Oh I just got here; Thought I would come see you immediately. Otherwise you might nag at me." This time you chuckle, rolling your eyes. His eyes flicker to your satchel. "Collecting our dinner our we?"

"Yep! Smells like A Negative, my favourite. When was the last time you ate?"

"Ohh, a couple weeks ago. I'm due for my next fill soon, though... any suggestions?"

"No," Scrunch up your nose, you put a lot of emphasis on your response; See, you don't subscribe to the notion that monsters like the two of you have to act all blasé and cocky about the terrible things they must do. Apart from these night time trips to find breathers to bleed, you live a... mostly... normal life! So no- you definitely don't know anyone he can make his next victim.

And Inkubus knows this, which is why he laughs and you roll your eyes again at him, fixing the satchel on your shoulder. "So- " Again his eyes flicker to your bag, this time with meaning. A cheeky grin flits across his lips. "Want to get a drink?"

Smiling, you turn on your heel, you loop your arm through his and lead the way. "So have you been?"

___TIME SKIP___

4 hours later and the two of you are still stewing at a 24-Hour-Diner you frequent - seeing as you don't really sleep that much, - and are onto your 9th drinks at this point. You two may not see each other too often since the 1400's and went your separate ways in the world, but you never go longer then a hundred years - preferably 80 maximum, - without seeing each other and when you do- you have a lot to say. Filling each other in on what you've missed in each others lives is always a... disorientating experience, at times, but you must do it. You couldn't survive in a world where you didn't know what was happening in your best friends life. That would just be too lonely.

See, Inkubus is the only one you know - still, to this day, - who knew you when you were human, aside from the man referred to very nearly exclusively as 'Dick for brains' - being your daughters father, - and while having human friends who can make you feel normal again, is wonderful... so is feeling normal, in what you actually are currently. And that's not human. That's thousands and thousands of years old and a mystery to scientists. And, seeing as he's a literal demon... that's a very easy service for him to provide.

A waitress walks by to pick up you empty glasses and looks oddly at your personal tumbler. You clearly weren't meant to notice, but you do of course, and unassumingly shrug. "Bloody Mary... don't tell." You give her a conspiratorial wink, and she chuckles, walking off.

When you look back to Inkubus, he looks ready to make a joke so you give him a timid shrug. "Well, there is vodka and Tobasco sauce in it!... " He smirks, but lets it go- seeing as your words were funny enough.

"And how is Bethany? Has she seen her father lately...?" Your eyebrows arch, hearing Inkubus ask about him; Dick for Brains, Beth's father and the bane of your long, long existence. Obviously, seeing as the bastard impregnated you with his literal spawn of hell causing you to die during childbirth at age 26 so he could then turn you into a vampire, made you raise your daughter alone- and then returned 20 years later just to turn Beth into a vampire as well and claim that you can all be a 'proper family now'... you aren't a huge fan of the guy. And talking about him you don't do often, as it causes a horrible clenching feeling in your stomach and heart. Luckily, Inkubus is one of the few people who is allowed to make you feel that way. Him, and Beth.

You sigh, taking a slow sip of your drink through the matching metal straw and metal tumbler set Beth got your last mothers day (So as to hide the fact that its blood inside), you wonder what to say... "Beth's great, as always... she's fallen in love with a human, though. That can only end brilliantly." Shaking your head, you look to Inkubus to see his reaction and catch him rolling his eyes, smirking. Yep. "Um, and... yes. There has been contact with Dick for Brains... He recently, like... 20 years ago? turned up at her place in Egypt, and wouldn't leave till I had to fly down there and shoo him away." You grit your teeth. There is so much wrong with that man- you do honestly with you had never met him sometimes. That's horrible, you know, as if you hadn't met him you wouldn't have had Beth and she's the light of your life, but... at times like that instance? When he troubles her?

Its hard to not wish his existence away.

"Do you want me to speak with him?... Again... ?" Your gaze returns to Inkubus again, feeling at ease the moment your minds back in the diner with him and not in your head with Dick for Brains; Eyes softening. The idea is tempting, unbelievably tempting... And it would keep your friend around awhile longer. "That always seems to win you a couple hundred years of reprieve."

Taking a deep, needless breath - an anxious habit, - you set down your tumbler and shake your head. "No, that's okay... thank you for the offer, though. He seems to be giving up, slowly, finally. But damn, its taken him long enough to get the hint, huh?"

"Far too long." Inkubus' voice is bitter and dark, talking about your ex- and his eyes are reading much different. You know if you let him, he would kill Derek... but you cant do that. If anyone's going to kill him, it would be you or Beth, and neither of you are there yet. Inkubus takes a deep breath, relaxing again like a chameleon changing its colours. "Anyway, love; Onto prettier business. How did that thing go, that you had with that Djinn half a century ago. You seemed quite optimistic about that one."

A fluttering of laughter immediately comes out of you and Inkubus' truly cheers up at the sight of it, and you just look at him and shake your head; An awkward toothless smile on your lips. Ha! No.

His brows arch, laughter in his eyes. "Didn't end well?"

"That ended up being the shortest affair I've ever had and that's saying something." Brushing hair back from your face, you chew on your bottom lip. "You'd think after nearly 10 centuries, I'd learn... Oh- wait- make that 10 and nearly a half, centuries... Boy, am I clueless."

"Clueless about what, love?" You're just breathing in to respond, when a cheeky look crosses Inkubus' familiar face. "I mean, you are quiet clueless- about plenty of things. But specifically, this time."

You scrunch up your nose at him in response, grinning, before once again chewing on your bottom lip. "... I'm just not the woman that gets proposed to." You shrug, as if its no big deal; Even though your heart bleeds saying it out loud for the first time, to someone that matters and not just your ex-therapist, Julie. Setting your drink on the table in front of you, you idlily twist it. "Obsessed over and stalked, yes." You grin, a tinge of sadness to it. "Fucked, yes. Dated even, yes. But married?... Ha, no... "

His eyebrows climb up his forehead even more, before he softly smiles and pats your hand. "I asked you to marry me, all those years ago, sweetheart. Remember?" He reminds you gently, and you cant help giving a soft smile back at your well-meaning friend.

"Oh, yes of course I do. That was very sweet, but... I mean for love, you know? Not because I'm pregnant and alone."

Inkubus sighs, slightly frustrated, and leans back in his seat. "Mhmmm... " Rubbing a finger under his nose, he quickly clears his throat. Then he reaches his hand further up your arm to lay it on your forearm, running his thumb comfortingly across your skin. "Love, I'm sure that you'll find someone. Perhaps multiple someone's. Or, maybe, you don't need to find anyone new."

A little smile twitches at your lips as you pick up his hands and hold it on the table in both of yours. "... Maybe." For a split millisecond, your friend smiles. Sighing wistfully, you shrug. "Maybe I can learn to be happy alone. I mean, I like my life. I like my daughter, I like my job, I like my patterns... Maybe I don't need a man." Immediately his smile disappears and he rolls his eyes.

"You definitely don't need a man." He sighs, frowning. "But one can be good for a few things, no?"

"Hey." You set him with a stern look. "I thought we were making me feel better, about not having one?"

"Oh, you're right. I rescind my comment."

"You better." A cheeky grin crosses your face.

He looks back at it, the cheeky grin of yours, and the smile returns to his face.

The sun is warming up when you're on your way home, Inkubus beside you with his arms folded carefully behind his his back and your hands stuffed in your leather jacket pockets; One arm linked affectionately through his. You're an odd sight, you're sure, to any early morning commuters. You, and your barely-out-of-college looking self walking so close - and so domestically. A fact that is lost on you but not on the smug demon walking beside you, - to a man that currently looks to be in his 60's-70's age-wise.

Not that either of you care.

"Well, this is my place! Whatdaya think?" You ask, letting him go in order to unlock the door or the townhouse apartment and push open the door. He walks on in past you, looking around and you watch a soft smile grace his handsome features. "You like it?"

"Much better then the hole in the wall you thought was a good idea to show me in Transylvania- took everything in me not to sweep you away somewhere safer... with fewer mould spores... " He turns to look at you over his shoulder, a mischievous smirk on his mouth as you scrunch up your nose at him, before smiling.

"Well then, Mr Judgmental... I guess you don't want to know, that I chose this wallpaper cuz of you."

That definitely catches his attention, more then anything else you've said. He turns around in a full 360, assessing the wallpaper before looking curiously at you. "You... you chose this wallpaper because of... me? How so?"

You shrug, still leaning back against the open front door- sunlight filtering through the doorway. "The colour is very you. Its got 'Inkubus' vibes. You know," Raising your brows at him, you smirk. "Eccentric, full of itself." At that cheeky remark, he says 'Ha ha', sarcastically. "And, I guess, I missed you. Sooo... yeah... wallpaper."

"Hm... " Looking really far too pleased about this, looking a lot more engrossed by the home then before- but mostly the wallpaper. "This place is looking better, suddenly... "

"Like I said- Full of itself." You roll your eyes, laughing. Then you push off the door, push it closed with your foot and then go to pass by Inkubus to hit the livingroom. "Oh! The book! The one we were talking about at the diner- I'll find it for you! Come on- "

"Y/N." A hand curls gently around your arm, at the perfect moment so that you don't get yanked back with the force of your travelling and instead you just coat to a careful halt at Inkubus' side.

Blinking up at him curiously, wondering what he needed you for so suddenly, you tilt your head to the side. "Yes?"

For a good moment, he just looks at you whilst you become worried. What is happening? Every second that passes by, more and more ridiculous ideas cross your mind.

Finally, the man tilts his head slightly in sincerity.

"Sweetheart, are you ever going to see how ridiculously in love with you I am?"

And... for all of the disastrous and ridiculous possibilities that came to mind when he was saying nothing, you had a response. To this, you just stand their dumbly, your shoulders dropping and just looking at him in total shock. "... wel- uh- um... a few more hundred years?" You feel like a ton of bricks has just been dropped on top of you. "Maybe?" You squeak. You actually squeak.

And of course, you squeaked. You'd be surprised if you had managed to keep your composure after a confession like that. Here's this beautiful man, who against all foreseeable odds understands you, and cares about your kid, and whom you love... and somehow he's telling you that he loves you? That, for some reason, he wants you?

Is there something wrong with him?

There must be. Something terribly, horrible, irreversibly offensive that you aren't already aware of.

But you rack your brain and theirs nothing. Nothing, at all, that you can figure that would make you turn away from him right now.

He smiles a little bit at your awkward reaction, and lets go of your wrist in favour of tucking some hair back behind your ear. "Do you quite mind if I kiss you now?"

Your breath hitches, it actually hitches, like a tiny shy anime girl who's giant crush just got down on his knees in front of her for whatever reason, and you have to fight to pull yourself together; Rolling your shoulders back, hands on your hips. Totally, and translucently fake confident. "Um- you know? I don't?"

God, you are a centuries old vampire; Your vernacular should be yards better then this.

And then kisses you.

Oh god- And then he kisses you.

Because you're suddenly struck hard in the face with a million words and phrases, from current to boomer-speak to old fashioned to forgotten, to describe it but mostly you're just wondering why in the world you hadn't been doing this the whole damn time. Your hands find the sides of his coat in order to steady yourself, and pull him closer as you carefully tilt your head into the kiss. It comes so naturally, the kissing does. Between you and him. Its like, despite the bounds of your relationship never having reached this level before, you know exactly how to kiss each other. There's no awkwardness or searching. You just fit.

When finally, you slowly end the kiss, you fail to open your eyes for a good moment, before cracking them open slightly, half lidded and flickering up to his eyes.

And you take a deep, unnecessary breath and step away, torturously out of Inkubus' personal space. "... holy shit." You have so many questions... None of which touch on how exactly you're feeling because you get that much, at least.

But you cant help but wonder why- and for how long this has been brewing and how long exactly that you missed it- and how the hell this is going to work-

He follows you, thank god, a roguish yet soft look on his face. "Maybe we should take this to the livingroom, love. I promise, I can explain everything to you."

#Inkubus x Reader Oneshot #Inkubus x Reader #Fem Reader #Fem!Reader #Vampire Reader #Vampire!Reader #Inkubus x Vampire!Fem!Reader #Inkubus #Horror Villains #Horror Villains x Reader

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thesims4blogger · 3 years

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OFFICIAL BLOG: Harold Tours The Countryside in Cottage Living

The Sims team has released an official blog for The Sims 4 Cottage Living

I��m in Henford-on-Bagley!

Sul Sul… Is this how it goes? No matter. Hey there, it’s me, Harold the Llama, and before you go about wondering how a llama like myself managed to prepare a blog, I’ll have you know these nails have been trimmed to perfection to reveal the capable keyboard connoisseur that I am. But my motor skills are not what this is about! It’s about my charming home of Henford-on-Bagley.

Sim legends of old say that Henford-on-Bagley was created from the perfect mingling of earth and water… but I’m pretty sure some Sims loved the nearby Cordelia Falls and that the River Bagley runs through it in all of its glory. Hmmm, majestic.

Anywho, in order to get to know more about this charming village, we will have to visit all of its neighbourhoods. Our first stop is Finchwick, where the action happens!… Sort of… in a manner of speaking. Finchwick prides itself as a historically bustling and tight-knit community.

Finchwick is the home of the weekly – yes, weekly – fair in which locals put their skills to the test in creating the most sophisticated and delicious creations, such as pies, as well as show off their most prized animals *cough cough* myself included *cough cough* and oversized crops – trust me, the bigger the better – to be judged, as it is tradition, by the Mayor no less! Winning or just participation will get you a reward, but to be honest, it is all for bragging rights and what is better than bragging rights anyway, am I right?

This neighbourhood hosts the historic square which is also home to the busy marketplace – perfect if you love window shopping – and the village pub – ‘The Gnome’s Arms.’ The marketplace is where you’ll find Goldbloom’s Grocery Shop, home of the best produce! But don’t take it from me, try some yourself! I recommend their aubergines… that’s an eggplant for the non-locals.

Another iconic spot is the Crumplebottom’s Garden Shop, owned by Agatha Crumplebottom, and run by Agatha and Agnes! This shop will serve all of your gardening needs, as well as some extra things… not quite for gardening, but for enjoying nonetheless such as conserves and jams… mmm, jams. Now I want some crumpets and jam, the superior option to buttered crumpets – fight your chickens about it, not me. I should ask my keeper to make some… but who am I kidding, I can only eat feed for llamas (well, sometimes a treat) *sigh* A llama can dream after all. Just don’t tell Agatha if you make some, or she’ll send her gnomes to take them for sure as they are her favourites.

But, back to The Gnome! If you’re feeling quite curious or in need of a little drama for your llama, you can enter The Gnome’s Arms for a chance to listen in on the village’s gossip, history, and what is happening around it. Owned by the Scotts, Simon and Sara, this pub has been a dream come true, despite Simon running randomly into chickens – or me for that matter – along the way. This is where everyone knows everything about everyone, so take advantage of that as you visit! And their food is amazing, make sure to try their Bangers and Mash or their Beef Wellington; I hear it is fantastic. Enjoy the convivial mood by having a Henford Heart-to-Heart with or offering a Finchwick Favor to Sara, who should be minding the bar, for good measure. Sara can give you advice if you seek it, or maybe share some ghost stories if you want to know them.

If you’re in a helpful mood, you may also help Sims with village errands and learn more about their backgrounds, interests, and what they do around town! Or just for the good rewards, if that’s your bag.

Trotting along, we find Old New Henford. A fun piece of trivia for you all: it was originally named ‘Little Henford.’ However after some consideration, it was proposed that ‘New Henford’ would be better suited… more posh if you will. Unfortunately, there was a mishap with the national mapmakers and the town apparently ceased to exist for two whole weeks! Ha! Imagine that? Well, after that of course the town needed a new name and Old New Henford was picked, and here we are.

This part of the village is known for their lush estates, rolling hills, and their small – but beautiful – community garden. This neighbourhood used to be one giant property owned by the Watson family, who sold plots of it over the years. They still own a sizable estate perched at the top of the Olde Mill Hill – you can’t miss it.

You will find that this part of town is perfect to have a lot with a garden and space for livestock and oversized crops! You can always take notes as you stroll around the area and see how the townsfolk are doing with their gardens and plots.

Old New Henford is the perfect place for those that love animals like yours truly. In this neighbourhood you can find rabbits hopping about, wild birds you can sing to, and cheeky little foxen that you can befriend… but beware of their mischievous nature! They will want to surprise you and *mumbles* you’ll want to be sure your chickens are accounted for *mumbles.* This part of the town is also great for those who love to fish. Who knows, maybe someone finally will catch that wolf eel I keep hearing about.

You can even say that it is an idyllic place for a new start. Just ask Cecilia, one of our newest residents who moved in recently from the big city looking for a new life after having her heart broken. Now she shares her life with us living in a fab, refurbished barn. She loves keeping her garden, and her chickens! She is a lovely neighbour. I hope one day she finds true love. Unfortunately for Michael Bell, the local Creature Keeper, he is not her chosen one, but at least Cecilia has a long term commitment to all critters that visit for now.

Like Cecilia, if you welcome Wild Animals for visits, some can become your friends for life and even bring you gifts.

From the rolling hills of Old New Henford, we arrive at The Bramblewood.

The Bramblewood is the natural beauty of Henford-on-Bagley.These woods have a storybook-like aura that delights anyone who visits. It has long provided a picturesque place for many wild birds, rabbits, and foxen to call home, so you may find yourself among friends here including our friend Michael, our Creature Keeper, who roams the woods on most days caring for animals and plants.

It is truly a wonderful place, where you can forage Chocoberries and mushrooms, including nightcaps – some say that you can only find them at night… aptly named! The Bramblewood can be full of surprises, especially if you encounter the Isle of Volpe, named after Lord Volpe, founder of Finchwick. The Isle of Volpe is one of the most iconic hallmarks of Henford-on-Bagley, not only because of the history reflected on its ruins, but also because it is the most romantic spot in town. Generations of Sims remember their first kiss in the Isle of Volpe *love sigh*, so if you are coming with your sweetheart, you should spend some time there to experience its splendor. Just be careful not to disturb the Creature Keeper’s home. He is a gentle but private Sim.

But if romance is not something you fancy, head out for a bit of adventure and visit the Isle of Volpe Park. Run through the path that leads you to Sophie the Snail, who is always happy to take a picture. If it is calm and serenity you seek, be sure to spend some time visiting Cordelia Falls. In the end, wherever you spend your time in this part of town, it is said that the Bramblewood can change your life forever, and so far there have been no truer words to live by.

And so you see, my friend, whether you decide to come for a visit or move here to my humble countryside town, there is always something happening, something to do, something to dream about, but most importantly, know that we welcome you with open … erhm… feet!

We hope to see you soon!

Cheers!

#news #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 cottage living #expansion pack

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a-written-dream · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1,788

Fandom: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen or Pre-Slash, Rebellion, Arthur Knows About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Cybernetics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Captivity, Identity Reveal, Evil Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, pretty canon-typical though, POV Merlin (Merlin), The Merlin Melee Challenge 2021, Fights, Rebel Leader Arthur

Summary: Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Or: In a world years into the future, Merlin and Arthur fight against the tyranny of Uther Pendragon with an entire rebellion by their side. But Arthur hasn’t been entirely honest and even locked up in a cell Merlin can’t help the burning feelings of betrayal and anger. - For @merlin-fic-server’s Melee Challenge. Prompts: ‘I wish I’d told you’, punk, coin & Russian Violet

The metal is cold against Merlin’s back and against the skin of his wrists, even though he’s been pressed against it for the better part of an hour. He wonders briefly if it’s on purpose, if they keep the cell so cold to inflict more distress and discomfort. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

A florescent light flickers above their heads, and the only sound in the small space is their breaths bouncing off the walls. There are dents in the door from where Arthur tried to break it down, but even with his strength the door didn’t budge, and with the power-dampening cuffs around Merlin’s wrists, Merlin’s magic is all but useless. Arthur kept trying for a formidable amount of time, but when his hand gave off a sickening crunch of metal, he screamed in frustration and punched the wall for good measure before sinking down onto the floor.

Metal scraps still litter the floor around Arthur’s legs where he’s sitting in the corner now, a long time later, the fight all but drained out of him, head in his hands. The silence is heavy and thick and awkward, tense with Merlin’s anger and confusion, with Arthur’s guilt and anxiety.

“I wish I’d told you-“

Arthur’s voice is quiet and yet it seems to echo and boom within the metal box they’re locked into. It startles Merlin out of the apathetic calm he’d been lulled into by the silence. They’re waiting for their inevitable executions, and yet the sound of Arthur’s voice makes a white hot feeling of betrayal course through him.

“What,” he interrupts, “that you were leading a rebellion against your father? Believe me, Arthur, I wish you had too,” he snaps.

Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Arthur winces in his corner, running his hands through his hair. “No, I-“

Merlin doesn’t let him finish, too angry to keep the words bubbling to the surface down any longer. “How could you keep this from me? From all of us?” Merlin has been by Arthur’s side for years, fighting with him, protecting him, supporting him, and yet Arthur’s kept something as monumental as this a secret. “How could you not tell me?” Why did you not trust me?

“Why?” Arthur snaps, finally looking up to meet Merlin’s gaze. His blue eyes flash with anger, and Merlin is sure his own dark purple ones are just as angry. In Merlin’s fury, they unhelpfully provide him with the weaknesses in Arthur’s protective plating, with information on just where to send a spark of electricity and magic to shut down Arthur’s entire power system and deal the most damage.

Merlin blinks the detailed blueprints away. He has them memorised, but even betrayed and angry and hurt, he would never do anything to harm Arthur.

“Does it matter?” Arthur continues, voice hard and cold and wounded. “Does it matter that he raised me? That I grew up trying to be loved by a tyrant? That it took me years to finally understand the extent of his atrocities and his crimes? It sure doesn’t make me blind to them, now.” There are tears in his eyes and guilt in his voice. “Sure doesn’t make me blind to the horrific things I’ve done in his name, done to people like-“ you, he doesn’t finish. Like Morgana, like Mordred. To people with the ability to infuse their tech with magic. “I hate him, Merlin, and I hate that I still love him, but nothing, nothing, could ever make me see past the things he’s done, the things he is still doing to his own people, to my people, to our people.” He grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut, brow furrowed in a painful frown. When he opens his eyes and looks at Merlin again, he looks so very tired.

“I tried to kill him on sight, when I first understood, really understood. I screamed my throat raw as I condemned him from the cell he put me in, and then I decided that I would do everything in my power to make sure his rule comes to an end. I can’t continue to watch people suffer under his hands, no matter how much my wretched heart still aches for his love and approval. I can’t let him continue to slaughter innocent people simply because they exist in a way that doesn’t appease him or because they disagree with him, even if I can never atone for what I’ve done. I will live with the guilt for all my life but I couldn’t, can’t, continue to live without trying to right the things he’s wronged.”

Merlin can’t do anything but stare at him, for a long stretching moment, watching as Arthur holds his gaze and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. This, this is why they follow Arthur, why the whole rebellion would be willing to lay down their lives for him, because Arthur is a man who hurts with injustices he’s grown up never knowing but has intimate knowledge of, because he sees wrong and does anything he can to make it right, because he’s willing to go against everything he’s been taught to believe and everyone he’s been taught to love to save people he’s never met. Because he’s willing to kill his own father if it means the rest of the world gets to go on living.

“You should have still told me,” Merlin says quietly, his chest aching at the pain in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur averts his gaze, clenching his hands into fists in front of him. The sound of metal grinding against metal fills their cell.

“I didn’t want you to see me any differently,” he admits quietly.

Merlin’s heart throbs with hurt. Does he not realise Merlin could never? Does he not know the world could turn and end and he would never see Arthur like anything other than the best, the most important person he knows?

“Arthur,” he says softly. He doesn’t continue until Arthur lifts his gaze to look at him. “When I look at you, I see a man who is honourable, compassionate, and kind. I see a man who would do anything to change the world for the better – even go against the father who raised him. I see my best friend,” Merlin watches Arthur grit his teeth and blink the wetness from his eyes, “and I couldn’t see you any differently even if I tried.”

Arthur gives him a hesitant, forced half-smile, hands relaxing against his bent knees.

“I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me,” Merlin admits, and Arthur glances away, shame pinching his brows together. “But I’m not angry at you for being someone’s son.”

When Arthur looks back at him, Merlin smiles. “We cannot help who we are born as, only who we choose to become, and every day I have known you, Arthur, you have chosen a path that is good and just and right, that goes against everything you’ve been born into and raised to believe, to be someone who is kind and fair and understanding. And that makes you the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

Arthur’s eyes are brimming, but he’ll never let the tears fall. He never does. There’s a smile on his lips though, and this time it’s soft and small and real.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says quietly.

Merlin smiles at him again, and he hopes it’s reassuring and forgiving. “The rebellion would do well to know.”

Arthur shakes his head. “They wouldn’t follow me if they did,” he says, as if he truly believes they wouldn’t, as if he doesn’t understand all the reasons each of them have to stand by his side.

“They would,” Merlin tells him, certain and sure. “Sure, there might be backlash from some, but most of them have followed you for long enough to know that it doesn’t matter. They trust you with their lives, Arthur, with the future. Not because of where you come from, but because of who you are. You have proven time and time again that you are willing to lay down your life for the cause just the same as the others, that you will sacrifice everything you have to give for a better world if you must, that you will not hesitate to go through hell to get us there. They don’t doubt your loyalty to them or to the world we’re trying to create, and it won’t change with this truth. They follow you because you are a thoughtful and caring leader, no matter the circumstances of your birth; the only thing that binds you to Uther is your blood and your name. They know that, just as well as I do,” he says. He’s grinning now, the edges of anger only a drop left simmering in his stomach. “You are the rightful heir to the throne, but more importantly, you are their chosen leader, and they will follow you because they choose to do so. Trust them like they trust you.” Merlin holds Arthur’s gaze with steady eyes, and he wonders if the fire he feels in his chest is as clear to Arthur as it is to Merlin. “It matters where you come from only because the world deserves to know that even the son of Uther Pendragon will not tolerate his tyranny or bow beneath him.”

Arthur swallows again. “I don’t know if I can do it.” He looks at Merlin, conflicted and uncertain and scared. But Merlin can see that he’s made up his mind, probably long before Merlin told him to. Perhaps he just isn’t ready to face it alone.

“I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Arthur’s smile is tentative and grateful.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

There’s a beat of silence where all they do is smile at each other, and then Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, flexing his broken fingers. When he opens his eyes again, the fight and the purpose that had first pulled Merlin in shines with the brightness of a hundred suns and Merlin grins so widely his cheeks hurt.

“So, how do we get out of here?”

Metal scraping against metal catches their attention as something slides underneath the door. The brass object on the floor is flat, thin, and round and they both look down at the coin, hundreds of years old and completely useless in a world where physical currency hasn’t existed for well over a century. They only know one person who still carries those around.

They turn to grin at each other.

“Gwaine.”

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin & arthur #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #cyberpunk au #dystopian au #arthur pendragon #nox writes #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hurt and comfort #angst #merthur

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inkstaineddove · 3 years

Text

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up. They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

Conversation

RP meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Black Furies" Tribebook (Revised Version) Ch 2 "Pegasus’ Flight"

"But how can you be here?"

"I’m sorry. I’m easily sidetracked. Where was I?"

"Every day the possibility exists that you will find some great treasure — a companion, a fetish, riches, secrets or whatever is important to you."

"Divine justice is not something that can be safely left in the hands of mortal men and women — or even certain sky goddesses, as Athena’s blindness showed."

"While limits and strictures are frightening to many, I take peace knowing that purposes exist for all things."

"The problem comes when limits become absolute."

"It’s a human mind-twister — and I love mind-twisters — that the only rule to which there is no exception is that there’s an exception to every rule."

"I said before I love mind-twisters, but it’s good to know when to stop twisting your mind."

"Change hurts."

"The questions do not always need to be answered, often just asking them is enough."

"If they lead only to more questions or to simple answers (I remember well learning the answer to “What do bees smell like?”), then that also is learning and therefore good."

"Laughter doesn’t have to be mirthful; it can be bitter or rueful as well."

"How many of these stories actually happened?"

"Take from a story the wisdom that is in it; one of humanity’s biggest problems, I think, is that many of them take their legends too seriously."

"Contemplation is good, but too much of it causes the topic to become irrelevant."

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

"The average first-time mother can expect an ordeal of fourteen hours."

"Everyone agrees that breast milk is best for babies; doctors, researchers, pharmaceutical companies, and parenting gurus."

"I am sorry for your discomfort, but you can just suffer through it a bit longer."

"A woman’s sexuality is hers, and can be a closely guarded secret or a gift to the world, as she chooses."

"Only the weak deserve pity."

"And yet we’re still spit on as often as not. Unfair, isn’t it?"

"Sex and childbearing is all about responsibility."

"There is no honor in blood for blood’s sake."

"These assaults take place far from the eyes of humanity, and the large-scale ones are most frequently mistaken for natural disasters."

"First, while faith might be eternal, religion must evolve."

"The world is often random, and believing it to be loving and fair is just as false as believing it to be cruel."

"They aren’t thieves, mind you; they just seem to know where to find things."

"I’m quite sure you’ve heard it all. Stay awake and listen again. This is important stuff, you know."

"That kind of cruelty doesn’t really help anyone, does it?"

"Note that there’s a big difference between “breeding” and “having sex.”

"My opinion has always been that announcing one’s presence and intentions when entering another’s territory is polite and proper behavior."

"A predator sees any encroachment on her territory as a threat. If the intruder nears her den, expect her to become very violent."

"If you enter another’s territory and announce yourself, that doesn’t mean you can stay. The one who lives there can still tell you to leave, and you should respect her wishes."

"Be careful when traveling."

"Look, we’ve all got anger control problems. It’s part of who we are."

"If you’re hurt, quit."

"Die to be a hero if you want, but don’t die to prove you were right."

"When the challenge is over, when the winner is declared, accept the ruling and live with it."

"Challenges are serious business — never initiate one without good cause."

"Do not look away. I hardly need to explain what that will lead to."

"We all know why it isn’t good to eat humans; for one thing, their flesh is fouled by the chemicals they eat, and for another, we’re meant to protect and avenge them, not prey upon them."

"If it becomes necessary to kill humans, do so, but remember that you are what you eat."

"From the face you’re making, I can assume you find the notion of cannibalism to be truly repulsive."

"Find other ways to hide your action."

"The problem is that humans are resilient and tenacious, especially in fear or hatred."

"Sometimes, however, we must let go."

"When the time comes for me to die, assuming, of course, that I do not die in battle, I shall walk into the sea and let the waves take me on my last journey."

"They can’t be challenged if no one can find them."

"I’m not saying that the system is corrupt, only that it could be."

"Such a small place, yet so many differing cultures!"

"Any biologist will tell you that you may measure how well an area thrives by the diversity of life it supports."

"Women are, on average, not as physically strong as men. This means that they sometimes need protection. I hardly need to tell you who should provide it."

"Unless I missed a major theological event, there haven’t been any immaculate conceptions recently."

"No matter your personal feelings on men, they are and always have been one half of the equation."

"A man is not evil simply by dint of his sex; to believe so is no better than calling women “the weaker sex.”

"Weak people produce more weak people, and since humans have virtually no method of natural selection, it is up to us to try to correct their weaknesses as best we can."

"Something is urging the citizens towards these evils, for I cannot believe that they did this themselves."

"The idiot humans continue to think that if they could just clear away the trees, they’d have wonderful land for agriculture, never once realizing that it’s the forest itself that preserves the land."

"Tell me why you think you could do better."

"So many believe the courts will do nothing — and if their attackers are rich and privileged enough, that is sadly true."

"Celebrities and advertisements show thin and unhealthy looking women being adored and generally enjoying life. So, young girls are made to feel abnormal and loathe their bodies."

"The Church decries sexuality for any reason but procreation — and women learn to fear their sexual power."

"Time may dull the memory, but we still have blood on our claws."

"It’s harsh, but good exercise."

"Don’t let their foul behavior and mannerisms fool you. These bumpkins and slum-dwellers have contacts all over the city. I avoid them when possible, but when I am left with no other choice and need information in the city, I go to them. Of course, that information does not come cheaply."

"Some of them can get a little corny at times, I admit, but I’d rather have them with us than against us."

"A more serious bunch of assholes was never born."

"They are reprehensible dogs."

"They have money, they have places to stay, they know good places to party, and they have access to guns, and explosives, and body armor, and — well, you get the idea."

"They have a lot of hate, and the near-extinction of their species isn’t something that one just gets over."

"No one ever identifies herself as “evil.”

"You will get far more than you bargained for."

"Most national leaders are ridiculed without mercy, because every mistake they’ve ever made is on display for the world to see."

"Too much time spent mucking with forces beyond their control taints these people, if you ask me."

"Bloody opportunists."

"I’m not going to say they planned it that way, but they sure didn’t stop it either."

"Sure, they got fucked, but they’re still assholes."

"A quaint story, I thought, no more than a sort of urban legend."

"However, they do learn many secrets that we miss. Getting them to give up these secrets, however, is usually more trouble than it’s worth."

"Maybe they aren’t all dead?"

"Greek myths are replete with dragons; Ladon, Typhon, Python, Hydra, and so forth. They are never cast in favorable roles; most of them only exist for a hero to kill."

"I’ve never liked practical jokes, and I don’t like the notion of pushing someone’s buttons just to teach them not to respond. You can lose your head doing that to the wrong person."

"Other creatures share the unseen world with us, and it would behoove you to know something about them."

"The spirits of the dead do not always rest easily."

"The dead aren’t staying in the ground."

"Some of them are complete pigs, so I’m told, but even so, they can be quite seductive."

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay starters #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #black furies #Werewolf the Apocalypse #wta #owod #World Of Darkness

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mewtonian-physics · 3 years

Text

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it.

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes.

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck.

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard.

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one.

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.)

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments...

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

#alex rider #spoilers

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problematic-president · 3 years

Note

The spirit of jacobinism, if not entirely a new spirit, has at least been cloathed with a more gigantic body and armed with more powerful weapons than it ever before possessed. It is perhaps not too much to say, that it threatens more extensive and complicated mischiefs to the world than have hitherto flowed from the three great scourges of mankind, War, Pestilence and Famine. To what point it will ultimately lead society, it is impossible for human foresight to pronounce; but there is just ground to apprehend that its progress may be marked with calamities of which the dreadful incidents of the French revolution afford a very faint image. Incessantly busied in undermining all the props of public security and private happiness, it seems to threaten the political and moral world with a complete overthrow.

A principal engine, by which this spirit endeavours to accomplish its purposes is that of calumny. It is essential to its success that the influence of men of upright principles, disposed and able to resist its enterprises, shall be at all events destroyed. Not content with traducing their best efforts for the public good, with misrepresenting their purest motives, with inferring criminality from actions innocent or laudable, the most direct falshoods are invented and propagated, with undaunted effrontery and unrelenting perseverance. Lies often detected and refuted are still revived and repeated, in the hope that the refutation may have been forgotten or that the frequency and boldness of accusation may supply the place of truth and proof. The most profligate men are encouraged, probably bribed, certainly with patronage if not with money, to become informers and accusers. And when tales, which their characters alone ought to discredit, are refuted by evidence and facts which oblige the patrons of them to abandon their support, they still continue in corroding whispers to wear away the reputations which they could not directly subvert. If, luckily for the conspirators against honest fame, any little foible or folly can be traced out in one, whom they desire to persecute, it becomes at once in their hands a two-edged sword, by which to wound the public character and stab the private felicity of the person. With such men, nothing is sacred. Even the peace of an unoffending and amiable wife is a welcome repast to their insatiate fury against the husband.

In the gratification of this baleful spirit, we not only hear the jacobin news-papers continually ring with odious insinuations and charges against many of our most virtuous citizens; but, not satisfied with this, a measure new in this country has been lately adopted to give greater efficacy to the system of defamation—periodical pamphlets issue from the same presses, full freighted with misrepresentation and falshood, artfully calculated to hold up the opponents of the Faction to the jealousy and distrust of the present generation and if possible, to transmit their names with dishonor to posterity. Even the great and multiplied services, the tried and rarely equalled virtues of a Washington, can secure no exemption.

How then can I, with pretensions every way inferior expect to escape? And if truly this be, as every appearance indicates, a conspiracy of vice against virtue, ought I not rather to be flattered, that I have been so long and so peculiarly an object of persecution? Ought I to regret, if there be any thing about me, so formidable to the Faction as to have made me worthy to be distinguished by the plentytude of its rancour and venom?

It is certain that I have had a pretty copious experience of its malignity. For the honor of human nature, it is to be hoped that the examples are not numerous of men so greatly calumniated and persecuted, as I have been, with so little cause.

I dare appeal to my immediate fellow citizens of whatever political party for the truth of the assertion, that no man ever carried into public life a more unblemished pecuniary reputation, than that with which I undertook the office of Secretary of the Treasury; a character marked by an indifference to the acquisition of property rather than an avidity for it.

With such a character, however natural it was to expect criticism and opposition, as to the political principles which I might manifest or be supposed to entertain, as to the wisdom or expediency of the plans, which I might propose, or as to the skill, care or diligence with which the business of my department might be executed, it was not natural to expect nor did I expect that my fidelity or integrity in a pecuniary sense would ever be called in question.

But on his head a mortifying disappointment has been experienced. Without the slightest foundation, I have been repeatedly held up to the suspicions of the world as a man directed in his administration by the most sordid views; who did not scruple to sacrifice the public to his private interest, his duty and honor to the sinister accumulation of wealth.

Merely because I retained an opinion once common to me and the most influencial of those who opposed me, That the public debt ought to be provided for on the basis of the contract upon which it was created, I have been wickedly accused with wantonly increasing the public burthen many millions, in order to promote a stockjobbing interest of myself and friends.

Merely because a member of the House of Representatives entertained a different idea from me, as to the legal effect of appropriation laws, and did not understand accounts, I was exposed to the imputation of having committed a deliberate and criminal violation of the laws and to the suspicion of being a defaulter for millions; so as to have been driven to the painful necessity of calling for a formal and solemn inquiry.

The inquiry took place. It was conducted by a committee of fifteen members of the House of Representatives—a majority of them either my decided political enemies or inclined against me, some of them the most active and intelligent of my opponents, without a single man, who being known to be friendly to me, possessed also such knowledge and experience of public affairs as would enable him to counteract injurious intrigues. Mr. Giles of Virginia who had commenced the attack was of the committee.10

The officers and books of the treasury were examined. The transactions between the several banks and the treasury were scrutinized. Even my private accounts with those institutions were laid open to the committee; and every possible facility given to the inquiry. The result was a complete demonstration that the suspicions which had been entertained were groundless.

Those which had taken the fastest hold were, that the public monies had been made subservient to loans, discounts and accommodations to myself and friends. The committee in reference to this point reported thus: “It appears from the affidavits of the Cashier and several officers of the bank of the United States and several of the directors, the Cashier, and other officers of the bank of NewYork, that the Secretary of the Treasury never has either directly or indirectly, for himself or any other person, procured any discount or credit from either of the said banks upon the basis of any public monies which at any time have been deposited therein under his direction: And the committee are satisfied, that no monies of the United States, whether before or after they have passed to the credit of the Treasurer have ever been directly or indirectly used for or applied to any purposes but those of the government, except so far as all monies deposited in a bank are concerned in the general operations thereof.”11

The report, which I have always understood was unanimous, contains in other respects, with considerable detail the materials of a complete exculpation. My enemies, finding no handle for their malice, abandoned the pursuit.

Yet unwilling to leave any ambiguity upon the point, when I determined to resign my office, I gave early previous notice of it to the House of Representatives, for the declared purpose of affording an opportunity for legislative crimination, if any ground for it had been discovered.12 Not the least step towards it was taken. From which I have a right to infer the universal conviction of the House, that no cause existed, and to consider the result as a complete vindication.

On another occasion, a worthless man of the name of Fraunces found encouragement to bring forward to the House of Representatives a formal charge against me of unfaithful conduct in office.13 A Committee of the House was appointed to inquire, consisting in this case also, partly of some of my most intelligent and active enemies. The issue was an unanimous exculpation of me as will appear by the following extract from the Journals of the House of Representatives of the 19th of February 1794.

“The House resumed the consideration of the report of the Committee, to whom was referred the memorial of Andrew G. Fraunces: whereupon,

“Resolved, That the reasons assigned by the secretary of the treasury, for refusing payment of the warrants referred to in the memorial, are fully sufficient to justify his conduct; and that in the whole course of this transaction, the secretary and other officers of the treasury, have acted a meritorious part towards the public.”

“Resolved, That the charge exhibited in the memorial, against the secretary of the treasury, relative to the purchase of the pension of Baron de Glaubeck is wholly illiberal and groundless*.”14

Was it not to have been expected that these repeated demonstrations of the injustice of the accusations hazarded against me would have abashed the enterprise of my calumniators? However natural such an expectation may seem, it would betray an ignorance of the true character of the Jacobin system. It is a maxim deeply ingrafted in that dark system, that no character, however upright, is a match for constantly reiterated attacks, however false. It is well understood by its disciples, that every calumny makes some proselites and even retains some; since justification seldom circulates as rapidly and as widely as slander. The number of those who from doubt proceed to suspicion and thence to belief of imputed guilt is continually augmenting; and the public mind fatigued at length with resistance to the calumnies which eternally assail it, is apt in the end to sit down with the opinion that a person so often accused cannot be entirely innocent.

Relying upon this weakness of human nature, the Jacobin Scandal-Club though often defeated constantly return to the charge. Old calumnies are served up a-fresh and every pretext is seized to add to the catalogue. The person whom they seek to blacken, by dint of repeated strokes of their brush, becomes a demon in their own eyes, though he might be pure and bright as an angel but for the daubing of those wizard painters.

Of all the vile attempts which have been made to injure my character that which has been lately revived in No. V and VI, of the history of the United States for 1796 is the most vile.15 This it will be impossible for any intelligent, I will not say candid, man to doubt, when he shall have accompanied me through the examination.

I owe perhaps to my friends an apology for condescending to give a public explanation. A just pride with reluctance stoops to a formal vindication against so despicable a contrivance and is inclined rather to oppose to it the uniform evidence of an upright character. This would be my conduct on the present occasion, did not the tale seem to derive a sanction from the names of three men16 of some weight and consequence in the society: a circumstance, which I trust will excuse me for paying attention to a slander that without this prop, would defeat itself by intrinsic circumstances of absurdity and malice.

The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds for purposes of improper pecuniary speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife, for a considerable time with his privity and connivance, if not originally brought on by a combination between the husband and wife with the design to extort money from me.

This confession is not made without a blush. I cannot be the apologist of any vice because the ardour of passion may have made it mine. I can never cease to condemn myself for the pang, which it may inflict in a bosom eminently intitled to all my gratitude, fidelity and love. But that bosom will approve, that even at so great an expence, I should effectually wipe away a more serious stain from a name, which it cherishes with no less elevation than tenderness. The public too will I trust excuse the confession. The necessity of it to my defence against a more heinous charge could alone have extorted from me so painful an indecorum.

Before I proceed to an exhibition of the positive proof which repels the charge, I shall analize the documents from which it is deduced, and I am mistaken if with discerning and candid minds more would be necessary. But I desire to obviate the suspicions of the most suspicious.

The first reflection which occurs on a perusal of the documents is that it is morally impossible I should have been foolish as well as depraved enough to employ so vile an instrument as Reynolds for such insignificant ends, as are indicated by different parts of the story itself. My enemies to be sure have kindly pourtrayed me as another Chartres17 on the score of moral principle. But they have been ever bountiful in ascribing to me talents. It has suited their purpose to exaggerate such as I may possess, and to attribute to them an influence to which they are not intitled. But the present accusation imputes to me as much folly as wickedness. All the documents shew, and it is otherwise matter of notoriety, that Reynolds was an obscure, unimportant and profligate man. Nothing could be more weak, because nothing could be more unsafe than to make use of such an instrument; to use him too without any intermediate agent more worthy of confidence who might keep me out of sight, to write him numerous letters recording the objects of the improper connection (for this is pretended and that the letters were afterwards burnt at my request) to unbosom myself to him with a prodigality of confidence, by very unnecessarily telling him, as he alleges, of a connection in speculation between myself and Mr. Duer.18 It is very extraordinary, if the head of the money department of a country, being unprincipled enough to sacrifice his trust and his integrity, could not have contrived objects of profit sufficiently large to have engaged the co-operation of men of far greater importance than Reynolds, and with whom there could have been due safety, and should have been driven to the necessity of unkennelling such a reptile to be the instrument of his cupidity.

But, moreover, the scale of the concern with Reynolds, such as it is presented, is contemptibly narrow for a rapacious speculating secretary of the treasury. Clingman, Reynolds and his wife were manifestly in very close confidence with each other. It seems there was a free communication of secrets. Yet in clubbing their different items of information as to the supplies of money which Reynolds received from me, what do they amount to? Clingman states, that Mrs. Reynolds told him, that at a certain time her husband had received from me upwards of eleven hundred dollars.19 A note is produced which shews that at one time fifty dollars were sent to him,20 and another note is produced, by which and the information of Reynolds himself through Clingman, it appears that at another time 300 dollars were asked21 and refused. Another sum of 200 dollars is spoken of by Clingman as having been furnished to Reynolds at some other time.22 What a scale of speculation is this for the head of a public treasury, for one who in the very publication that brings forward the charge is represented as having procured to be funded at forty millions a debt which ought to have been discharged at ten or fifteen millions for the criminal purpose of enriching himself and his friends? He must have been a clumsy knave, if he did not secure enough of this excess of twenty five or thirty millions, to have taken away all inducement to risk his character in such bad hands and in so huckstering a way—or to have enabled him, if he did employ such an agent, to do it with more means and to better purpose. It is curious, that this rapacious secretary should at one time have furnished his speculating agent with the paltry sum of fifty dollars, at another, have refused him the inconsiderable sum of 300 dollars, declaring upon his honor that it was not in his power to furnish it. This declaration was true or not; if the last the refusal ill comports with the idea of a speculating connection—if the first, it is very singular that the head of the treasury engaged without scruple in schemes of profit should have been destitute of so small a sum. But if we suppose this officer to be living upon an inadequate salary, without any collateral pursuits of gain, the appearances then are simple and intelligible enough, applying to them the true key.

It appears that Reynolds and Clingman were detected by the then comptroller of the treasury,23 in the odious crime of suborning a witness to commit perjury, for the purpose of obtaining letters of administration on the estate of a person who was living in order to receive a small sum of money due to him from the treasury.24 It is certainly extraordinary that the confidential agent of the head of that department should have been in circumstances to induce a resort to so miserable an expedient. It is odd, if there was a speculating connection, that it was not more profitable both to the secretary and to his agent than are indicated by the circumstances disclosed.

It is also a remarkable and very instructive fact, that notwithstanding the great confidence and intimacy, which subsisted between Clingman, Reynolds and his wife, and which continued till after the period of the liberation of the two former from the prosecution against them, neither of them has ever specified the objects of the pretended connection in speculation between Reynolds and me. The pretext that the letters which contained the evidence were destroyed is no answer. They could not have been forgotten and might have been disclosed from memory. The total omission of this could only have proceeded from the consideration that detail might have led to detection. The destruction of letters besides is a fiction, which is refuted not only by the general improbability, that I should put myself upon paper with so despicable a person on a subject which might expose me to infamy, but by the evidence of extreme caution on my part in this particular, resulting from the laconic and disguised form of the notes which are produced. They prove incontestibly that there was an unwillingness to trust Reynolds with my hand writing. The true reason was, that I apprehended he might make use of it to impress upon others the belief of some pecuniary connection with me, and besides implicating my character might render it the engine of a false credit, or turn it to some other sinister use. Hence the disguise; for my conduct in admitting at once and without hesitation that the notes were from me proves that it was never my intention by the expedient of disguising my hand to shelter myself from any serious inquiry.

The accusation against me was never heard of ’till Clingman and Reynolds were under prosecution by the treasury for an infamous crime. It will be seen by the document No. 1 (a) that during the endeavours of Clingman to obtain relief, through the interposition of Mr. Mughlenberg, he made to the latter the communication of my pretended criminality. It will be further seen by document No. 2 [(a)] that Reynolds had while in prison conveyed to the ears of Messrs. Monroe and Venable that he could give intelligence of my being concerned in speculation, and that he also supposed that he was kept in prison by a design on my part to oppress him and drive him away. And by his letter to Clingman of the 13 of December, after he was released from prison, it also appears that he was actuated by a spirit of revenge against me; for he declares that he will have satisfaction from me at all events; adding, as addressed to Clingman, “And you only I trust.”25

Three important inferences flow from these circumstances—one that the accusation against me was an auxiliary to the efforts of Clingman and Reynolds to get released from a disgraceful prosecution—another that there was a vindicative spirit against me at least on the part of Reynolds—the third, that he confided in Clingman as a coadjutor in the plan of vengeance. These circumstances, according to every estimate of the credit due to accusers, ought to destroy their testimony. To what credit are persons intitled, who in telling a story are governed by the double motive of escaping from disgrace and punishment and of gratifying revenge? As to Mrs. Reynolds, if she was not an accomplice, as it is too probable she was, her situation would naturally subject her to the will of her husband. But enough besides will appear in the sequel to shew that her testimony merits no attention.

The letter which has been just cited deserves a more particular attention. As it was produced by Clingman, there is a chasm of three lines, which lines are manifestly essential to explain the sense. It may be inferred from the context, that these deficient lines would unfold the cause of the resentment which is expressed. ‘Twas from them that might have been learnt the true nature of the transaction. The expunging of them is a violent presumption that they would have contradicted the purpose for which the letter was produced. A witness offering such a mutilated piece descredits himself. The mutilation is alone satisfactory proof of contrivance and imposition. The manner of accounting for it is frivolous.

The words of the letter are strong—satisfaction is to be had at all events, per fas et nefas, and Clingman is the chosen confidential agent of the laudable plan of vengeance. It must be confessed he was not wanting in his part.

Reynolds, as will be seen by No. II (a) alleges that a merchant came to him and offered as a volunteer to be his bail, who he suspected had been instigated to it by me, and after being decoyed to the place the merchant wished to carry him to, he refused being his bail, unless he would deposit a sum of money to some considerable amount which he could not do and was in consequence committed to prison. Clingman (No. IV a) tells the same story in substance though with some difference in form leaving to be implied what Reynolds expresses and naming Henry Seckel as the merchant. The deposition of this respectable citizen (No. XXIII) gives the lie to both, and shews that he was in fact the agent of Clingman, from motives of good will to him, as his former book-keeper, that he never had any communication with me concerning either of them till after they were both in custody, that when he came as a messenger to me from one of them, I not only declined interposing in their behalf, but informed Mr. Seckel that they had been guilty of a crime and advised him to have nothing to do with them.

This single fact goes far to invalidate the whole story. It shews p[l]ainly the disregard of truth and the malice by which the parties were actuated. Other important inferences are to be drawn from the transaction. Had I been conscious that I had any thing to fear from Reynolds of the nature which has been pretended, should I have warned Mr. Seckel against having any thing to do with them? Should I not rather have encouraged him to have come to their assistance? Should I not have been eager to promote their liberation? But this is not the only instance, in which I acted a contrary part. Clingman testifies in No. V. that I would not permit Fraunces a clerk in my office to become their bail, but signified to him that if he did it, he must quit the department.26

Clingman states in No. IV. (a) that my note in answer to Reynolds’ application for a loan towards a subscription to the Lancaster Turnpike was in his possession from about the time it was written (June 1792.) This circumstance, apparently trivial, is very explanatory. To what end had Clingman the custody of this note all that time if it was not part of a project to lay the foundation for some false accusation?

It appears from No. V.27 that Fraunces had said, or was stated to have said, something to my prejudice. If my memory serves me aright, it was that he had been my agent in some speculations. When Fraunces was interrogated concerning it, he absolutely denied that he had said any thing of the kind. The charge which this same Fraunces afterwards preferred against me to the House of Representatives, and the fate of it, have been already mentioned. It is illustrative of the nature of the combination which was formed against me.

There are other features in the documents which are relied upon to constitute the charge against me, that are of a nature to corroborate the inference to be drawn from the particulars which have been noticed. But there is no need to be over minute. I am much mistaken if the view which has been taken of the subject is not sufficient, without any thing further, to establish my innocence with every discerning and fair mind.

I proceed in the next place to offer a frank and plain solution of the enigma, by giving a history of the origin and progress of my connection with Mrs. Reynolds, of its discovery, real and pretended by the husband, and of the disagreeable embarrassments to which it exposed me. This history will be supported by the letters of Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, which leave no room for doubt of the principal facts, and at the same time explain with precision the objects of the little notes from me which have been published, shewing clearly that such of them as have related to money had no reference to any concern in speculation. As the situation which will be disclosed, will fully explain every ambiguous appearance, and meet satisfactorily the written documents, nothing more can be requisite to my justification. For frail indeed will be the tenure by which the most blameless man will hold his reputation, if the assertions of three of the most abandoned characters in the community, two of them stigmatized by the discrediting crime which has been mentioned, are sufficient to blast it. The business of accusation would soon become in such a case, a regular trade, and men’s reputations would be bought and sold like any marketable commodity.

Some time in the summer of the year 1791 a woman called at my house in the city of Philadelphia28 and asked to speak with me in private. I attended her into a room apart from the family. With a seeming air of affliction she informed that she was a daughter of a Mr. Lewis, sister to a Mr. G. Livingston of the State of New-York, and wife to a Mr. Reynolds whose father was in the Commissary Department during the war with Great Britain, that her husband, who for a long time had treated her very cruelly, had lately left her, to live with another woman, and in so destitute a condition, that though desirous of returning to her friends she had not the means—that knowing I was a citizen of New-York, she had taken the liberty to apply to my humanity for assistance.

I replied, that her situation was a very interesting one—that I was disposed to afford her assistance to convey her to her friends, but this at the moment not being convenient to me (which was the fact) I must request the place of her residence, to which I should bring or send a small supply of money. She told me the street and the number of the house where she lodged. In the evening I put a bank-bill in my pocket and went to the house.29 I inquired for Mrs. Reynolds and was shewn up stairs, at the head of which she met me and conducted me into a bed room. I took the bill out of my pocket and gave it to her. Some conversation ensued from which it was quickly apparent that other than pecuniary consolation would be acceptable.

After this, I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house; Mrs. Hamilton with her children being absent on a visit to her father.30 In the course of a short time, she mentioned to me that her husband had solicited a reconciliation, and affected to consult me about it. I advised to it, and was soon after informed by her that it had taken place. She told me besides that her husband had been engaged in speculation, and she believed could give information respecting the conduct of some persons in the department which would be useful. I sent for Reynolds who came to me accordingly.

In the course of our interview, he confessed that he had obtained a list of claims from a person in my department which he had made use of in his speculations. I invited him, by the expectation of my friendship and good offices, to disclose the person. After some affectation of scruple, he pretended to yield, and ascribed the infidelity to Mr. Duer from whom he said he had obtained the list in New-York, while he (Duer) was in the department.

As Mr. Duer had resigned his office some time before the seat of government was removed to Philadelphia; this discovery, if it had been true, was not very important—yet it was the interest of my passions to appear to set value upon it, and to continue the expectation of friendship and good offices. Mr. Reynolds told me he was going to Virginia, and on his return would point out something in which I could serve him. I do not know but he said something about employment in a public office.

On his return he asked employment as a clerk in the treasury department. The knowledge I had acquired of him was decisive against such a request. I parried it by telling him, what was true, that there was no vacancy in my immediate office, and that the appointment of clerks in the other branches of the department was left to the chiefs of the respective branches. Reynolds alleged, as Clingman relates No. IV (a) as a topic of complaint against me that I had promised him employment and had disappointed him. The situation with the wife would naturally incline me to conciliate this man. It is possible I may have used vague expressions which raised expectation; but the more I learned of the person, the more inadmissible his employment in a public office became. Some material reflections will occur here to a discerning mind. Could I have preferred my private gratification to the public interest, should I not have found the employment he desired for a man, whom it was so convenient to me, on my own statement, to lay under obligations. Had I had any such connection with him, as he has since pretended, is it likely that he would have wanted other employment? Or is it likely that wanting it, I should have hazarded his resentment by a persevering refusal? This little circumstance shews at once the delicacy of my conduct, in its public relations, and the impossibility of my having had the connection pretended with Reynolds.

The intercourse with Mrs. Reynolds, in the mean time, continued; and, though various reflections, (in which a further knowledge of Reynolds’ character and the suspicion of some concert between the husband and wife bore a part) induced me to wish a cessation of it; yet her conduct, made it extremely difficult to disentangle myself. All the appearances of violent attachment, and of agonizing distress at the idea of a relinquishment, were played off with a most imposing art. This, though it did not make me entirely the dupe of the plot, yet kept me in a state of irresolution. My sensibility, perhaps my vanity, admitted the possibility of a real fondness; and led me to adopt the plan of a gradual discontinuance rather than of a sudden interruption, as least calculated to give pain, if a real partiality existed.

Mrs. Reynolds, on the other hand, employed every effort to keep up my attention and visits. Her pen was freely employed, and her letters were filled with those tender and pathetic effusions which would have been natural to a woman truly fond and neglected.

One day, I received a letter from her, which is in the appendix (No. I. b) intimating a discovery by her husband. It was matter of doubt with me whether there had been really a discovery by accident, or whether the time for the catastrophe of the plot was arrived.

The same day, being the 15th of December 1791, I received from Mr. Reynolds the letter (No. II. b) by which he informs me of the detection of his wife in the act of writing a letter to me, and that he had obtained from her a discovery of her connection with me, suggesting that it was the consequence of an undue advantage taken of her distress.

In answer to this I sent him a note, or message desiring him to call upon me at my office, which I think he did the same day.31

He in substance repeated the topics contained in his letter, and concluded as he had done there, that he was resolved to have satisfaction.

I replied that he knew best what evidence he had of the alleged connection between me and his wife, that I neither admitted nor denied it—that if he knew of any injury I had done him, intitling him to satisfaction, it lay with him to name it.

He travelled over the same ground as before, and again concluded with the same vague claim of satisfaction, but without specifying the kind, which would content him. It was easy to understand that he wanted money, and to prevent an explosion, I resolved to gratify him. But willing to manage his delicacy, if he had any, I reminded him that I had at our first interview made him a promise of service, that I was disposed to do it as far as might be proper, and in my power, and requested him to consider in what manner I could do it, and to write to me. He withdrew with a promise of compliance.

Two days after, the 17th of December, he wrote me the letter (No. III. b). The evident drift of this letter is to exaggerate the injury done by me, to make a display of sensibility and to magnify the atonement, which was to be required. It however comes to no conclusion, but proposes a meeting at the George Tavern, or at some other place more agreeable to me, which I should name.

On receipt of this letter, I called upon Reynolds, and assuming a decisive tone, told him, that I was tired of his indecision, and insisted upon his declaring to me explicitly what it was he aimed at. He again promised to explain by letter.

On the 19th, I received the promised letter (No. IV. b) the essence of which is that he was willing to take a thousand dollars as the plaister of his wounded honor.

I determined to give it to him, and did so in two payments, as per receipts (No. V and VI) dated the 22d of December and 3d of January. It is a little remarkable, that an avaricious speculating secretary of the treasury should have been so straitened for money as to be obliged to satisfy an engagement of this sort by two different payments!

On the 17th of January, I received the letter No. V.32 by which Reynolds invites me to renew my visits to his wife. He had before requested that I would see her no more. The motive to this step appears in the conclusion of the letter, “I rely upon your befriending me, if there should any thing offer that should be to my advantage, as you express a wish to befriend me.” Is the pre-existence of a speculating connection reconcileable with this mode of expression?

If I recollect rightly, I did not immediately accept the invitation, nor ’till after I had received several very importunate letters from Mrs. Reynolds—See her letters No. VIII, (b) IX, X.

On the 24th of March following, I received a letter from Reynolds, No. XI, and on the same day one from his wife, No. XII. These letters will further illustrate the obliging co-operation of the husband with his wife to aliment and keep alive my connection with her.

The letters from Reynolds, No. XIII to XVI, are an additional comment upon the same plan. It was a persevering scheme to spare no pains to levy contributions upon my passions on the one hand, and upon my apprehensions of discovery on the other. It is probably to No. XIV that my note, in these words, was an answer; “To-morrow what is requested will be done. ’Twill hardly be possible to-day.”33 The letter presses for the loan which is asked for to-day. A scarcity of cash, which was not very uncommon, is believed to have modelled the reply.

The letter No. XVII is a master-piece. The husband there forbids my future visits to his wife, chiefly because I was careful to avoid publicity. It was probably necessary to the project of some deeper treason against me that I should be seen at the house. Hence was it contrived, with all the caution on my part to avoid it, that Clingman should occasionally see me.

The interdiction was every way welcome, and was I believe, strictly observed. On the second of June following, I received the letter No. XVIII, from Mrs. Reynolds, which proves that it was not her plan yet to let me off. It was probably the prelude to the letter from Reynolds, No. XIX, soliciting a loan of 300 dollars towards a subscription to the Lancaster Turnpike. Clingman’s statement, No. IV [(a)], admits, on the information of Reynolds, that to this letter the following note from me was an answer—“It is utterly out of my power I assure you ’pon my honour to comply with your request. Your note is returned.” The letter itself demonstrates, that here was no concern in speculation on my part—that the money is asked as a favour and as a loan, to be reimbursed simply and without profit in less than a fortnight. My answer shews that even the loan was refused.

The letter No. XX, from Reynolds, explains the object of my note in these words, “Inclosed are 50 dollars, they could not be sent sooner,”34 proving that this sum also was begged for in a very apologetic stile as a mere loan.

The letters of the 24th and 30th of August, No. XXI and XXII, furnish the key to the affair of the 200 dollars mentioned by Clingman in No. IV, shewing that this sum likewise was asked by way of loan, towards furnishing a small boarding-house which Reynolds and his wife were or pretended to be about to set up.

These letters collectively, furnish a complete elucidation of the nature of my transactions with Reynolds. They resolve them into an amorous connection with his wife, detected, or pretended to be detected by the husband, imposing on me the necessity of a pecuniary composition with him, and leaving me afterwards under a duress for fear of disclosure, which was the instrument of levying upon me from time to time forced loans. They apply directly to this state of things, the notes which Reynolds was so careful to preserve, and which had been employed to excite suspicion.

Four, and the principal of these notes have been not only generally, but particularly explained—I shall briefly notice the remaining two.

“My dear Sir, I expected to have heard the day after I had the pleasure of seeing you.” This fragment, if truly part of a letter to Reynolds, denotes nothing more than a disposition to be civil to a man, whom, as I said before, it was the interest of my passions to conciliate. But I verily believe it was not part of a letter to him, because I do not believe that I ever addressed him in such a stile. It may very well have been part of a letter to some other person, procured by means of which I am ignorant, or it may have been the beginning of an intended letter, torn off, thrown into the chimney in my office, which was a common practice, and there or after it had been swept out picked up by Reynolds or some coadjutor of his. There appears to have been more than one clerk in the department some how connected with him.

The endeavour shewn by the letter No. XVII, to induce me to render my visits to Mrs. Reynolds more public, and the great care with which my little notes were preserved, justify the belief that at a period, before it was attempted, the idea of implicating me in some accusation, with a view to the advantage of the accusers, was entertained. Hence the motive to pick up and preserve any fragment which might favour the idea of friendly or confidential correspondence.

2dly. “The person Mr. Reynolds inquired for on Friday waited for him all the evening at his house from a little after seven. Mr. R. may see him at any time to-day or to-morrow between the hours of two and three.”

Mrs. Reynolds more than once communicated to me, that Reynolds would occasionally relapse into discontent to his situation—would treat her very ill—hint at the assassination of me—and more openly threaten, by way of revenge, to inform Mrs. Hamilton—all this naturally gave some uneasiness. I could not be absolutely certain whether it was artifice or reality. In the workings of human inconsistency, it was very possible, that the same man might be corrupt enough to compound for his wife’s chastity and yet have sensibility enough to be restless in the situation and to hate the cause of it.

Reflections like these induced me for some time to use palliatives with the ill humours which were announced to me. Reynolds had called upon me in one of these discontented moods real or pretended. I was unwilling to provoke him by the appearance of neglect—and having failed to be at home at the hour he had been permitted to call, I wrote her the above note to obviate an ill impression.

The foregoing narrative and the remarks accompanying it have prepared the way for a perusal of the letters themselves. The more attention is used in this, the more entire will be the satisfaction which they will afford.

It has been seen that an explanation on the subject was had cotemporarily that is in December 1792, with three members of Congress—F. A. Muhlenberg, J. Monroe, and A. Venable. It is proper that the circumstances of this transaction should be accurately understood.

The manner in which Mr. Muhlenberg became engaged in the affair is fully set forth in the document (No. I. a). It is not equally clear how the two other gentlemen came to embark in it. The phraseology, in reference to this point in the close of (No. I. [(a)]) and beginning of (No. II. [(a)]) is rather equivocal. The gentlemen, if they please, can explain it.

But on the morning of the 15th of December 1792, the above mentioned gentlemen presented themselves at my office. Mr. Muhlenberg was then speaker. He introduced the subject by observing to me, that they had discovered a very improper connection between me and a Mr. Reynolds: extremely hurt by this mode of introduction, I arrested the progress of the discourse by giving way to very strong expressions of indignation. The gentlemen explained, telling me in substance that I had misapprehended them—that they did not intend to take the fact for established—that their meaning was to apprise me that unsought by them, information had been given them of an improper pecuniary connection between Mr. Reynolds and myself; that they had thought it their duty to pursue it and had become possessed of some documents of a suspicious complexion—that they had contemplated the laying the matter before the President, but before they did this, they thought it right to apprise me of the affair and to afford an opportunity of explanation; declaring at the same time that their agency in the matter was influenced solely by a sense of public duty and by no motive of personal ill will. If my memory be correct, the notes from me in a disguised hand were now shewn to me which without a moment’s hesitation I acknowledged to be mine.

I replied, that the affair was now put upon a different footing—that I always stood ready to meet fair inquiry with frank communication—that it happened, in the present instance, to be in my power by written documents to remove all doubt as to the real nature of the business, and fully to convince, that nothing of the kind imputed to me did in fact exist. The same evening at my house was by mutual consent appointed for an explanation.

I immediately after saw Mr. Wolcott, and for the first time informed him of the affair and of the interview just had; and delivering into his hands for perusal the documents of which I was possessed, I engaged him to be present at the intended explanation in the evening.

In the evening the proposed meeting took place, and Mr. Wolcott according to my request attended. The information, which had been received to that time, from Clingman, Reynolds and his wife was communicated to me and the notes were I think again exhibited.

I stated in explanation, the circumstances of my affair with Mrs. Reynolds and the consequences of it and in confirmation produced the documents (No. I. b, to XXII.) One or more of the gentlemen (Mr. Wolcott’s certificate No. XXIV, mentions one, Mr. Venable, but I think the same may be said of Mr. Muhlenberg) was struck with so much conviction, before I had gotten through the communication that they delicately urged me to discontinue it as unnecessary. I insisted upon going through the whole and did so. The result was a full and unequivocal acknowlegement on the part of the three gentlemen of perfect satisfaction with the explanation and expressions of regret at the trouble and embarrassment which had been occasioned to me. Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Venable, in particular manifested a degree of sensibility on the occasion. Mr. Monroe was more cold but intirely explicit.

One of the gentlemen, I think, expressed a hope that I also was satisfied with their conduct in conducting the inquiry. I answered, that they knew I had been hurt at the opening of the affair—that this excepted, I was satisfied with their conduct and considered myself as having been treated with candor or with fairness and liberality, I do not now pretend to recollect the exact terms. I took the next morning a memorandum of the substance of what was said to me, which will be seen by a copy of it transmitted in a letter to each of the gentlemen No. XXV.

I deny absolutely, as alleged by the editor of the publication in question, that I intreated a suspension of the communication to the President, or that from the beginning to the end of the inquiry, I asked any favour or indulgence whatever, and that I discovered any symptom different from that of a proud consciousness of innocence.35

Some days after the explanation I wrote to the three gentlemen the letter No. XXVI already published. That letter evinces the light in which I considered myself as standing in their view.

I received from Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Monroe in answer the letters No. XXVII and XXVIII.

Thus the affair remained ’till the pamphlets No. V and VI of the history of the U. States for 1796 appeared; with the exception of some dark whispers which were communicated to me by a friend in Virginia, and to which I replied by a statement of what had passed.36

When I saw No. V though it was evidence of a base infidelity somewhere, yet firmly believing that nothing more than a want of due care was chargeable upon either of the three gentlemen who had made the inquiry, I immediately wrote to each of them a letter of which No. XXV is a copy37 in full confidence that their answer would put the whole business at rest. I ventured to believe, from the appearances on their part at closing our former interview on the subject, that their answers would have been both cordial and explicit.

I acknowledge that I was astonished when I came to read in the pamphlet No. VI the conclusion of the document No. V, containing the equivocal phrase “We left him under an impression our suspicions were removed,”38 which seemed to imply that this had been a mere piece of management, and that the impression given me had not been reciprocal. The appearance of duplicity incensed me; but resolving to proceed with caution and moderation, I thought the first proper step was to inquire of the gentlemen whether the paper was genuine. A letter was written for this purpose the copy of which I have mislaid.39

I afterwards received from Messrs. Muhlenberg and Venable the letters No. XXIX, XXX, and XXXI.40

Receiving no answer from Mr. Monroe, and hearing of his arrival at New-York I called upon him.41 The issue of the interview was that an answer was to be given by him, in conjunction with Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Venable on his return to Philadelphia, he thinking that as the agency had been joint it was most proper the answer should be joint, and informing me that Mr. Venable had told him he would wait his return.

I came to Philadelphia accordingly to bring the affair to a close; but on my arrival I found Mr. Venable had left the city for Virginia.

Mr. Monroe reached Philadelphia according to his appointment. And the morning following wrote me the note No. XXXII. While this note was on its way to my lodgings I was on my way to his. I had a conversation with him from which we separated with a repetition of the assurance in the note. In the course of the interviews with Mr. Monroe, the equivoque in document No. V, (a) and the paper of January 2d, 1793, under his signature were noticed.42

I received the day following the letter No. XXXIII, to which I returned the answer No. XXXIV,—accompanied with the letter No. XXXV. which was succeeded by the letters No. XXXVI—XXXVII—XXXVIII—XXXIX—XL. In due time the sequel of the correspondence will appear.

Though extremely disagreeable to me, for very obvious reasons, I at length determined in order that no cloud whatever might be left on the affair, to publish the documents which had been communicated to Messrs. Monroe, Muhlenberg and Venable,43 all which will be seen in the appendix from No. I, (b) to No. XXII, inclusively.

The information from Clingman of the 2d January 1793, to which the signature of Mr. Monroe is annexed, seems to require an observation or two in addition to what is contained in my letter to him No. XXXIX.

Clingman first suggests that he had been apprized of my vindication through Mr. Wolcott a day or two after it had been communicated. It did not occur to me to inquire of Mr. Wolcott on this point, and he being now absent from Philadelphia,44 I cannot do it at this moment. Though I can have no doubt of the friendly intention of Mr. Wolcott, if the suggestion of Clingman in this particular be taken as true; yet from the condition of secrecy which was annexed to my communication, there is the strongest reason to conclude it is not true. If not true, there is besides but one of two solutions, either that he obtained the information from one of the three gentlemen who made the inquiry, which would have been a very dishonourable act in the party, or that he conjectured what my defence was from what he before knew it truly could be. For there is the highest probability, that through Reynolds and his wife, and as an accomplice, he was privy to the whole affair. This last method of accounting for his knowledge would be conclusive on the sincerity and genuineness of the defence.

But the turn which Clingman gives to the matter must necessarily fall to the ground. It is, that Mrs. Reynolds denied her amorous connection with me, and represented the suggestion of it as a mere contrivance between her husband and myself to cover me, alleging that there had been a fabrication of letters and receipts to countenance it. The plain answer is, that Mrs. Reynolds’ own letters contradict absolutely this artful explanation of hers; if indeed she ever made it, of which Clingman’s assertion is no evidence whatever. These letters are proved by the affidavit No. XLI, though it will easily be conceived that the proof of them was rendered no easy matter by a lapse of near five years. They shew explicitly the connection with her, the discovery of it by her husband and the pains she took to prolong it when I evidently wished to get rid of it. This cuts up, by the root, the pretence of a contrivance between the husband and myself to fabricate the evidences of it.

The variety of shapes which this woman could assume was endless. In a conversation between her and a gentleman whom I am not at liberty publicly to name,45 she made a voluntary confession of her belief and even knowledge, that I was innocent of all that had been laid to my charge by Reynolds or any other person of her acquaintance, spoke of me in exalted terms of esteem and respect, declared in the most solemn manner her extreme unhappiness lest I should suppose her accessary to the trouble which had been given me on that account, and expressed her fear that the resentment of Mr. Reynolds on a particular score, might have urged him to improper lengths of revenge—appearing at the same time extremely agitated and unhappy. With the gentleman who gives this information, I have never been in any relation personal or political that could be supposed to bias him. His name would evince that he is an impartial witness. And though I am not permitted to make a public use of it, I am permitted to refer any gentleman to the perusal of his letter in the hands of William Bingham, Esquire; who is also so obliging as to permit me to deposit with him for similar inspection all the original papers which are contained in the appendix to this narrative. The letter from the gentleman above alluded to has been already shewn to Mr. Monroe.

Let me now, in the last place, recur to some comments, in which the hireling editors of the pamphlets No. V and VI has thought fit to indulge himself.

The first of them is that the soft language of one of my notes addressed to a man in the habit of threatening me with disgrace, is incompatible with the idea of innocence.46 The threats alluded to must be those of being able to hang the Secretary of the Treasury. How does it appear that Reynolds was in such a habit? No otherwise than by the declaration of Reynolds and Clingman. If the assertions of these men are to condemn me, there is an end of the question. There is no need, by elaborate deductions from parts of their assertions, to endeavour to establish what their assertions collectively affirm in express terms. If they are worthy of credit I am guilty; if they are not, all wire-drawn inferences from parts of their story are mere artifice and nonsense. But no man, not as debauched as themselves, will believe them, independent of the positive disproof of their story in the written documents.

As to the affair of threats (except those in Reynolds letters respecting the connection with his wife, which it will be perceived were very gentle for the occasion) not the least idea of the sort ever reached me ’till after the imprisonment of Reynolds. Mr. Wolcott’s certificate47 shews my conduct in that case—notwithstanding the powerful motives I may be presumed to have had to desire the liberation of Reynolds, on account of my situation with his wife, I cautioned Mr. Wolcott not to facilitate his liberation, till the affair of the threat was satisfactorily cleared up. The solemn denial of it in Reynold’s letter No. XLII was considered by Mr. Wolcott as sufficient. This is a further proof, that though in respect to my situation with his wife, I was somewhat in Reynolds’s power. I was not disposed to make any improper concession to the apprehension of his resentment.

As the threats intimated in his letters, the nature of the cause will shew that the soft tone of my note was not only compatible with them, but a natural consequence of them.

But it is observed that the dread of the disclosure of an amorous connection was not a sufficient cause for my humility, and that I had nothing to lose as to my reputation for chastity concerning which the world had fixed a previous opinion.

I shall not enter into the question what was the previous opinion entertained of me in this particular—nor how well founded, if it was indeed such as it is represented to have been. It is sufficient to say that there is a wide difference between vague rumours and suspicions and the evidence of a positive fact—no man not indelicately unprincipled, with the state of manners in this country, would be willing to have a conjugal infidelity fixed upon him with positive certainty. He would know that it would justly injure him with a considerable and respectable portion of the society—and especially no man, tender of the happiness of an excellent wife could without extreme pain look forward to the affliction which she might endure from the disclosure, especially a public disclosure, of the fact. Those best acquainted with the interior of my domestic life will best appreciate the force of such a consideration upon me.

The truth was, that in both relations and especially the last, I dreaded extremely a disclosure—and was willing to make large sacrifices to avoid it. It is true, that from the acquiescence of Reynolds, I had strong ties upon his secrecy, but how could I rely upon any tie upon so base a character. How could I know, but that from moment to moment he might, at the expence of his own disgrace, become the mercenary of a party, with whom to blast my character in any way is a favorite object!

Strong inferences are attempted to be drawn from the release of Clingman and Reynolds with the consent of the Treasury, from the want of communicativeness of Reynolds while in prison—from the subsequent disappearance of Reynolds and his wife, and from their not having been produced by me in order to be confronted at the time of the explanation.

As to the first, it was emphatically the transaction of Mr. Wolcott the then Comptroller of the Treasury, and was bottomed upon a very adequate motive—and one as appears from the document No. I, (a) early contemplated in this light by that officer. It was certainly of more consequence to the public to detect and expel from the bosom of the Treasury Department an unfaithful Clerk to prevent future and extensive mischief, than to disgrace and punish two worthless individuals. Besides that a powerful influence foreign to me was exerted to procure indulgence to them—that of Mr. Muhlenberg and Col. Burr48—that of Col. Wadsworth,49 which though insidiously placed to my account was to the best of my recollection utterly unknown to me at the time, and according to the confession of Mrs. Reynolds herself, was put in motion by her entreaty. Candid men will derive strong evidence of my innocence and delicacy, from the reflection, that under circumstances so peculiar, the culprits were compelled to give a real and substantial equivalent for the relief which they obtained from a department, over which I presided.

The backwardness of Reynolds to enter into detail, while in jail, was an argument of nothing but that conscious of his inability to communicate any particulars which could be supported, he found it more convenient to deal in generals, and to keep up appearances by giving promises for the future.

As to the disappearance of the parties after the liberation, how am I answerable for it? Is it not presumable, that the instance discovered at the Treasury was not the only offence of the kind of which they were guilty? After one detection, is it not very probable that Reynolds fled to avoid detection in other cases? But exclusive of this, it is known and might easily be proved, that Reynolds was considerably in debt! What more natural for him than to fly from his creditors after having been once exposed by confinement for such a crime? Moreover, atrocious as his conduct had been towards me, was it not natural for him to fear that my resentment might be excited at the discovery of it, and that it might have been deemed a sufficient reason for retracting the indulgence, which was shewn by withdrawing the prosecution and for recommending it?

One or all of these considerations will explain the disappearance of Reynolds without imputing it to me as a method of getting rid of a dangerous witness.

That disappearance rendered it impracticable, if it had been desired to bring him forward to be confronted. As to Clingman it was not pretended that he knew any thing of what was charged upon me, otherwise than by the notes which he produced, and the information of Reynolds and his wife. As to Mrs. Reynolds, she in fact appears by Clingman’s last story to have remained, and to have been accessible through him, by the gentlemen who had undertaken the inquiry. If they supposed it necessary to the elucidation of the affair, why did not they bring her forward? There can be no doubt of the sufficiency of Clingman’s influence, for this purpose, when it is understood that Mrs. Reynolds and he afterwards lived together as man and wife.50 But to what purpose the confronting? What would it have availed the elucidation of truth, if Reynolds and his wife had impudently made allegations which I denied. Relative character and the written documents must still determine These could decide without it, and they were relied upon. But could it be expected, that I should so debase myself as to think it necessary to my vindication to be confronted with a person such as Reynolds? Could I have borne to suffer my veracity to be exposed to the humiliating competition?

For what?—why, it is said, to tear up the last twig of jealousy—but when I knew that I possessed written documents which were decisive, how could I foresee that any twig of jealousy would remain? When the proofs I did produce to the gentlemen were admitted by them to be completely satisfactory, and by some of them to be more than sufficient, how could I dream of the expediency of producing more—how could I imagine that every twig of jealousy was not plucked up?

If after the recent confessions of the gentlemen themselves, it could be useful to fortify the proof of the full conviction, my explanation had wrought, I might appeal to the total silence concerning this charge, when at a subsequent period, in the year 1793, there was such an active legislative persecution of me.51 It might not even perhaps be difficult to establish, that it came under the eye of Mr. Giles,52 and that he discarded it as the plain case of a private amour unconnected with any thing that was the proper subject of a public attack.

Thus has my desire to destroy this slander, completely, led me to a more copious and particular examination of it, than I am sure was necessary. The bare perusal of the letters from Reynolds and his wife is sufficient to convince my greatest enemy that there is nothing worse in the affair than an irregular and indelicate amour. For this, I bow to the just censure which it merits. I have paid pretty severely for the folly and can never recollect it without disgust and self condemnation. It might seem affectation to say more.

To unfold more clearly the malicious intent, by which the present revival of the affair must have been influenced—I shall annex an affidavit of Mr. Webster53 tending to confirm my declaration of the utter falsehood of the assertion, that a menace of publishing the papers which have been published had arrested the progress of an attempt to hold me up as a candidate for the office of President. Does this editor imagine that he will escape the just odium which awaits him by the miserable subterfuge of saying that he had the information from a respectable citizen of New-York? Till he names the author the inevitable inference must be that he has fabricated the tale.

How good is that wifi hamilton???

#alexander hamilton #anonymous #virasinbox #long post #anon whoever you are i hope you know it took me a whole minute to figure out where this is from

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slutshame-alexanderhamilton · 3 years

Note

Yet unwilling to leave any ambiguity upon the point, when I determined to resign my office, I gave early previous notice of it to the House of Representatives, for the declared purpose of affording an opportunity for legislative crimination, if any ground for it had been discovered. Not the least step towards it was taken. From which I have a right to infer the universal conviction of the House, that no cause existed, and to consider the result as a complete vindication.

On another occasion, a worthless man of the name of Fraunces found encouragement to bring forward to the House of Representatives a formal charge against me of unfaithful conduct in office. A Committee of the House was appointed to inquire, consisting in this case also, partly of some of my most intelligent and active enemies. The issue was an unanimous exculpation of me as will appear by the following extract from the Journals of the House of Representatives of the 19th of February 1794.

“The House resumed the consideration of the report of the Committee, to whom was referred the memorial of Andrew G. Fraunces: whereupon,

“Resolved, That the charge exhibited in the memorial, against the secretary of the treasury, relative to the purchase of the pension of Baron de Glaubeck is wholly illiberal and groundless*.”

Of all the vile attempts which have been made to injure my character that which has been lately revived in No. V and VI, of the history of the United States for 1796 is the most vile. This it will be impossible for any intelligent, I will not say candid, man to doubt, when he shall have accompanied me through the examination.

I owe perhaps to my friends an apology for condescending to give a public explanation. A just pride with reluctance stoops to a formal vindication against so despicable a contrivance and is inclined rather to oppose to it the uniform evidence of an upright character. This would be my conduct on the present occasion, did not the tale seem to derive a sanction from the names of three men of some weight and consequence in the society: a circumstance, which I trust will excuse me for paying attention to a slander that without this prop, would defeat itself by intrinsic circumstances of absurdity and malice.

The first reflection which occurs on a perusal of the documents is that it is morally impossible I should have been foolish as well as depraved enough to employ so vile an instrument as Reynolds for such insignificant ends, as are indicated by different parts of the story itself. My enemies to be sure have kindly pourtrayed me as another Chartres on the score of moral principle. But they have been ever bountiful in ascribing to me talents. It has suited their purpose to exaggerate such as I may possess, and to attribute to them an influence to which they are not intitled. But the present accusation imputes to me as much folly as wickedness. All the documents shew, and it is otherwise matter of notoriety, that Reynolds was an obscure, unimportant and profligate man. Nothing could be more weak, because nothing could be more unsafe than to make use of such an instrument; to use him too without any intermediate agent more worthy of confidence who might keep me out of sight, to write him numerous letters recording the objects of the improper connection (for this is pretended and that the letters were afterwards burnt at my request) to unbosom myself to him with a prodigality of confidence, by very unnecessarily telling him, as he alleges, of a connection in speculation between myself and Mr. Duer. It is very extraordinary, if the head of the money department of a country, being unprincipled enough to sacrifice his trust and his integrity, could not have contrived objects of profit sufficiently large to have engaged the co-operation of men of far greater importance than Reynolds, and with whom there could have been due safety, and should have been driven to the necessity of unkennelling such a reptile to be the instrument of his cupidity.

But, moreover, the scale of the concern with Reynolds, such as it is presented, is contemptibly narrow for a rapacious speculating secretary of the treasury. Clingman, Reynolds and his wife were manifestly in very close confidence with each other. It seems there was a free communication of secrets. Yet in clubbing their different items of information as to the supplies of money which Reynolds received from me, what do they amount to? Clingman states, that Mrs. Reynolds told him, that at a certain time her husband had received from me upwards of eleven hundred dollars. A note is produced which shews that at one time fifty dollars were sent to him, and another note is produced, by which and the information of Reynolds himself through Clingman, it appears that at another time 300 dollars were asked and refused. Another sum of 200 dollars is spoken of by Clingman as having been furnished to Reynolds at some other time. What a scale of speculation is this for the head of a public treasury, for one who in the very publication that brings forward the charge is represented as having procured to be funded at forty millions a debt which ought to have been discharged at ten or fifteen millions for the criminal purpose of enriching himself and his friends? He must have been a clumsy knave, if he did not secure enough of this excess of twenty five or thirty millions, to have taken away all inducement to risk his character in such bad hands and in so huckstering a way—or to have enabled him, if he did employ such an agent, to do it with more means and to better purpose. It is curious, that this rapacious secretary should at one time have furnished his speculating agent with the paltry sum of fifty dollars, at another, have refused him the inconsiderable sum of 300 dollars, declaring upon his honor that it was not in his power to furnish it. This declaration was true or not; if the last the refusal ill comports with the idea of a speculating connection—if the first, it is very singular that the head of the treasury engaged without scruple in schemes of profit should have been destitute of so small a sum. But if we suppose this officer to be living upon an inadequate salary, without any collateral pursuits of gain, the appearances then are simple and intelligible enough, applying to them the true key.

It appears that Reynolds and Clingman were detected by the then comptroller of the treasury, in the odious crime of suborning a witness to commit perjury, for the purpose of obtaining letters of administration on the estate of a person who was living in order to receive a small sum of money due to him from the treasury. It is certainly extraordinary that the confidential agent of the head of that department should have been in circumstances to induce a resort to so miserable an expedient. It is odd, if there was a speculating connection, that it was not more profitable both to the secretary and to his agent than are indicated by the circumstances disclosed.

Some time in the summer of the year 1791 a woman called at my house in the city of Philadelphia and asked to speak with me in private. I attended her into a room apart from the family. With a seeming air of affliction she informed that she was a daughter of a Mr. Lewis, sister to a Mr. G. Livingston of the State of New-York, and wife to a Mr. Reynolds whose father was in the Commissary Department during the war with Great Britain, that her husband, who for a long time had treated her very cruelly, had lately left her, to live with another woman, and in so destitute a condition, that though desirous of returning to her friends she had not the means—that knowing I was a citizen of New-York, she had taken the liberty to apply to my humanity for assistance.

After this, I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house; Mrs. Hamilton with her children being absent on a visit to her father. In the course of a short time, she mentioned to me that her husband had solicited a reconciliation, and affected to consult me about it. I advised to it, and was soon after informed by her that it had taken place. She told me besides that her husband had been engaged in speculation, and she believed could give information respecting the conduct of some persons in the department which would be useful. I sent for Reynolds who came to me accordingly.

In answer to this I sent him a note, or message desiring him to call upon me at my office, which I think he did the same day.

He in substance repeated the topics contained in his letter, and concluded as he had done there, that he was resolved to have satisfaction.

On the 19th, I received the promised letter (No. IV. b) the essence of which is that he was willing to take a thousand dollars as the plaister of his wounded honor.

If I recollect rightly, I did not immediately accept the invitation, nor ’till after I had received several very importunate letters from Mrs. Reynolds—See her letters No. VIII, (b) IX, X.

The letters from Reynolds, No. XIII to XVI, are an additional comment upon the same plan. It was a persevering scheme to spare no pains to levy contributions upon my passions on the one hand, and upon my apprehensions of discovery on the other. It is probably to No. XIV that my note, in these words, was an answer; “To-morrow what is requested will be done. ’Twill hardly be possible to-day.” The letter presses for the loan which is asked for to-day. A scarcity of cash, which was not very uncommon, is believed to have modelled the reply.

The letter No. XX, from Reynolds, explains the object of my note in these words, “Inclosed are 50 dollars, they could not be sent sooner,” proving that this sum also was begged for in a very apologetic stile as a mere loan.

Four, and the principal of these notes have been not only generally, but particularly explained—I shall briefly notice the remaining two.

Some days after the explanation I wrote to the three gentlemen the letter No. XXVI already published. That letter evinces the light in which I considered myself as standing in their view.

I received from Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Monroe in answer the letters No. XXVII and XXVIII.

When I saw No. V though it was evidence of a base infidelity somewhere, yet firmly believing that nothing more than a want of due care was chargeable upon either of the three gentlemen who had made the inquiry, I immediately wrote to each of them a letter of which No. XXV is a copy in full confidence that their answer would put the whole business at rest. I ventured to believe, from the appearances on their part at closing our former interview on the subject, that their answers would have been both cordial and explicit.

I acknowledge that I was astonished when I came to read in the pamphlet No. VI the conclusion of the document No. V, containing the equivocal phrase “We left him under an impression our suspicions were removed,” which seemed to imply that this had been a mere piece of management, and that the impression given me had not been reciprocal. The appearance of duplicity incensed me; but resolving to proceed with caution and moderation, I thought the first proper step was to inquire of the gentlemen whether the paper was genuine. A letter was written for this purpose the copy of which I have mislaid.

I afterwards received from Messrs. Muhlenberg and Venable the letters No. XXIX, XXX, and XXXI.

Receiving no answer from Mr. Monroe, and hearing of his arrival at New-York I called upon him. The issue of the interview was that an answer was to be given by him, in conjunction with Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Venable on his return to Philadelphia, he thinking that as the agency had been joint it was most proper the answer should be joint, and informing me that Mr. Venable had told him he would wait his return.

I came to Philadelphia accordingly to bring the affair to a close; but on my arrival I found Mr. Venable had left the city for Virginia.

Though extremely disagreeable to me, for very obvious reasons, I at length determined in order that no cloud whatever might be left on the affair, to publish the documents which had been communicated to Messrs. Monroe, Muhlenberg and Venable, all which will be seen in the appendix from No. I, (b) to No. XXII, inclusively.

Clingman first suggests that he had been apprized of my vindication through Mr. Wolcott a day or two after it had been communicated. It did not occur to me to inquire of Mr. Wolcott on this point, and he being now absent from Philadelphia, I cannot do it at this moment. Though I can have no doubt of the friendly intention of Mr. Wolcott, if the suggestion of Clingman in this particular be taken as true; yet from the condition of secrecy which was annexed to my communication, there is the strongest reason to conclude it is not true. If not true, there is besides but one of two solutions, either that he obtained the information from one of the three gentlemen who made the inquiry, which would have been a very dishonourable act in the party, or that he conjectured what my defence was from what he before knew it truly could be. For there is the highest probability, that through Reynolds and his wife, and as an accomplice, he was privy to the whole affair. This last method of accounting for his knowledge would be conclusive on the sincerity and genuineness of the defence.

The variety of shapes which this woman could assume was endless. In a conversation between her and a gentleman whom I am not at liberty publicly to name, she made a voluntary confession of her belief and even knowledge, that I was innocent of all that had been laid to my charge by Reynolds or any other person of her acquaintance, spoke of me in exalted terms of esteem and respect, declared in the most solemn manner her extreme unhappiness lest I should suppose her accessary to the trouble which had been given me on that account, and expressed her fear that the resentment of Mr. Reynolds on a particular score, might have urged him to improper lengths of revenge—appearing at the same time extremely agitated and unhappy. With the gentleman who gives this information, I have never been in any relation personal or political that could be supposed to bias him. His name would evince that he is an impartial witness. And though I am not permitted to make a public use of it, I am permitted to refer any gentleman to the perusal of his letter in the hands of William Bingham, Esquire; who is also so obliging as to permit me to deposit with him for similar inspection all the original papers which are contained in the appendix to this narrative. The letter from the gentleman above alluded to has been already shewn to Mr. Monroe.

Let me now, in the last place, recur to some comments, in which the hireling editors of the pamphlets No. V and VI has thought fit to indulge himself.

The first of them is that the soft language of one of my notes addressed to a man in the habit of threatening me with disgrace, is incompatible with the idea of innocence. The threats alluded to must be those of being able to hang the Secretary of the Treasury. How does it appear that Reynolds was in such a habit? No otherwise than by the declaration of Reynolds and Clingman. If the assertions of these men are to condemn me, there is an end of the question. There is no need, by elaborate deductions from parts of their assertions, to endeavour to establish what their assertions collectively affirm in express terms. If they are worthy of credit I am guilty; if they are not, all wire-drawn inferences from parts of their story are mere artifice and nonsense. But no man, not as debauched as themselves, will believe them, independent of the positive disproof of their story in the written documents.

As to the affair of threats (except those in Reynolds letters respecting the connection with his wife, which it will be perceived were very gentle for the occasion) not the least idea of the sort ever reached me ’till after the imprisonment of Reynolds. Mr. Wolcott’s certificate shews my conduct in that case—notwithstanding the powerful motives I may be presumed to have had to desire the liberation of Reynolds, on account of my situation with his wife, I cautioned Mr. Wolcott not to facilitate his liberation, till the affair of the threat was satisfactorily cleared up. The solemn denial of it in Reynold’s letter No. XLII was considered by Mr. Wolcott as sufficient. This is a further proof, that though in respect to my situation with his wife, I was somewhat in Reynolds’s power. I was not disposed to make any improper concession to the apprehension of his resentment.

As the threats intimated in his letters, the nature of the cause will shew that the soft tone of my note was not only compatible with them, but a natural consequence of them.

As to the first, it was emphatically the transaction of Mr. Wolcott the then Comptroller of the Treasury, and was bottomed upon a very adequate motive—and one as appears from the document No. I, (a) early contemplated in this light by that officer. It was certainly of more consequence to the public to detect and expel from the bosom of the Treasury Department an unfaithful Clerk to prevent future and extensive mischief, than to disgrace and punish two worthless individuals. Besides that a powerful influence foreign to me was exerted to procure indulgence to them—that of Mr. Muhlenberg and Col. Burr—that of Col. Wadsworth, which though insidiously placed to my account was to the best of my recollection utterly unknown to me at the time, and according to the confession of Mrs. Reynolds herself, was put in motion by her entreaty. Candid men will derive strong evidence of my innocence and delicacy, from the reflection, that under circumstances so peculiar, the culprits were compelled to give a real and substantial equivalent for the relief which they obtained from a department, over which I presided.

One or all of these considerations will explain the disappearance of Reynolds without imputing it to me as a method of getting rid of a dangerous witness.

That disappearance rendered it impracticable, if it had been desired to bring him forward to be confronted. As to Clingman it was not pretended that he knew any thing of what was charged upon me, otherwise than by the notes which he produced, and the information of Reynolds and his wife. As to Mrs. Reynolds, she in fact appears by Clingman’s last story to have remained, and to have been accessible through him, by the gentlemen who had undertaken the inquiry. If they supposed it necessary to the elucidation of the affair, why did not they bring her forward? There can be no doubt of the sufficiency of Clingman’s influence, for this purpose, when it is understood that Mrs. Reynolds and he afterwards lived together as man and wife. But to what purpose the confronting? What would it have availed the elucidation of truth, if Reynolds and his wife had impudently made allegations which I denied. Relative character and the written documents must still determine These could decide without it, and they were relied upon. But could it be expected, that I should so debase myself as to think it necessary to my vindication to be confronted with a person such as Reynolds? Could I have borne to suffer my veracity to be exposed to the humiliating competition?

If after the recent confessions of the gentlemen themselves, it could be useful to fortify the proof of the full conviction, my explanation had wrought, I might appeal to the total silence concerning this charge, when at a subsequent period, in the year 1793, there was such an active legislative persecution of me. It might not even perhaps be difficult to establish, that it came under the eye of Mr. Giles, and that he discarded it as the plain case of a private amour unconnected with any thing that was the proper subject of a public attack.

To unfold more clearly the malicious intent, by which the present revival of the affair must have been influenced—I shall annex an affidavit of Mr. Webster tending to confirm my declaration of the utter falsehood of the assertion, that a menace of publishing the papers which have been published had arrested the progress of an attempt to hold me up as a candidate for the office of President. Does this editor imagine that he will escape the just odium which awaits him by the miserable subterfuge of saying that he had the information from a respectable citizen of New-York? Till he names the author the inevitable inference must be that he has fabricated the tale.

ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

Philadelphia, July, 1797.

Man I guess

#long post #really long post #extra long post #I’m almost impressed lmao

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jonthethinker · 4 years

Text

Does the Cerberus Assembly need to be reformed, or destroyed? And can it really be either?

Let’s start with an opinion we can all agree on; Trent Ikithon sucks. He’s clearly a very bad person, and our collective hatred of him is one of the rare things this fandom seems to actually agree on. What he’s done to his “disciples” is horrifying, and his general ideology is monstrous and abhorrent, although not surprising considering the role he plays in the Empire. We can, on this, agree that the world would be a better place if he was removed from power, correct?

Now this is where I start explaining my probably very divisive opinion.

A lot of people would say that all it takes to make the Cerberus Assembly better would be to replace the members like Ikithon with Good People. Maybe Caleb Widogast, for instance. If you simply put someone with a stronger moral character into that position, then its output in turn will also be Good.

This, whether knowingly or not, implies that institutions, even those like the Cerberus Assembly, are by their nature at the very least morally neutral. That all it takes to make an institution like the Assembly be Good is have Good People run it. You do that, and with time, all is well.

But what if institutions did have a moral character? what if the responsibilities and powers given to a body like the Assembly and its requisite components are not Good or even neutral, but instead very, very bad? And what if the incentives the people deciding who stands on the Assembly, namely the members of the Assembly themselves, are actually antithetical to any ideas of a substantially reformed Assembly in the first place?

Let’s think for a minute about Trent and his job. We are all horrified by his methods of creating his Volstruckers. But as much as it bothers me, what bothers me more, personally, is what they are for. While we tend to view them as arcane assassins, what they really are is a wholly unaccountable means of performing all of the Assembly’s, and by extension the Empire’s, dirty deeds not meant for public notice. And seeing as they fall under the sole purview of the Archmage of Civil Influence, this is largely going to translate to “managing dissidence and discontent” in the polite language a body like the Assembly would use to describe its work.

What this means is that its job, and the job of Trent’s office as a whole, is to keep the wrong ideas from getting too popular and the people from getting too loud about the awfulness of their everyday lives, and inside a broader system like the Empire, this is usually going to be dealt with by means of coercion and outright violence. While it’s easy to feel sorry for the incredibly abused and tormented people under Trent’s power, like Caleb and Astrid and Eadwolf, I feel like I’m one of the few in the fandom who has really considered the true extent of terror being unleashed on so many whose faces we’ll never know.

Peasant farmers’ organizing for lower taxes on their grain sales. Laborers gathering to raise hell over the low wages they receive from mandatory state projects. Citizens concerned about the unchecked brutality of the Crown’s Guard. Religious worshipers worried the Empire is straying from the path set by their gods. The mentally ill and other people who simply don’t comfortably fit into the grand scheme of things. Races of folks seen as outsiders suspected of conflicting allegiances. How many people like this have vanished in the night, either to be imprisoned or tortured or killed, or I guess in many cases, all three? How much suffering has been caused, hidden away from any measure of accountability?

And this brings me to my next point; While Trent is truly awful, his title, and the role he plays, are also awful, and I think you don’t get into a position like that in the first place without being someone like Trent. I say this because we’ve gotten to meet a handful of people on the Assembly outside of Trent, and they’ve all generally had the same things to say about him; he gives them the creeps and they don’t like him personally, but he has his uses. I interpret this to mean he performs the responsibilities of his office well enough, and while his methods and general demeanor may be off-putting, it isn’t worth causing a fuss about so long as the work gets done. If they simply ignore what he’s doing, they get the benefits of a suppressed polity with very little of the personal hangups of what it requires to make that happen.

So let’s say, for some reason, Trent dies or is imprisoned and disgraced, and Caleb assumes his role. Caleb has experienced a remarkable amount of personal growth, although not without his own stumbles and set-backs like any victim of severe trauma such as he. He is, in my humble opinion, a Good Man. I know if given the power of this office, he’d be motivated to end the traumatizing of children, and killing of parents, and perhaps even the wholesale disbanding of the Scourgers itself. He’d maybe seek to alleviate the suffering of those his office is meant to contain instead of inflicting more pain upon them. And wouldn’t that be nice?

But when you’ve got this entrenched elite like the Empire does, those sorts of efforts are not going to go unnoticed, and in many cases, are going to cause one hell of a backlash among the powerful, who more often than not believe in their heart of hearts that those lowly commoners deserve their lot in life, and to spare the lash is to spoil the child, and soon you’ll have a bunch of peasants thinking they can go so far as to ask for actual power, actual control over the direction of their lives, and for any empire, but especially this one, how do you imagine that’s going to fly?

I’m reminded of an anecdote out of Brazilian politics. Former President Lula da Silva is one of the the most popular Brazilian political figures of all time, and managed to massively alleviate poverty in Brazil while also working with Brazil’s entrenched elite to make sure not to piss off the wealthiest of the wealthy. But the comfortably upper middle class, or “petite bourgeoisie” as Marx would call them, were disgusted that all these poor people were suddenly climbing the ladder. According to some folks, they complained “The airports are starting to look like bus stations,” because for the first time, working class people in Brazil could actually afford to fly. This discontent among the comfortable led to a chain events ending in the false arrest and imprisonment of Lula and the rise of their current terrifying president Jair Bolsonaro. I learned from this, and other tales like it, to never underestimate how angry some people will become when their special status ain’t so special anymore.

This is to say, that while Caleb is an undoubtedly brilliant man, without the potential intervention of DM magic, I don’t see someone with his lack of political savvy either holding power long or holding onto his convictions long enough to do anything meaningful, if someone like him is considered for the job in the first place. AND even if he does accomplish all those wonderful things through this office and survives until he’s old and gray, he will eventually die. And judging solely on the general quality of character among the wizards we’ve met thus far, I’m not so optimistic about his potential replacement.

This example does spill out my major beef with the whole “Good Person in power” idea of reform. Good People either can’t live up to their values and actually wield power, or the clock itself defeats them and everything they ever stood for. This is also my problem with governmental models overly dependent on norms, as all it takes is someone willing to just completely ignore them,and for the people in power around them to have no incentive to stop them, for things to completely go off the rails. This is why reforms generally don’t last unless they universally redistribute power itself, from the top to the bottom, and even this is going to come with its own backlashes, and it generally doesn’t happen from polite attempts at reform by well meaning leaders, at least not all on their own, but through the sheer force of mass movements or outright revolutions.

And its not just Trent’s office that has this problem. It’s every single seat on the Assembly. His is just a particularly egregious example. Vess DeRogna didn’t get her job by being polite, of that much I’m sure. She’s clever, devious, and patient, not to mention her skill set and interests directly line her up for the role as Archmage of Antiquity. I don’t really think her sole interest is making sure nobody gets hurt by all these artifacts lying around, and neither do I imagine the Empire itself has any intention of keeping her discoveries behind lock and key; they pretty clearly want them mass produced where they can and immediately wielded against their enemies, both foreign and domestic.

And I’ve hinted at this earlier, but if you think Trent is a unique monster in the halls of Dwendalian mages, I’m going to have to disagree. I’m certain there are more than a few wizards in service of the Assembly and the Empire, who if not already believing similarly to Trent, could easily be convinced of his convictions, and ready to use his power themselves in an eerily identical manner. People like Trent aren’t as rare as we’d like them to be, and they’re all ready to grab power just as soon as they can.

So it would seem I come firmly on the “burn it all down” side of things. If only I believed it were that simple.

You see, I see the Cerberus Assembly as an institution that exists, in its entirety, for the cementing of power of the Dwendalian Elite and the progression of its interests. It protects them from threats both from inside and out, it teaches their children magic, it helps negotiate its trade, it aids in putting food on its table, and makes sure its armed for bear with the deadliest of magic only the Age of Arcanum and ancient elves could provide. It’s very reason for existence is to uphold the way of life for those on top. Even if it competes idly for who sits at the head of the table, it very much is invested in maintaining the structure of that table.

So if it were sundered and destroyed as an institution, what is to stop its functions from simply being absorbed by the broader Empire? What’s to stop the Empire from simply recreating the Volstrucker program under a different name? What’s stopping them from hiring its wizards to perform their original tasks, just under the sole discretion of the king? So I’d wager the problem isn’t the Assembly, but the very distribution of power required to maintain an Empire like Dwendal’s in the first place. The assembly is an immoral institution upholding a much larger, equally immoral institution. And you can’t truly solve the problem without tearing the whole damn thing down.

Do I think this campaign is going to be one in which our lovely players start a revolution? Hell no. I expect Trent at least to die or be deposed, and with the aid of some DM magic, things will get a little better. But Matt has given enough consideration to the political forces present in his world building, that I wanted to treat his world as if it were subject solely to the forces and motivations our own is. Just to see how things could turn out without a generally kind god like Matthew Mercer at the helm.

Plus I just really love trying to understand how fantasy political structures would really work. It’s usually a lot less depressing than real political structures, at least in so far as there are no real consequences for their abject failures. But I’ve rambled long enough. Thank you to the poor souls who read this ramble. You’re truly wonderful.

#critical role #cr spoilers #Caleb Widogast #Trent Ikithon #Cerberus Assembly #Dwendalian Empire #long post #this has been the thing consuming my mind while working sixty to seventy hours a week #so I hope the three people who are bored enough to read it enjoy the results of my hyper-fixation

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 3 years

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Good morning Ralph! I’m an attorney in the US and I saw your anon asking about the legality of vaccine requirements set by artists. I can shed some light, though probably not much and I’m going to do that annoying thing that lawyers do where we say “well it depends!” and refuse to give anyone any solid answers. But that’s really, truly, honestly, cross my heart hope to die, because in the case of the legality of vaccine requirements it does depend on a lot of different factors and we don’t have very many solid answers. This is not something anyone has ever really had to deal with before, the legal system looks to past precedent when deciding how to handle current issues, and there just isn’t much of that here. As a kind of general rule, though, the baseline we start from is the idea that private entities are free to require basically whatever they want as a prerequisite to service, and consumers are free to choose not to patronize those entities if they don’t like the requirements. An important thing to remember, that I think a lot of people tend to forget - all those handy rights the US constitution affords its citizens only apply to the government. There are limited exceptions - the Americans with Disabilities Act and Title VII of the Civil Rights Act are two of the biggest examples. But, so long as they’re complying with the guidelines provided by those limited exceptions, private entities can and always have been able to do pretty much whatever they want.

Now, vaccines are an interesting question because you start to get cross over into other issues - the right to privacy, bodily autonomy, “compulsory” disclosure of personal medical information, etc. If the question was “can an artist require me to wear a mask at his concert even though wearing a mask wasn’t required at the time I bought my ticket” the answer would unequivocally be yes. Artists and venues can (and do!) require all sorts of things for entry - you have to have a ticket, you have to submit to a bag search and go through a metal detector, you’re generally required to be wearing shoes and pants and a shirt. Masks absolutely can be added as a requirement, at any time, and whether or not it was a requirement that you reasonably could have anticipated when you bought the ticket doesn’t matter. But vaccines feel a little different, and admittedly they are. A mask is, in essence, a piece of clothing for your face. You wear it for a few hours, you take it off, you go about your life. It’s a temporary measure. Vaccines are not. A vaccine is a medical treatment, once you’ve gotten it you can’t “take it off” or decide you don’t want it anymore. It just feels like there should be a higher level of scrutiny than just “if you don’t like the requirement don’t support the entity.” But there really isn’t. That old idea that a private entity can set pretty much whatever rules and restrictions for access to and use of their private property stands. That tenant is arguably strengthened when the issue involves public health risks, because an employer has a duty to protect their employees and customers.

The EEOC ruled in May that companies can legally require their employees to be vaccinated. There are no federal laws preventing an employer from requiring employees to provide proof of vaccination, that information just has to be kept confidential. If there is a disability or sincerely held religious belief preventing an employee from being vaccinated they are entitled to a “reasonable accommodation” that does not pose an “undue burden” on the business. This isn’t a 1:1 comparison to your anon’s question about whether or not artists can require vaccination of concert attendees, but it is really useful guidance, because it’s a statement about what is and isn’t appropriate re: vaccine requirements straight from the mouth of one of the biggest federal players in the game. If, for example, a bunch of maroon five fans decided to sue the ban for their vaccine requirements, the EEOC decision is something judges and lawyers would look at in evaluating the suit.

HIPAA is the big one that a lot of people like to cite as protecting them from being asked about vaccination status by businesses or employers, but that’s just entirely untrue. HIPAA prevents a specific list of entities - doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, etc. - from disclosing medical data about a patient in their care. Event venues, artists, employers - none of them fall into the category of a “covered entity” that has to abide by HIPAA requirements. And even then, there’s an argument to be made that HIPAA still wouldn’t prevent them from asking if you’re vaccinated and refusing you entry if you’re not, just that they can’t turn around and tell someone else what your vaccination status is.

So on a high level the answer is yes, artists can absolutely require vaccination of concert attendees. Full stop.

But that’s only taking into account federal laws. There are state laws at play too, and those are absolute mess. It feels like each state is handling their approach to vaccine requirements differently, and a lot of them conflict with the federal laws at play. While in theory federal laws should trump state laws, that’s not really true in practice, and a lot of people who are much smarter than me are still struggling with how to navigate that maze, so I’m not going to bother adding my two cents about how I think it should go. From a fact based standpoint, though, know that state laws are an issue and add even more “it depends on ____” factors to our already uncertain analysis. Texas, Arkansas, and Florida, for example, all have laws prohibiting businesses and governmental entities from requiring digital proof of vaccination. Whether or not these laws will withstand judicial scrutiny in the places they conflict with federal law remains tbd, but as it stands now an artist playing a show in Texas couldn’t require vaccines for entry to that show. But if their tour stop is, say, Indiana, they could require vaccines there, because Indiana state law only prevents governmental and quasi-governmental entities (schools) from requiring vaccines. Private entities can do whatever they want.

The final thing I want to touch on is your anon’s concern that the vaccine requirement wasn’t in place when the tickets were originally bought. It doesn’t matter. If the question is “can an artist require vaccines” the answer is “yes” and whether or not that requirement was in place when you bought your ticket doesn’t matter. BUT! As with everything else, there are exceptions. There might be an argument that adding a vaccine requirement is a contractual violation, if we were to imagine the exchange of ticket purchase for entertainment a contract between the buyer and the artist. There’s maybe an argument that you paid for a service you’re no longer getting because the circumstances under which the service will be provided has changed so drastically. These are issues that if someone wanted answers to they’d have to hire an attorney to file a civil suit against the artist, and then see the litigation through to get a ruling from a judge. To the best of my knowledge that hasn’t been done. But even if it is is done in the future, the answer to the overarching question “can an artist require vaccines” won’t change. All that will change is the artist will be required to come up with some sort of refund scheme for those who choose not to be vaccinated.

Anyway! I didn’t mean to write an entire treatise in your inbox. I saw the anon’s question and immediately went “oh interesting! I know a little bit about that” and, as per usual, a little bit has turned into a rambling lecture that I’m not actually sure anyone will even learn anything from. At the very least it might entertain you.

Xoxo, a US attorney who really needs to go do work someone will pay her for and stop theorizing about the interplay of federal vs state laws.

Thanks anon! That's all very interesting and relevant information. It gives a really good sense of how complex the situation is and the relevant dynamics in play. And also a good sense of what the law does and doesn't cover - because there's a whole practical side of this that is largely

I'll throw in one more thought. One of my concerns about vaccine passports are the equity issues. Existing issues of access to healthcare have played out in vaccine rates and that's true of both race and class everywhere that I have looked at. I don't think vaccines can be considered meaningfullly accessible if poor people and black people aren't accessing them. In general, the best answers to that will be resourcing to take vaccines to where people are and (and the situation for native americans really undscores this) and paid sick leave. But while vaccination rates are lowest for those who face most marginalisation, restricting access to society on the basis of a vaccination is discriminatory in a serious way.

#I can be persuaded on vaccine requirements #in specific contexts #But I do take the privacy and equity issues seriously #which is why I think any justification has to be full and accurate about risk #but also I am not the US legal system

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bookandcover · 3 years

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The Home Place, subtitled “Memoirs of a Colored Man’s Love Affair with Nature,” takes an unique look at the experiences of working in environmental science, birding, farming, and otherwise existing in eco-spaces as a person of color. This book was my sister’s selection for our family’s ongoing Anti-Racism Book Club. As a graduate student in earth and environmental science, she thinks and talks a lot about race and gender within her field, mentors younger female students in the field, and teaches undergraduates. Like her, I expected this book to lean into the challenges of representation in the field and to comment on the (under-discussed) positive relationship between people of color and the natural world. And while these broader topics were discussed, this was, first and foremost, a deeply personal memoir. J. Drew Lanham starts his story where his life started, explaining his personal and familial connection with the land—The Home Place, a specific farmstead in Edgefield County, South Carolina, where he was born and grew up. This personal connection and narrative is essential—Lanham’s love for nature is shaped in his formative years by the close connection his family has with the land they live on and farm. His later academic connections to the land—from his graduate research to his volunteer work collecting bird identification data to his writing and communication about scientific topics—all these stem from that childhood passion that runs deeper than interest or fascination: J. Drew Lanham understands the land on an instinctual level. He sees himself as a natural being, in tune with the deer, wild turkeys, and monarch butterflies, with the possums, foxes, and eastern red cedars.

The structure of the book (moving roughly chronologically through Lanham’s birth, upbringing, growth, and independent life) is shaped by its foundational idea: Lanham’s conviction that he is a product of the land that raised him, as are his family members, his siblings, his parents, his grand-parents, and his ancestors before them. Therefore, looking at and observing The Home Place naturally leads to the work of observing his own family and how he came to be who he is in the world. The Home Place is exactly this, both physical landscape and the people that exist in harmony with it. Over and over again, in both small and large ways, Lanham reinforces this central thesis—from the chapter on the spring that fed and sustained the Home Place, which was maintained by his father and could not continue after Daddy’s death, to the chapter on digging into his family’s history (figuratively and literary) as he traces the Lanhams’ connections to the land. J. Drew Lanham acknowledges that this central thesis is not necessarily obvious nor free from controversy. Many Black Americans’ experiences with the land exist within the legacy of slavery and stories of immense suffering on land that never belonged to them. But, for Lanham and for other Black Americans who grew up close to the land, surviving off it and also existing with it could develop a new narrative around Black identity and the natural landscape.

When I think of subsistence farming, I often think of the many challenges and set backs of the hardscrabble life. And while Lanham is not shy about sharing that his parents occasionally “argued about whether to buy hay for cows or groceries for us,” his book as a whole focuses on the feeling of abundance and of spiritual wealth he experienced growing up living off the land. He emphasizes that land itself is a source of wealth, in all its forms, and that fostering a close relationship with the land is a way forward that he perceives for Black Americans. He says “But the land, in spite of its history, still holds hope for making good on the promise we thought it could, especially if we reconnect to it. The reparations lie not in what someone will give us, but in what we already own. The landscape can grow crops for us as well as it does for others.” I thought this was a very interesting perspective that strives to redefine the Black/natural world narrative. This was one of several moments in the book where I really felt that Lanham was writing for a Black audience specifically. He does have a perspective that puts the impetus on each person to choose their relationship with the land, to be a responsible steward of the natural world, to educate themselves, to lean into their connections with the land and trust it.

I was somewhat startled by this as it felt that Lanham prioritized talking about what Black people can do to achieve the “Normal Rockwell painting life” his family led when a huge part of systemic poverty and racism (from my perspective) could not be Black people themselves. Many systems—education and pay rates, land ownership and inheritance, access to banking loans and credit—are broken and rely on all of us to engage with fixing them. No matter how strong you are, you cannot climb alone from beneath a bolder that is pining you down, a boulder you inherit, a boulder you have to carry every single day and in every situation simply because of the color of your skin in America. Perhaps Lanham intends, intentionally, to focus on what Black people can do, in spite of these broken systems, as acts of empowerment and self-determinism? I was surprised how individualistic this book felt at times, with very little focus on how systems of oppression could be dismantled. For example, his primary suggestion for how birding while black can become safer is to normalize this experience by invading the natural sciences with more and more people of color. “Get more people of color ‘out there,’” he writes. In sharing this recommendation for progress, he doesn’t acknowledge very directly how dangerous this act is or how difficult his recommendations are to follow for each person who must be a pioneer in the field. Of course he understands the risks and challenges, as he’s been the “odd bird” so many times in his own life, but perhaps he could have spoken as well to the ways others in leadership positions (regardless of race) could provide support for young people entering the natural sciences (from mentorships and training, to financial scholarships, to diversity workshops and conversations that increase awareness and inclusivity within the field). Saying this, I feel strange criticizing his way of talking about these topics, even if the criticism is simply asking for more (more beyond an individual’s responsibilities, more beyond Black people making changes by stepping in and fighting for their spaces), as Lanham’s approach leans on his lived experiences as a Black man, which I cannot relate to in several ways.

I can, however, relate to his experiences growing up with a close relationship to the land. Unlike my sister, my experiences rambling through the Maine woods, raising sheep and chickens, and hiking, swimming, and spending nearly every moment of my youthful summers out of doors, did not translate into a career in environmental science. However this doesn’t mean that I don’t think of my relationship with nature as close nor my personal and emotional experiences with nature as deeply spiritual and transformative. As a writer, as a teacher, I draw all the time on my understanding of nature and my love for it in order to connect with other human beings, to bring the beauty of ecosystems to life for them, to find common ground (an apt metaphor). I noted the sections of The Home Place where Lanham talked about his graduate research and discussed how sometimes the monotony of the work cut into his love for the natural and his appreciation of all the experiences that brought him here. This was a very relatable moment—for anyone who chooses a career based on passion, that passion needs to withstand the least glamorous moments of that job. At its most slow, most boring, and most frustrating, do you still love this thing? Do you still see its worth even when you hate it? For me, the natural world can be relegated to a place of spiritual purity, simply experienced and enjoyed, because I don’t study it. Yet, Lanham reconciles scientific study and simple appreciation nicely, describing how his passion grows with his concrete and scientific understanding, and how the spiritual and scientific dimensions of his experiences with nature both shape his love and commitment.

I loved that Lanham described how his foray into writing brought a new third dimension to his personal relationship with nature—looking back in order to capture in words, he was able to trace the significance of The Home Place—and the act of literary examination changed him: he cried tears of release as he shared his story with his writing workshop, the first time he truly mourned the loss of his father after thirty years. In one of my favorite lines in the book, Lanham says of his experience first sharing his work with his peers in a writing workshop: “They’d unwittingly given me permission to be someone I’d never been.” For him, this was someone emotional, someone who sheds tears in moments of deeply-felt sorrow and transcendent joy. That joy, often, comes when facing the natural world as it is, and so he applies his pen to responding to nature. His descriptions of the natural world are interwoven beautifully throughout the book and are, so clearly, the creations of a close observer. I related so deeply to these moments, and felt transported, as I read: “Now, as back then, fall is the time when nature speaks most clearly to me…Breathing is suddenly easier and the soaking sweat evaporates. You want to inhale deeply enough to take in every molecule wafting on the wind. The tired smallness of September’s deep green fades then flames into October’s vermilion sumacs and scarlet maples, lemon-yellow poplars and golden hickories.” This is both accessible and accurate writing. J. Drew Lanham knows his science, but he describes the world visually, as he perceives it, not as he measures it.

For me, these writing moments were more effective than the structure of the chapters, which started to feel a bit formulaic as the book progressed. Lanham frequently uses the natural world as metaphors and many of these metaphor are born of quite astute and surprising observations—the ecology of a church’s location growing the mindset of the congregation and the Tuskegee Airmen as a metaphor for flight that takes Black people beyond the contexts others expect for them (the Wild West is another space examined along similar lines of thinking). But Lanham tends to set his big metaphors up in the same way: beginning a chapter with the central concept (in its most analytical, literal, or universal iteration), following this up with personal anecdotes, and ending the chapter (like its own short, contained essay) with deeper reflection on how this metaphor operates. This chapter structure, although predictable, didn’t lose the joy of any one of these observations. Lanham writes some truly profound individual sentences. And believe him. His depth is genuine.

I would be remiss in writing about my response to this book if I didn’t briefly address the chapter “Jawbone,” which troubled me deeply. For all of Lanham’s gentleness and nuanced appreciation of each living thing, he is still a hunter, and he describes a particular hunt—and the deer’s jawbone that he saves from this hunt—in this chapter. His interest in hunting is tied to a larger interest in land conservation and ecosystem management, as he explains it, and it seems that he tries to contrast his approach to hunting with those who hunt for trophies, or for the wrong reasons. But, the outcome is still the same. And he uses many of the tools—scents, blinds, and mating calls—that other hunters use to outwit their prey. He also tries to contrast his hunting with that of others’ by focusing on the deer’s jawbone he has collected. Rather than the trophy of a large set of antlers, he prizes the jawbone with evidence of the animal’s long lifespan and role in the ecosystem. The way he feels about this jawbone, however (elated, awed that this animal died at his hand and not someone else’s), seems to me not very different than the way trophy hunters feel about their prizes. Sure, he consumes the meat from the deer he kills, but it seems that hunting is not necessarily for his and his family’s survival, nor significant as an affordable food source available to them. I think I was most troubled by the concept of control and how that comes through in this chapter. It seems like hunting, for Lanham, seems to be rewarding in a kind of patriarchal, stewardship way in which the reward—while paired with thoughtful choices about which animals to kill and how to use the meat—is not sorrowful necessity, but some kind of pride (in the hunt, in the win, in the triumph). This chapter was all the more jarring following up on the youthful chapter where Lanham kills a sparrow with a bb gun and truly mourns the preciousness of a life lost. And while I also frown upon willful ignorance or dismissal of the source of one’s meat (or willful ignorance about the human and environmental impact from one’s vegetarian diet, as well!) I do think that the act of killing changes you as a person. Although I do not agree with Lanham on the topic of hunting, this is one section of the book, and human are complex, living contradictions. No one needs to hold perspectives and behave in ways that are perfectly consistent; no one ever does.

This book was a powerful testimony to how much we can—and, Lanham argues, we should—rely on nature. This book contains the particularity of the Black experience and seems to speak directly to a Black audience, as mentioned. But it also contains much that is universally applicable to our lives in the 21st Century, as we humans grow increasingly removed from nature and from the lifecycles of ecosystems and understanding how we are, inescapably, part of those. I love how Lanham observes at the very beginning of the book that, “to be wild is to be colorful, and in the claims of colorfulness there’s an embracing and a self-acceptance.” Through this book, he celebrates his specific identity and his experience as a person of color, but he also taps into our shared humanity when he illuminates the rewards of living a wild life. He thoughtfully reveals himself through describing his ecosystem, and, in this, invites us to see ourselves in the same way, with our own ecosystems, Home Places, and reasons to live a natural life.

#The Home Place #environmentalism #environmental justice #bipoc voices #J. Drew Lanham #nature writing #important reading #anti-racism reading

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basicsofislam · 3 years

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BASICS OF ISLAM : Allah ( God Almighty ) : Suffering in this World

Is the Suffering in the World in Agreement with God’s Mercy?

To some individuals who want to believe, in particular, young minds, the pain and suffering that exist in the world today do not seem to be compatible with the Mercy of a Loving God. It is just too difficult for them to comprehend that there can be so much injustice and suffering around the globe. This subject, if not dealt with rationally, will continue damaging the faith of many who want to believe in Divine Mercy.

First of all, we need to keep in mind that this world is a temporary place for us.

•Life after death is our final destination; that is the life about which we need to be concerned. Anything that happens in this world should be judged against the measures of the eternal life. In other words, what happens here on earth is only half the story. The fact that justice fails to prevail in many places on earth is strong evidence for the believer that there will a place where these unfinished accounts will be reopened and brought to justice. God is certainly Mighty and capable of doing so. Just because He gives time to the oppressor does not mean that their accounts will be ignored.

In fact, His Mercy is so encompassing that it even engulfs the oppressor; He gives many opportunities for people to correct their mistakes willingly and to be saved on the Day of Judgment.

•A delayed justice may not be justice at all within the rules of our social system on earth. But this concept does not apply for the Divine Justice. In fact, the Divine Justice is probably delayed so that we have a chance to compensate for our wrongdoings against the weaker and poorer.

Another aspect of the matter is that we have an understanding of the concept that “creation of evil is not evil, but choosing evil is.”

•God has granted us freewill while we live on earth. We sometimes use this freewill to decide justly, but other times we follow our carnal desires with biased opinions that are in favor of our selves. At these times we commit injustice and evil.

The creation of the act and its consequences belong to the Creator.

As human beings we do not have control over what happens in our bodies, but our freewill is a very subtle entity that has a confined territory in the decision-making process. Once we make the decision, the actual act is created by God Almighty, Who has power over all things.

▪This can be explained with a simple analogy: The father puts his child on his shoulders and tells him that he will take him wherever he wants to go. The father also gives the child a clear set of instructions as to which places are harmful for him and which ones are safe. Then the child decides to go into a candy shop and fills his belly with chocolate, making himself ill. Yes, it is the father who took the child to the candy shop, but it was the informed decision of the child to go and eat a harmful amount of chocolate. Who is to blame for this mistake?

▪Similarly God gives us the ability to decide and then He creates the actions for us according to our choosing. If the consequences are evil, it is we who committed that evil not the One Who created it.

A third point to think about when going through difficult times are examples from God’s prophets and their life-long suffering.

•They were chosen to deliver the Divine Message and they were the best people in their times with their service to God and dedication. Yet, the hardships that befell them in many instances were so severe that they would undoubtedly shatter the faith of any ordinary men. Take the examples of Job and Jonah, think about Abraham and Moses, consider Jesus (peace be upon them all). These chosen people of God underwent the greatest trials on earth. The Qur’an points to this fact in many verses, including:

And how many a Prophet has had to fight (for God’s cause), followed by numbers of godly, dedicated servants of God; and they did not become faint of heart for all that befell them in God’s cause, nor did they weaken, nor did they abase themselves (before the enemy). And God loves the patient and steadfast. (Al Imran 3:146)

•After a short glance at the lives of the Prophets, we conclude that hardship in one’s life is not necessarily a chastisement from God, nor does it contradict with Divine Mercy. Otherwise, God’s beloved chosen ones, the messengers, should have had the easiest and the most comfortable lives. But, all the messengers underwent major trials, in particular with atrocities that were imposed on them by their own people.

We will certainly test you with something of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and lives and fruits (earnings); but give glad tidings to the persevering and patient, those who, when a disaster befalls them, say, “Surely we belong to God (as His creatures and servants) and surely to Him we are bound to return” (And they act accordingly.) (Baqara 2:155-157)

•In fact, for every difficulty that a believer encounters there is a reward waiting for them in the Hereafter. That is, provided that they are patient in those times of difficulty before their Lord and do not lose faith in Him.

The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, gives the following glad tidings to the believers:

“Never is a believer stricken with a discomfort, an illness, an anxiety, a grief or mental worry or even the pricking of a thorn but God will expiate his sins on account of his patience.”

I would like to conclude with a favorite analogy of mine, which helps me to understand some events in this world that appear injustice to us.

Those who fast in the month of Ramadan know well that fasting may be a little difficult for the first few days until the body adjusts to it. With some exaggeration, we may think of the feeling we have in the stomach as pain and suffering. Particularly, near the time to break fast it becomes more unbearable. Then we come to realize at the dinner table (as our taste buds fully agree) that even a piece of dry bread is much tastier than the splendid meals we had before Ramadan.

The fasting person enjoys the food at the table so much so that he says “all that pain and suffering that I went through today was worth it. Not only can I truly enjoy the food at this table now, but I also have the joy of knowing God is pleased with me.”

Similarly we human beings go through difficult times in life. This is nothing but a fast before we are granted with the table of bounties that our Generous God has prepared for us. When we come to know the rewards He prepared for us for being patient on earth with the difficulties of this life we will be overwhelmed and forget everything that happened.

We will say “O God, I am so thankful for everything You have given me. Whatever suffering and pain that I endured on earth, it was all worth it. What I find here immeasurably surpasses my expectations and imagination!”

Let us have faith in God’s Justice and Mercy which encompasses pre- and post eternity. Let us be aware that He is watching over us even when we are treated unfairly and at times when we cannot defend ourselves. The good news of the Qur’an regarding the rewards that our Lord has prepared for us should always fill our hearts and help us be patient:

And hasten, as if competing with one another, to forgiveness from your Lord, and to a Garden as spacious as the heavens and the earth, prepared for the God-revering, pious. (Al Imran 3:133)

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samanthaxreed · 3 years

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SOLO THREAD

Locale: Sam’s apartment / Oceanside Cemetery

Mentioned: @fireinhislungs, @gracetaylorwilliams, @jessexmarino, @naomixjones

Dinner with her father went off with only a few conversational lulls, far less awkward than anticipated and yet not completely fluid. Like two people rowing a canoe at different speeds, both attempting to turn it in the same direction without being fully in sync. It would come with time Sam supposed and as she began cleaning dishes, bright hues caught sight of her father throwing a cursory examination of the window latches before shifting attention to the folded sweater on her couch. “Are you holding that for somebody?”

It took everything in her not to snort. “Real subtle... It doesn’t belong to some secret lover if that’s what you’re getting at.”

His chagrin at being caught was palpable enough to soften Sam’s raised brow, almost lingering on the edge of amused before he continued. “I worry about you living in this place alone, Samantha. No roommate, no boyfriend, or... girlfriend?” The blonde visibly winced then, hands resuming the task at hand to avoid discussing something so personal with a person she truly didn’t know well at all. Her father, still a near stranger. “Look, take it from me that too much alone time drives you a little nuts and it’s probably safer in numbers around here.”

The audacity to gently lecture as if his brand of advice mattered in the grand scheme when he never deemed it necessary until now. A measured swallow and breath came before she pivoted features to address him in a way that wouldn’t entirely nuke their still rather tepid relationship. The pair lingered a hair away from disaster and the only indication she managed to give was a firm warning. “Dad, I know what you’re trying to say, but I can take care of myself. I’m doing just fine and you’re forgetting that I literally lived here at one point.” With him and her mother, ironically enough. Apparently Oceanside had been worth settling in during her formative years, but once she could choose for herself it no longer suited the narrative.

“You always did have your mother’s stubbornness.” That, at least, managed to ring true and she might have been able to ignore that comment with a scoff or quick humor picked up from his side, but her father always prodded the right button. “I’m trying to keep you safe, okay?” Definitely a hothead like her abrasive mother because the knife she’d been wiping down tightened within Sam’s slender grasp. Hell of a time to start giving a shit, but she digressed. “Because Oceanside isn’t how you remember it and ignoring that fact’s gonna get you hurt if you don’t pay attention... I understand if it brings you comfort being here, but it’s not the same.”

The sharp utensil she had been cleaning finally clattered against metal as it hit the base of her sink, dropped in frustration because it wasn’t his business. None of it. He surrendered that right when the ink dried on her custody papers; parental claim relinquished unequivocally. “I’m not blind. I can fucking see that it’s worse and I’m not walking around the city with rose colored glasses.” Quite the opposite, suffocating every blossom of nostalgia before it could spring out of the dirt... Or ash, depending upon how one looked at it. “The whole me getting poisoned thing shot that down right out of the gate, but I’m not just–– I’m not giving up on this and lots of people I care about live here.” She swallowed against the vulnerability, choking it down like a bad tequila shot. “Which means there’s something worth sticking around for, so if you’re trying to talk me out of it then go ahead and call up Fletcher. Let him tell you how well that worked out the last time somebody tried.”

“Take it easy,” he cautioned with infuriating ease against her rising temper. “I’m only trying to look out for your best interest. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” The chuckle she gave in response lacked both humor and warmth, practically bewildered at his entire savior complex... And bitter, so unfathomably jaded at this ill conceived timing. Too little, too late. “Yeah, well, you’ve been asleep on the job for twenty-eight years so it’s convenient that you woke up to do it now.”

That must have cut deep because her father maneuvered out of the kitchen doorway, hands raised defensively as if she were still holding the knife. It sort of felt like that, but her tongue became the barb instead. Stabbing repeatedly when he hardly deserved it, angered more at unseen and unresolved forces. “I know I wasn’t always as involved as I could have been, but I did raise you––”

“You didn’t raise me, you avoided me because it was easier to spend time at the casino than come home to the life you picked out. And before you start accusing me of favoritism, Mom didn’t do shit either. You want to talk about romanticizing the past? Take a look in the fucking mirror.” Fists clenched against her side were blanched white at the knuckles, three decades of resentment spilling out in verbal blows that Sam knew she couldn’t take back. Nor did she want to, not tonight. “The Williams raised me. And when they were gone, I raised myself and I did a damn good job at it.”

Some part of her would regret this moment later when his features came to mind, the shame and clear heartbreak written across them undeniable. “I didn’t realize that’s how you felt.” They had backed up fully into her living room, or perhaps she simply cornered her father with truthful criticisms when he’d only wanted to help. So much for repairing their relationship. “Yeah, well... I ruined your lives so I guess it’s only fitting that you ruined mine.” Arms crossed protectively over her middle, both avoiding one another’s gaze out of mutual hurt and then she heard the door unlock.

“I wish you hadn’t come back here, Samantha.”

While sounding bad on the surface, she knew full well it was meant as a last olive branch and proof that he loved her despite the vitriol, but Sam’s throat had tightened too far to respond. He slipped out into the evening air and despite how she wished to move, or scream, or burst into a thousand shards to match her internal schism, both feet remained firmly planted for several minutes.

Then she darted across to her purse, snatching it up along with the sweater draped along the back of her sofa. No phone, she didn’t need to talk anymore. At least no one listed in there.

–––––

One bottle of some cheap rosé from the grocery store later and she was back on the road, navigating some vaguely familiar route down the coast. GPS wound up becoming necessary at some point much to her embarrassment, but twelve years away wasn’t nothing and darkness made fools of everyone. Her car pulled into the cemetery parking lot and for a minute she simply sat with the engine idled, replaying pieces of their conversation in her mind. Not just with her father, but Fletcher, Grace, Jesse, Naomi... People who existed in her former life that now began slotting into this new, convoluted one.

The gate’s lock was either open already or rusted by the sea air, but it hardly mattered because Sam entered without much barrier. Weaving through headstones, she discovered that the path to her destination sprouted from memory which was altered by nighttime shadows and the fickle mistress of time. After getting turned around once, she eventually made it and settled into a small plot of grass, unscrewing the lid of her bottle and toasting in mock cheers to her company.

In Loving Memory of Brooke Williams

The sight alone was enough to tighten something imperceptible within her chest, washed away by the peachy drink and a half-hearted joke. “Sorry for sitting on you, but that should be nothing new. Kick me off if you hate it.” Talking to a ghost as if the long deceased girl were able to hear felt stupid on about three hundred levels, but Sam hadn’t been granted the privilege of catching up for so long. And after arguing with her parent, she just needed her best friend and other half.

“I think that maybe... everything in my life is temporary now,” she admitted to the silence. “And sometimes I can even convince myself that I’m okay with it. Never attaching myself to anybody or anything.” Mostly through her own design, sabotaging any concept of permanence before it, too, could be ripped away without warning. A self preservation measure concocted when she was far too young; no kid should delve so far into their own fear that they only knew how to run. “Except here. I feel like I keep circling back to this place and these people... And you. Always you.” For someone who only an hour previous claimed to raise herself, she truly did an immaculate job at creating an adult who wound up successful, capable, and so unbearably alone.

Maybe she should have called Fletcher instead, the thought interjected itself and became quickly dismissed. Hadn’t enough trouble been thrust upon his shoulders? And Grace’s? Stripped of their entire family in the course of a single night, tossed into a system which spat them back out, and molded to fit a world that clearly didn’t give a shit. The last thing either one needed was a reminder walking back through their door, but she had with such unfathomable selfishness. Perhaps guilt brewed in the pit of her stomach over how she treated her father tonight or that continuous fear of making the wrong move, but uncertainty brought the rim to parted lips once more.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore, B.” It was easier to draw honesty from her bones out here, less like pulling water from a stone with only a bottle and the faint ocean breeze answering back. Rather than eerie or unsettling, the dim light provided a quiet comfort of remaining unseen in the midst of such raw admittance. “I don’t think I belong in this city like I used to, but I’m scared––” There was that thickness in the far reaches of her throat again. “I’m afraid that if I don’t belong in Oceanside then I don’t really belong anywhere. So what the hell do I do?”

She had belonged once, in a flickering memory of happiness that remained pure despite life’s valiant attempts to extinguish it. Friendship bracelets with her name misspelled on accident. Brooke telling Fletcher he could only join their pillow fort if he killed the spider inside. Grace’s laughter from beneath the hood of an old car as she threw a grease laden rag at Mr. Williams. They were supposed to grow old together, buy houses on the same street, live out impossibly normal lives. So beautifully mundane in their cookie cutter regularity. Even after the worst overtook them, she had been naïve enough to believe in some echo of that future; a broken shell, but enough to keep her head above water.

In that alternate time, Grace taught her to drive manual and took Sam to get her license, the pair bonding in a way that she only dreamed of as a child who idolized the eldest Williams beyond words. She would have thanked the brunette for being the only stable adult in her life and the only one worth counting on. In that alternate timeline, she got Fletcher trashed on his twenty-first birthday and sat on the bathroom floor with him all night in apology. She would have told him the truth at some point, even if he didn’t reciprocate. So many what if’s that were robbed before they even began and now she grasped at smoke, unable to hold it between desperate fingers. Why couldn’t she just let things go like a well adjusted person? Why did she leave claw marks etched into every memory?

More wine, but this time it tasted distinctly of saltwater as the wind brushed over damp cheeks.

#this is too many words #tw death #tw alcohol #tw murder #tw neglect #( x. self para )

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 5

Title: Neighbours

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

The ‘to do list’ is long and lengthy but not unmanageable.

Inside and outside decorations, picking out a tree and having it dropped off the next day, last minute presents and stocking stuffers to grab, a massive grocery list that includes the usual staples and the ‘extras’ that always make their appearance at Christmas time. The convenience of a big city is one thing she’s always missed; malls with everything you need under one roof, strips of your favorite, eclectic little shops, delivery for everything under the sun. Never having to own a car; Uber and taxis summoned with just one phone call, the subway just a block away. The younger Esme...the one fresh off a shitty first marriage...had loved every second in New York City. That spacious loft -with its exposed brick walls and industrial lighting and Juliet balcony- in Brooklyn, the Broadway shows she’d attend, the high end shops like Tiffany’s, Chanel, and Prada that she’d do little more than browse in; dreaming about all the things she would buy if she was ever fortunate enough to have money to burn. Trips to Central Park; reading a book or sipping a latte while sitting on the edge of the fountain or treating herself to lunch at Tavern on the Green. She’d never been bored; filling every minute of her free time with something new to experience. Taking the subway into different ethnic areas; trying new foods and drink and buying newly discovered -to her- spices and intriguing ingredients to try out at home. And while she’d been alone, she’d never been lonely; always finding ways to keep herself busy.

While it’s nice to come back and spend time in the BIg Apple, she no longer misses it with such intensity. THAT Esme..the one who’d lived in that loft apartment and who’d window shop at the high end retailers...no longer exists. She died almost thirteen years ago; her life coming to end on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It had been time; out with the old, in with the new. And there’d been something so incredibly empowering about it; never returning to either the city or Colorado and having her step father pack up the necessities and ship them to her. Many people would consider it foolish; throwing a somewhat stable and comfortable life away for something so different. A country on the other side of the world, a man she barely knew yet her heart was certain she was in love with, a tiny and cramped apartment outside of Sydney with barely any clothes in the closet and only second hand, mismatched furniture to decorate the place. But it had turned out to be everything she’d wanted; a change in pace and scenery and a life she never knew she was missing out on. That man she barely knew outside of sex quickly proving to be the love of her life; not just a lover, eventual spouse and baby daddy, but her best friend. The one and only person she truly trusted; who’d been so willing to give up his life to save hers and made her feel safe and protected...and LOVED...in ways she’d never experienced before.

Australia quickly became home. Despite the lingering issues from Dhaka -the slow healing process and the financial issues and the worry of retaliation IF word ever got out that he had survived- they’d been happy. Not needing much; enjoying those evenings on the couch, watching television and eating ice cream right out of the container, those trips -as a couple and then newlyweds and eventually with a tiny Millie in her daddy’s arms, the long and quiet -and often post coital- conversations that had become their norm. They’d gone through a hell of an ordeal together; forming a bond that other people simply couldn’t understand. Both of them could have easily died that day; Tyler from his injuries, her due to the decision she’d made to stick around in an effort to keep him alive. After that, they’d sworn to never take a single second for granted; enjoying the ‘getting to know you’ process even as a newly married couple and her with a baby growing in her belly. It hadn’t been a conventional start to things; those five days in that cramped and dirty hotel room in Dhaka followed by an unexpected little bundle and her decision to give up her old life. But it had worked. THEY had worked. Despite all the odds stacked against them and everything that said they shouldn’t. The ordeal they’d survived giving them an appreciation of each other; putting down that foundation of respect and mutual awe that everything else could -and would- be built upon.

As amazing as it all sounds -finding the love of your life, discovering your own slice of paradise, starting a family- it’s work. Love and everything that comes with it is a lot of work, in fact. It’s arguments over both stupid shit and important issues; it’s hurt and anger and bitterness due to miscommunication or simply not taking the others feelings into considering. It’s learning how the other works and functions so you can be the one to provide comfort, stability, and aid; patience and deep rooted concern and the desire to keep them safe and healthy driving you.

Lust is one thing; immense physical attraction extremely important and definitely an added bonus. But at the end of the day, it’s other forms of intimacy that keep things alive and well; the simple act of holding hands while sitting on the couch or even driving in the car, the unexpected hugs and kisses, the little things you do for one another without even thinking, the teasing and the laughter and the conversations. It’s one thing to love someone and physically WANT them, it’s another to actually ENJOY them; their company and their smile and the sound of their voice and the way they cheer you up even on the worst days. How they talk you through hard times and how quick they are to dry your tears and want to make things right; willing to do anything and everything within their power to make you happy and to feel wanted and appreciated. It’s all those things that keep things going even when they feel like they’re falling apart.

******

“Mum!” TJ calls, as he bounds down the stairs and through the immense space that make up the living and dining areas; an easy and clean flow directly into the counter. “Check it out! You gotta see my outfit?”

With a mug of tea pressed to her lips, she glances up from the spiral notebook in front of her. It’s one of many that usually take up residence in one of the kitchen drawers; a different colour cover indicating which kid it is assigned to, two for things that are needed when it comes to household items and repairs, another for things like groceries and personal products. She’s always been organized, but something ‘snapped’ over the course of the last five years; an obsessive of sorts when it comes to keeping affairs in order.

“What the heck are you wearing?” she inquires, as her oldest son sprints through the living and dining area and then uses his socks to allow him to slide the rest of the way. An almost victorious and proud grin on his face when he comes to a stop against the island. His outfit of choice is an eyebrow raiser; jogging pants enormous and incredibly baggy, a hoodie at least four sizes too big, a black knit beanie on his head.

“It’s my New York City look. For the mean streets. You like it?”

She grins and sips her tea. “The mean streets, huh? There’s nothing quite as dark and dangerous as the vicious and cold, dark alleys of Gramercy Park.”

“It’s bad ass. New York City. Maybe not exactly where we live, but…”

“You’re pretty far removed from the bad assery of The Big Apple, but I admire your spirit. If I ever find myself getting mugged or having to walk down a dark street at two in the morning, I know who to call.”

“I’d protect you, mum. I don’t care how big and bad someone is. I’d kick their ass for you. Or at least try to.”

“And THAT is why you’re my favorite. Although don’t tell your brothers and sisters; that’ll cause too much drama.”

“Your secret is safe with me. OUR secret.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek. “What’cha doing?”

“Lists. One of many. Things we need in the house and things we need to do.” She eyes him from head to toe, mug against her lips. "Is that your dad’s hoodie? AND his pants?”

“He let me have them. I asked if he had anything old I could wear; that he wasn’t going to use anymore. This is what he gave me.”

“You do realize he’s more than a foot taller than you and about...I don’t know...a hundred pounds heavier.”

“I weigh a hundred pounds now. Dad’s like one eighty.”

“He was one eighty five when he got out of the hospital. Five years ago. He’s two ten now. Soaking wet. And you’re five feet? Since when?”

“Since yesterday. I had Tanner measure me.”

“You have a lot of damn nerve, kid. Being only half an inch shorter than me. At TEN.”

“I share DNA with a giant. Dad’s six three. I’ve got more of his genes than yours.”

“Yes, I know. I see more and more of those genes every day. You’re looking more like him all the time. And don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing. A VERY good thing. But five feet? Already? What the hell?”

“I can’t help it. Blame genetics.”

“You’re going to be massive. You’re probably going to be taller than your dad. And if you keep lifting weights like you do and you start going heavier as you get older, you’ll be huge by sixteen. A good huge. It’s depressing. You’re depressing me.”

“Sorry, mummy.” He kisses her cheek once more, then joking places his forearm on the top of her head. “You’re going to make a good arm rest. Thanks for being absurdly short.”

“Don’t be a smart ass. I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”

“Dad says the tiniest ones are always the most feisty. I think that’s why he fell in love with you; you’re little but you don’t take any shit. Even from him.”

“He likes a challenge, that’s for sure.”

Sipping her tea, she watches him as he heads for the fridge; rummaging through it before coming up with a container of some of the baked goods Tanner had already blessed the family with, and a bottle of Gatorade. He even walks like his father; those gigantic feet and that long, slightly bow legged gait. TJ is more awkward; stuck at the stage between still being a child, yet quickly nearing his teenage years. And he’s become far more mature since hitting double digits; still possessing that extremely active and almost hyper personality, but prone to more serious and thoughtful moments. And at times he looks years older; when his eyes darken and his lips set into a thin, serious line and his brow furrows. So much of his dad exists in him. Both inside AND out. And that smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and slightly wrinkles the bridge of his nose. It’s on his face now; as he opens the lid on the container of treats and sets it -and his drink- on the counter top before fetching the pot of tea from the stove and warming up the contents of her mug.

“You certainly are my best son,” she chides. It’s only PARTLY a joke. Although at times he can be quite the handful and his ability to regulate his emotions and temper can cause issues both at home and at school, he’s a wonderful kid; loving so deeply and profoundly.

“Tanner wanted me to give you this,” he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and pulls out a folded sheet of printer paper. “Things he needs. For his baking. He’s really good, huh? At the whole baking and cooking thing? Like, INSANELY good.”

“He’s quite the talent,” Esme agrees. “But so are YOU. You’ve got your own things you’re amazing at.”

“But not like him. He’s crazy smart and he can play the guitar and sing and all this baking and making dinner and stuff. He’s like a dude Martha Stewart! You know what he should do? Start a Youtube channel. People would LOVE him. People are suckers for a cute kid.”

“Well, you know Tanner; how nervous and anxious and shy he gets. You should bring it up to him. If anyone can talk him into something, it’s his big brother. He idolizes you.”

“I don’t know why. I’m not THAT great.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty damn awesome in my books. And you’re a really good big brother. You should talk to him. He’d be willing to try, I bet. Maybe it’s something you could do together. He’d love that. He loves spending time with you. And I know it’s been hard; him going to a different school.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best thing that’s ever happened,” TJ laments, and helps himself to one of the peanut butter and chocolate squares in the container. “It’s been four years and I STILL miss him. I loved having him in my class. And I loved hanging out with him at lunch and at recess. And sitting with him on the bus.”

“It was a hard decision to make. But it was the best decision. For him.”

“Yeah, my school isn’t exactly an intellectual wonderland. He’s better off where he is. With other brainiacs like him. But still, I do miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too. But you get a lot of time together. At home and stuff. And I always love Fridays; the bus dropping him off at your school and you guys coming to see me at the store. Hanging out until I close. Hands down my favorite day of the week.”

TJ smiles. “Mine too.”

“And I thought I was organized,” she comments, as she studies Tanner’s very neat and tidy list.

“He’s kinda anal, huh? About some things? I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just that he’s very…”

“Particular?”

TJ nods. “You know, I wish he’d see himself the way I see him. He’s always worried that he’s weird and that people don’t like him because of it. He always talks about how his brain isn’t like everyone else’s and that he wishes it was. You know what I wish? That more people were like Tanner. Because he’s talented and he’s unique and he sees the world so differently than everyone else. I know he struggles with some stuff, but it’s not a bad thing; him being the way he is. Sometime I think he’s better off than all of us.”

“Unfortunately, self hate seems to be a genetic trait as well. Who does that remind you of? Who else sees themselves in a bad light?”

“Yeah, dad is pretty good at that. Not liking who he is. I don’t why; I think he can be kinda awesome.”

“I think he can too. He’s just had a rough time. For a LONG time. He’s working on it. On a lot of things. But you know what’s really amazing at? Being a dad. I’m pretty lucky. I landed myself a pretty incredible guy. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. And as for Tanner, maybe you should tell him what you just told me. Because I guarantee you, if he heard that from his big brother? It would mean the world to him. He needs to hear stuff like that. Tell him, okay?” She rubs her palm in slow circles in the middle of his back. “It would make his day. Probably his whole year.”

“I will. I’ll tell him. Do you think he’ll live alone? Away from you and dad?”

“I don’t know,” Esme admits, and cupping her mug in both hands, turns around and leans back against the countertop. “Your dad and I talk about it from time to time. If Tanner will ever get to that stage. If he doesn’t…” she shrugs. “...he doesn’t. I mean, he could live in the pool house. He’d be close enough to home so if he did need help, we’d be right there.”

“What if he lived with me? If we got a place together? When we’re old enough, of course. Say when we’re nineteen. And I’ve got a good job. Like in the military or something.”

“That’s a lot to take on, Teej. A career like that and your brother. Would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s Tanner. He’s my baby brother. And not just any baby brother. We were made at the same time. We came out only a few minutes apart. I spent nine months with him; inside of you. Why wouldn’t I want to be with him?”

“A lot will change over the next nine, ten years. You might get tired of him by then.”

“I am NEVER getting tired of him. He’s my brother. I love him. And if it gives you and dad a break after taking care of him for so long, that’s good enough for me.”

“You are something else, Baby-Man. You really are. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“I know you do. And I like that you still call me that. Even if I AM almost taller than you.”

“You know, you’ve been so cute and helpful these last few days, that I will ignore your cheap shot. You really ARE your dad. Head to toe. Inside and out. Facial expressions and everything. It’s freaky.” She turns and helps herself to one of the treats; a chocolate concoction with marshmallows and coconut inside and a coating made from crushed up Frosted Flakes. “You know, I craved these for my entire pregnancy with you and Tanner. Your dad used to make them for me. Dozens at a time. He’d even get up at three am to do it. Or to go get tacos. That’s probably why you like Mexican food so much.”

TJ’s eyes widen. “Dad used to bake? At three am?”

“At all hours of the day. He’s actually really good at it. These were my favourite. He made them for me; my first birthday after we got married. We had just had Millie and we didn’t have a lot of money to throw around but he still managed to make it special. Australian wildflowers, a picnic on the beach, and these. It was pretty awesome. One of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Spent with my favorite human.”

“Dad really DOES have his moments.”

“Yeah, he really does.” Esme smiles, and takes a bite of the square. “You know, your grandma used to make these things.”

“Like mean, awful grandma or grandma Adeline?”

“Grandma Adeline. Your dad’s mom. She was quite the baker. Tanner must have inherited that from her. I know Declan got her red hair.”

“That must have been really hard. On dad. Her dying when he was little.”

“It was.” She sips at her tea and picks up the long discarded pen; absentmindedly doodling in the notebook as she speaks. “ It caused a lot of issues for him. It was pretty painful for him.”

“He still doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“It hurts. Even now. But he’s coming around. It’s not as hard for him anymore.”

“Is it true that grandpa used to beat on him? I heard him and Uncle Koen talking about it. A couple years ago. Dad seemed pretty upset. He normally doesn’t cry in front of anyone BUT you. He was kinda emotional.”

“It is true. Unfortunately. Your grandpa was a drunk and he was a narcissist and he hated his wife for having a child. It took the attention from him. Which I know sounds really weird and twisted. But that’s what happened. And when she was alive, he couldn’t stand her loving on your dad and spending time with him. So he took it out on her; beating her and saying mean things to her. Your dad used to have to listen. Sometimes grandpa would make your dad watch. Said it was to teach him how to ‘treat a woman’ and make them ‘learn their place.”

“I’m glad dad didn’t listen. For your sake. And his. I think you’d beat his ass if he ever did stuff like that to you.”

“I definitely would. And he knows it too. But, your dad isn’t like that. He isn’t the type to treat women like that. I know he has his issues, but THAT? He would never, ever, stoop to that level. It’s just not the kind of person he is.”

“Do you think that’s why dad DOES have the issues he does? The brain stuff? Because of how he got treated as a kid?”

“I don’t think it’s the only reason why, but it definitely added to it. You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. About mental health stuff. What’s going on? You’re ten. You don’t need to worry about this. Your dad is fine. He’s doing great. A lot better than anyone thought he would. So why…?”

“I gave him shit,” TJ says, then gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I mean ‘crap’. I gave him crap.”

“You gave your dad crap about something? That’s pretty bold. What did he do that pissed you off?

“ I told him it was wrong. That he went away. To work. That he shouldn’t have gone.”

“TJ, why would you…?”

“You wouldn’t have done it. Given him crap for it. And I know you wanted to. I know you lied. When you told him you were okay with it. You didn’t tell him the truth, mum. You just told him what he wanted to hear.”

“Sometimes we do that,” Esme reluctantly admits. “When we love someone and we don’t want to ruffle feathers. Your dad’s come a long way. He used to be gone all the time. He was off doing jobs more than he was home with us. And I know you probably don’t remember all of that because you were so young; the missed birthdays and anniversaries. The time he couldn’t get home for Christmas. You were only three, but…”

“I was little but I DO remember. And you always acted like you were okay with it. But then he’d leave and you’d be a wreck. Just like you were this time.”

“I wasn’t a wreck. I was nervous and I was worried and…”

“Mum, you don’t have to lie to me. I heard you crying. When you thought all of us were asleep. I KNOW you were having a bad time. With dad being gone.”

“You know what? You’re right. I was. Normally I’m okay with it; I can handle him going away as long as he stays out of harm's way. But knowing he’d walked into it? It DID bother me. That he’d been so willing to help out Anil. Especially after what happened the last time he went and got his hands dirty.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell him that? That you didn’t want him doing it? That you didn’t want him going away?”

“It’s not that easy, TJ. Sometimes it’s not my place. I can’t actually tell him what he can’t and can’t do. In the same way he can’t do that with me. And when Anil called and said he needed the help…”

“He should have said no. Anil knows tons of people. Why did he need dad? He could have called someone else.”

“Your dad is very good at what he does. Or what he DID do. One of the best. And I know it sounds strange; to be proud of a job like that. To be so willing to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. But when Anil called and needed his help, your dad couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Yes, he could have,” TJ insists. “He promised. That he’d never go away again. That he’d never go back out there after the bad guys. He promised ALL of us. And totally broke that.”

“Sometimes it happens. Sometimes he can’t help it. Sometimes…”

“Stop making excuses for him. When one of us screws up, you don’t let us give you excuses. So why do you let dad give them? There’s no reason he had to go. At all. He should have told Anil to get someone else.”

“You know, we are going to have to agree to disagree on this. I said it was okay. If he went. There’s nothing more to talk about. So let’s just drop this, okay? You don’t know what’s talked about; between your dad and I. We keep you guys out of it. For reasons exactly like this.”

“You lied to dad. When you told him you were okay with it. You weren’t. You were far from okay. And I told him that. That you had a really hard time. That you didn’t deserve to go through that. It’s not fair, mummy. That he goes and does stuff like that. I don’t care that Anil needed. WE need him. Us kids. He’s our dad. What happens if he gets killed? Then we have no dad.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get killed.”

“He will if he keeps doing stupid shit like this. You should just be honest with him. Tell him how you really feel about him going away. ‘Cause if he thinks it’s okay, he’s going to keep doing it more and more. And then something really bad is going to happen. Worse than last time. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him going away and…” TJ’s voice cracks with emotion. “...I don’t want him going away and never coming home.”

“Tyler...hey…” she lays a hand on the side of his face “...it’s okay...just take a breath and…”

“It’s not okay. It’s never been okay. It’s never going to be okay. And if he goes away and something happens to him, I’ll hate him forever. If something bad happens to him and he never comes back, I’ll never forgive him. For doing that to us. For doing that to you.”

“Okay, I know you’re upset. And I love you so much for wanting to protect me. But right now, you just need to calm down and take it easy, alright? I know you’re going through a lot. I know puberty is starting to come and kick your ass and it’s making everything seem so much worse and…”

“Just tell him,” TJ implores, and noisily sniffles before wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Just tell him you don’t want him to go. Tell him, mummy. So he doesn’t think it’s okay to leave again. Because he’ll go and something horrible will happen. And then we don’t have a dad. And we’ll barely have a mum. ‘Cause it’ll kill you. If something goes wrong and he doesn’t come back.”

“You need to to just breathe, Baby-Man,” she steps in front of him and takes his face in her hands. “ Just breathe. Everything is alright. Daddy’s home and he’s safe and he’s not going anywhere. It was just this one time. He won’t have to do that again.”

“You need to tell him. That you don’t want him going. Please, mummy. Please tell him.”

“Okay,” she promises, and draws him into a hug. Heart aching at the realization that her arms can no longer completely wrap around him; shoulders and back both broad and strong. “Everything’s alright, TJ.” She lays a hand on the back of his head and draws it down to her shoulder, the other rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how I feel; about him going away. About how ALL of us feel. Alright?”

He nods.

“Why don’t you go and get some fresh air,” she suggests. “It will make you feel better.”

“You promise you’ll talk to him?”

“I promise.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then holds him out at arms length. “Maybe afterwards we can take the littles for a walk? You know how much Takota loves when you pull him in the sled. It’ll be good; to go and get a bit of exercise. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You are getting so big. How do you grow up so fast? I remember finding out about you and your brother. I remember when you were born. All seven pounds of you. Now look. In a month's time, you WILL be taller than me. You’re already wearing mens size nine shoes. You’re TEN.”

“That’s what happens when your dad’s a giant, I guess.”

“You used to always call him that when you were little. You’d tell everyone that your dad was a giant. He probably seemed that way, huh? Probably seemed ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

“He still does. Well, maybe not the bullet proof part. We know THAT’S not true.”

“I know it bothers you. What happened back then. I know it’s not an easy thing to get over. That you came so close to losing him. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through all of that. I really am. If there was any way to go back and time and change it, I would. In a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

“I do, mummy.”

“Your dad loves you so much, TJ. You have no idea HOW much. When you were born and the doctor gave you to him? I’ve never seen him THAT emotional. Not even with Millie and she was his very first. After Austin. And he cried like a baby when he got to hold her. But you? I can’t even begin to describe what that was like for him. A son. After losing his first one. He was so happy and so in love with you. And that’s never changed. It never will.”

“I just don’t want to lose him. I don't know why he even takes the chance. Why does he go knowing that he might not come back? Doesn’t he love us enough to stay home?”

“Of course he does. And I WILL talk to him. Just cut him some slack, okay? The last five years haven’t been easy on him either. And he’s done so well. Better than anyone thought he would. But it’s a process; dealing with everything in his past and letting it go. So just give him a chance, alright? Can you do that? For me?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re such a good boy. I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you. And you ARE so much like your dad. And that’s a good thing.” She places one last kiss on his cheek and draws him into another hug. “A very good thing.”

******

The front door clicking open and a familiar Louisiana drawl calling out a greeting sets off a flurry of commotion; a mixture of both heavy and light footsteps pounding down the stairs, dogs scampering and barking, excited giggles and happy shrieks and rambling sentences in tiny voices. The kids have all become quite fond of Desmond (Desi, or Des, as Esme lovingly refers to him as) in their three years of spending time in New York City. A former University of Alabama football star, he’d found himself relocating when he’d met a very wealthy -and very much older- sports agent a decade ago; abandoning his dreams of playing profession in favour of a new existence in a new city. His husband -and admittedly the love of his life- had passed away just over a year ago. Leaving him with the elegantly and fabulously decorated brownstone in Gramercy, a small fleet of high end cars, closets full of designer apparel, and a bank account that will never run dry. He’s an enormous man; six foot seven and weighing close to three hundred pounds, most of solid muscle. Intimidating at first blush, but a complete teddy bear; compassionate and empathetic and possessing a heart even bigger than his body. And he’s hilarious and flamboyant; zero filter, exceptional taste in clothes, a love for expensive cosmetics and considerable talent in applying them, and a penchant for anything sparkly.

“You realize your front door was unlocked, don’t you?” Desi inquires as he journeys into the kitchen; monstrous hands curled around a giggling Takota’s ankles as he dangles him upside down. “Any wackadoodle could just walk in here. I know this is Gramercy Park, but it’s STILL The Big Apple. This isn’t the safe and quiet little sparrow fart town in Australia you call home. Where all you have to worry about is kangaroos and koalas and spiders the size of dinner plates.”

“I’ll have you know that koalas can be very sketchy; we have one in the tree in the front yard that hisses and spits and throws shit at you.”

“Jack!” Takota reminds her in between hiccups. “His name is Jack!”

“Well Jack is an asshole and he needs to relocate,” she says, and pats him on the bum and squeezes the cheeks; fingers moving to his sides and tickling him until both the giggles and the hiccups increase. “And it’s the dingos you have to worry about. They’re mean.”

“Dingos eat bad girls and boys,” Takota says, smoothing down his hair and his shirt when he’s put on his feet. “That’s what daddy said.”

“If that was true, we’d only have two or three kids instead of seven. Go and play. So I can talk to Desi.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“Top secret adult only stuff. Here," She snags one of the sugary goodies from the container on the island and hands it to him. “We’re going to go out soon. For a little walk. Get some fresh air. Make sure you pee BEFORE we leave. I don’t want to get you all bundled up and then have you tell me you gotta go. Hear me?”

“I can’t make any promises mumma,” Takota says, and then pops the treats into his mouth and rushes off.

“That kid is way too cute for his own good,” Desi declares. “Gonna be a heartbreaker, you know. Like his mom.”

“For the record, I’ve never broken any hearts. Well, except for the time in grade two when I didn’t want to be Freddie George’s Valentine. He just wasn’t my type; he smelled like tapioca and desperation.”

“You had a first husband, did you not? Must have broken his heart. Or you wouldn’t be on your second husband.”

“My first husband broke my jaw, my nose, more than one rib, and put me in the ICU. He’s lucky it’s only his heart that got ripped out. And what’s up with that hat?” She gestures towards the fedora atop her friend’s head. “You look like a pimp.”

“If I was a pimp, you, my little ho…” he plucks the hat from his head and places it upon hers. “...would be better dressed.”

“What is wrong with how I’m dressed? I dress like this all the time.”

“And you’re still married? Is he blind or did he hit his head too hard one too many times or…?”

“I’ll have you know, my husband doesn’t care about the packaging. Just what’s underneath. Case in point, I once bought this really nice and quite expensive baby doll nightie; totally vintage and gorgeous and this shimmering black and pink. I don’t think he even noticed. It took him like five seconds to get it off me. IF that. He does not give a shit about the wrapping paper. Just the gift that’s underneath.”

“And you, my cute, teeny little munchkin, are the gift that keeps on giving. And you must give VERY well. Seven kids and all. But baggy sweat pants and a huge tee and a way too big Quicksilver hoodie? Oh honey, no. Just no. No, no, nooo.”

“If it makes you feel any better, these sweats are Fendi.”

“That does NOT change the fact they are joggers and you should NOT be wearing joggers on the streets of New York City. You lived here before; has your little, beautiful brain forgotten what it’s like to dress here? We need to get you some retail therapy with old Desi. He’ll hook you up. A little refinement, a little sophistication, a little bling. I got you, girl.”

“Your idea of a little bling is a ten thousand dollar belt you tried to talk me into buying last year. Where would I wear a ten thousand dollar belt?”

“I don’t care if you use it in the bedroom. If your husband resorts to employing it to trap you to the headboard or if he uses it to tie your hands behind your back. That belt was spectacular and you deserve spectacular. We WILL do this; a shopping trip. Chanel, Gucci, maybe some Ralph Lauren if we feel like slumming.”

“Where am I going to wear that type of stuff? I can’t wear Gucci while I’m cleaning out the goat pen or Chanel when I’m gutting a chicken coup. And I certainly can’t wear it out shopping.”

“Not to your favourite haunt no. Definitely out of place in Target.”

“There is nothing wrong with shopping at Target.”

“There is so much wrong with it. I’ll be here all day if we start.”

“Besides, we don’t have high falutin places like Gucci where I live, remember? You’ve been there.”

“Charming little place. Reminds me of some of the towns down south I used to hit up. But girl, you fill that closet of yours with the finest of apparel. Stick with me, I’ll treat you right. And speaking of being treated right, I got the appointment for you; Christmas Eve Eve, two o’clock Sally Hershberger.”

“You are a knight in shiny, blingy armor. You really DO have strings to pull.”

“I may have had to promise some good times...sexy good times...to the receptionist. But, that’s a small price to pay for you. I’m willing to take one for the team. Or should I say, give one for the team.”

“And as much as it's a dream of mine to go to Sally, and seeing how my hair really DOES need some TLC…”

“Oh no. No. Hell no. There’s a but coming. And Desmond Brownell does not like buts. Unless it’s Idris Elba’s. And your husband’s.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it. Not the appointment; I can go through with THAT. But cutting my hair? As short as the picture I showed you?”

“Girl, are you crazy. You’d be a knockout with a cute little side swept bob. What drugs are you on? Not that you’re ugly or anything the way you are now. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers or anything like that. But your hair...your whole mom thing with the constant ponytails or messy buns...it needs help. It’s screaming for help. Let me help it. Let me help YOU.”

“Just cutting it? THAT short. That’s not going to go over well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tyler is kind of old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned? You two spent five days banging right after you met. You got knocked up out of wedlock. He proposed in the bathroom. Nothing old fashioned about any of that.”

“When it comes to certain things, he’s very...particular. Especially when it comes to my hair. He likes it long. LOVES it long. I cut it up to my shoulders once and he bitched about it for TWO years. And let’s not get into when I got bangs or when I dyed it blonde.”

“I can’t say I blame him for the bangs thing. You’re way too cute and those big brown eyes do not deserve the attention taken away by fringe. But the bob...girl...that’s fierce. You’d rock it.”

“Maybe just some highlights. Some red ones. He did really like when I colored my hair red. I can get those, a trim, a blow out.”

“You can go to Cheapy Haircuts for Us for that nonsense. This is Sally Hershberger. You are not going to her and getting just a blowout or a trim or highlights. You are going big, or going home. The husband will deal. He’d love you with no hair. It’s no secret he thinks the sun shines out of your ass. Which, I have to admit, looks fabulous in Fendi sweats.”

“Why do you think he bought them? He knows what he’s doing. He bought them for the same reason he buys me yoga pants. And I don’t even do yoga.”

“He’s an ass man. I can appreciate that. And speaking of appreciate. Desmond Brownell would like to do some appreciating right about now. Is he home? The better half? Is he in there working out?” He casts a glance towards the home gym that sits off the kitchen. “More importantly, is he in there working out shirtless? ‘Cause if he is, I’ll gladly take him a glass of water so that fine ass specimen doesn’t get parched or dehydrated. I’ll even rub down those sore, beautiful muscles. I’ve got some very top shelf massage oil at home. Smells like pecan and coconut. Unless he’s more a citrusy type. If so, I can run to the store right quick.”

“First off, you’d traumatize him. He’s as straight as they come. I know that breaks your heart to hear it, but…”

“How does he know he’s straight if he’s never ventured out of straight-hood? Unless he has and didn’t like it….”

“He hasn’t tried it. He likes women. LOVES them actually. Maybe a little too much when he was younger. He is NOT bi. Sorry.”

“But I am. So are you. And you’re damn cute and he’d probably give it a try if you talked him into a threesome.”

“Yeah, right,” Esme laughs. “That would never happen.”

“Do right by your best friend. Or are you worried he’d leave you for me? What’s the old saying? Once you go black you never…”

“My husband is straight. Very straight. And no. He’s not working out. He’s not even home. He’s out with Tanner.”

“The breakfast date, that’s right. Little T couldn’t stop talking about that. Loves his daddy, that’s for sure. You know, that kid is damn talented. Those goodies brought over and that soup? Damnnn. Move over Emeril. Little T gonna set the world on fire.”

“He’s something else that kid. He’s...incredible. There aren’t even words that can properly describe him. But, he IS having issues.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“He’s bored. At school. And we specifically sent him there to challenge him. It’s been great. He’s been thriving and his grades are amazing and the teachers and the kids love him. But he’s so advanced and so smart that they’re going to run out of ways to teach him. Which means we’re going to run out of options for him. Which also means, I’m going to become a heavy drinker and eat my weight in these!” She nods down at the container of sweets in front of her and pops one into her mouth. “What are we going to do? There’s only so many options where we are.”

“Homeschool? You’ve got a degree. You’re smart. You can do it.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got a business. Two businesses, actually. And six other kids. Besides, he is way smarter than I was at that age. He’s probably smarter than I am. What am I going to do? For him?”

“You know where there ARE a lot of options…”

“We are NOT moving here. Tyler would never survive. This place? New York City? It’s not him. And I have to think about that too. What’s also best for him. We’re happy where we are. Insanely happy. Moving here is not an option. No matter how much I miss you.”

“Guess you’ve got a lot of thinking and research to do. It’ll work out. Always does.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love your optimism? And how much I’ve missed you? Or how much I love you?"

“You can mention it as many times as you like. My ego likes that shit.” He takes her face in his hands and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We still on for dinner tonight? I’m still bringing Italian? And the wine?”

“We’re still on. Tanner is going to make the salad and the garlic bread.”

“We gon’ be eating like damn kings.”

“Are we still on for the other thing? You know; the thing we talked about? When Tyler and I take the kids to pick out a tree?”

“I got you, don’t you worry. I will let myself in and grab the stuff from the attic and sneak out. I also got the email; that ‘thing’ for Addie arrived. You know what I’m talking about?”

“The doll? I didn’t think it would arrive in time. How does it look?”

“Exactly like her. Now, you want to get a head start on the wrapping? You know I love me some gift wrapping.”

“You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “That is what I like to hear. Now, I’m going to the gym. There’s a Latino hottie there I’ve been trying to talk up for weeks. You behave. Stay out of the wine. At least until later.”

“You gonna wear your ‘Bama t-shirt? The one that’s two sizes too small and shows off your muscles?”

“Sweetie pie, you don’ read my mind. But have you been checking out my muscles?”

“I have a ‘thing’ for muscles. And yours are very nice. Besides, I’m married. Not dead. Tyler’s going to be upset. That he’s not the only one you’re crushing on.”

“You just put his little mind at ease. Tell him he gives me the biggest woodie out of them all.”

“That’ll stroke his ego for sure. See you later? Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be here. With bells and bling on.” He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and pulls her into a hug; tightly squeezing. “You’re just so wee and cute. I could just scoop you up and put you in my pocket. See you later, gator.” He removes the hat from her head, affectionately tousles her hair before heading out of the kitchen. “And do me a favour? Put proper clothes on for dinner. I can’t be dining with someone in sweats. Desmond Brownell has standards to uphold.”

“Desmond Brownwell needs to remember the cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Oh bless your heart. Thinking I need to be reminded. See ya, pip squeak.”

“You and you tall people. So cruel to us little folk.”

“Little folk?” He smirks. “You’re like one of those things in Lord of the Rings. A damn hobbit. Matter of fact, I’mma call you Frodo from now on.”

“You do that, I’ll sneak into your house and kill you in your sleep.”

Desmond laughs. “I’d like to see you try, short stuff. Later.”

“Later,” she calls, shaking her head and laughing when he hollers “Spawns of Satan; I be leaving now!” before stepping out the front door.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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