#I should tag this as The Return of Stephen's Self Esteem | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beardrabbles · 5 years

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FEAR

rating: k

words: 2,053

characters: female reader, stephen strange, short mentions of other charaters

notes: ( ao3 request; Endgame reader with powers and strange? ) First time writing Strange, and I’m not sure how well I did! Let me know so I can improve. Had to rewatch the portal scene to remember who came from where and it make me emotional again, heck!

tags: none

There was no other way.

When you heard him utter those words, your entire world had buckled. You foggily recalled watching him fade, sharp beard and chilling eyes fluttering away like fresh ash on the roaring winds of an inferno. You had felt sick then, you remember. Not only had your stomach become a void, but so had the rest of your being. Mantis, Drax, Peter Quill and the young Peter Parker — you hadn’t known them well ( or at all for that matter ) and still it pained you to see them go.

There was no other way.

Stephen Strange was your mentor, your Sorcerer Supreme, the one person on Earth whom you trusted undoubtedly. There weren’t many alive that you held in such high esteem. He had held this position in your mind and heart for months, and yet. . . there he had sat, forfeiting the time stone.

You would never forget the way his hand trembled when he plucked the stone from the air. You would never forget the heavy burden on his voice when he admitted that there was only one option.

But that was all you would remember because seconds later, you would join the millions that had vanished. You had realized half-way through that being erased from existence wasn’t as painful as watching it happen to someone else. Moments before your mind faded and your remains lay on Titan’s surface, you wondered; was there truly no other way?

“I had to do it.”

The voice didn’t startle you, but neither were you happy to hear it. You stood with your arms out and fingers curled, golden glyphs blinking and fizzling in the air. Beyond your hands, you saw the others. They had returned the same way you had, suddenly and with a great deal of confusion. You found more interest in them than you did the cloaked man that lingered beside you.

“You’re upset with me.” He continued.

“The guy in the metal suit isn’t here. Mr. Stark, right? Neither is the blue lady.” You chose to ignore his attempts at a deeper conversation.

“Y/N. . .”

“Where did they go? Everyone that disappeared is here, but they’re not. Did they find a way off this rock?”

“They’re on Earth, as they should be.”

Your arms stilled, then they dropped. You turned to face him, your heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest at the sight of his battered face. Stephen’s expressions were always difficult to read, but the one he sported now was one of pure and painful guilt.

“As they should be?” Your arms folded over your chest, thumb fidgeting with your sling ring. Stephen nodded.

“I told you. I told all of you——”

“You told us horse shit, Stephen! You told us our chances, and nothing else!” You began to panic, your words running together as it was hard to breathe between them when you had a thousand thoughts and opinions to voice. “And then — and then you go and hand Barney the Dinosaur the time stone! The time stone! Everyone’s fading, and there are you tellin’ us that there was no other way! We’re terrified. We’re thinkin’ this is it! We’re screwed! Totally screwed, and. . . and. . .”

“And. . . ?”

You curl your lower lip inward and bite down, eyes stinging. Your hands rose again, and you feel your power flow through them. It was like a shower of sparks flying from the tip of a lit sparkler. Every ember, no matter how tiny, pushed through your veins, your muscles, the little fibers of your being, and came to a painful halt at your fingertips. The glyphs appeared, but they popped in and out of existence too rapidly to be useful.

“I’m still scared,” finally came your reluctant confession. “I came back, and I tried to make a portal so I could find out if my friends and family were alright. I couldn’t do it, and I know that’s why.”

Your head dipped down, the back of your knuckles rubbing at your eyes and wet nose. You had come so far since the beginning of your training, but seeing your confidence return to the condition it had been in when you first started was demoralizing. You had backtracked again, and you weren’t the least bit proud of yourself because of it.

“Show me your hands.” It wasn’t a command so much as it was a request. You refused to lift your eyes and look at the man you had tried so hard to impress, but you did as he asked and held out both of yours hands with the palms facing up. You weren’t sure what he planned to do with them, but you were shaken when you felt his fingers graze against yours. When you peered down, you could see the many deep and knotted scars along his digits. Against the pads of your own fingers, they felt larger than they appeared.

“You’re not the only one that’s afraid, Y/N. We all are.” His palms pressed to yours, and the wall that had obstructed your powers felt as if it were vibrating.

“You don’t look like you’re afraid. None of you do.” You scoffed and were almost tempted to yank your hands away — mostly out of irritation and partially out of embarrassment. They remained there purely because touch from him was rare.

“You’ve only been training for a year. We’ve been at this for a lot longer than that.” The ghost of a smile toyed with his lips. Catching it gave you some relief, but it didn’t last long. Stephen saw your expression dwindle again and continued. “But we need you. We need everyone that can fight, and I know you can.”

“Stephen, I——”

“You have to trust me.” Anyone in a situation as dire as this one would sound desperate, but you thought you heard the smallest crack in his voice. His dark eyes caught yours, and they captivated you. “I can’t tell you everything. If I do, if I so much as hint at what might happen, it won’t. I know putting blind faith into me is a lot to ask of everyone, but it’s worked out so far.”

“Yeah, so far. What if it decides it doesn’t want to work out anymore?” Your throat tightened, and the urge to crumble hit you again. “I hate this. People are going to die, aren’t they?”

“With or without Thanos, with or without the thousands of paths I witnessed, that is something we can’t avoid.”

“Is it going to be you?”

Stephen opened his mouth to answer, but it snapped shut a millisecond later. His face hardened, and he shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Please. Is there anything you can tell me? I need something.” You pleaded despite knowing there was very little he could give you. Stephen understood the concepts at hand more than you ever could, but all you needed was to hear that everything would be alright. He knew this, and still he refused to reassure you of the inevitable future.

He wouldn’t leave you without some form of encouragement, however.

His hands moved away from yours and found purchase alongside your face. He held you in so tender a way that you almost didn’t feel the shaking. Your breath stopped dead in your lungs, making your chest swell. Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you were sure that he could feel it. All focus remained on your eyes, as if he were desperately trying to say something with his gaze that his voice couldn’t. But he had to say it, or else you would never believe it.

Stephen knew you, and he knew that every ounce of self-doubt you had in you would deny the truth until it was said loud and clear for your ears to hear. Because as often as you thought about it, as often as you daydreamed, you never tried to convince yourself that you were more than a pupil to him.

So he spoke, and he hoped that you knew better than to interrupt.

“I can tell you one certainty, and it’s this; you were not a mistake. Finding you, bringing you into our teachings and training you was meant to happen. Everything that has led up to this moment, no matter how bad, was meant to get you here. Right here. With me. You won’t see it because you’re too damn stubborn, but you’ve gotten better. I watched you improve. I’ve watched you fall back too, but you’ve come out stronger because of it.”

The stinging in your eyes had gone away, but only because you had finally allowed yourself to cry. You sniffled and whimpered, eyes and nose leaking. You nodded firmly, letting him know that you were listening and trying your hardest to believe him. He didn’t need to say that, you thought, but he had. And they were, by far, the kindest words he had ever said to you.

Crying out some of your frustration and anxiety had helped, but you were never fond of people seeing you in such a low state. You were grateful, but you had to deflect. You had been given permission to break down for the moment, yet you knew that time wasn’t on your side. If you had to, you could always find time after the battle to cry. . . if you managed to survive.

“How many apprentices have you given that speech to?” You coughed out a half-hearted laugh and rubbed at your eyes again, forcing Stephen’s hands away from your face.

“Only one.” His pointed tone and intense gaze made your stomach knot twice over. You fidgeted, eyes moving everywhere but to him.

“If I’ve gotten better, it’s only because you’re the one teaching me. No offense to Wong.”

“None taken.” As if on cue, he approached, hands behind his back. You nearly jumped out of your skin, heart hammering a hundred miles a minute.

“When did you——?”

“Just now.” Wong was a fairly stoic man, but time spent around you had opened up parts of his personality that only Stephen had seen before. Despite his claim, the twinkle in his eyes revealed he may have arrived much earlier. Early enough to catch snippets of your conversation with the Sorcerer Supreme, at least.

“Are they ready?” Suddenly, Stephen was all steely eyes and determination again.

“They’re as ready as they can be. We haven’t exactly trained them for this, but adversity tends to prove itself motivating under the right circumstances.” Wong cast you a knowing smile.

“Wait, who are we talking about?” You glanced between them, feeling twice as confused as before.

“Everyone.”

“You mean everyone-everyone?”

“Every novice and apprentice, every disciple, everyone here on this planet and on Earth and in worlds far from our own.” Stephen gave a single, firm nod. “You’ve heard of fighting fire with fire, right? We’re going to fight an army with an army.”

“So we’re doing this?” Behind your trio of magic users, the remainder of the Guardians and Peter shuffled up. Peter, looking oddly pale in Titan’s ruddy glow, swallowed hard. “We’re actually going to fight Thanos again?”

“We have to.” Stephen gave Wong one last half-nod. Wong returned it and disappeared in a wink of orange sparks.

“Good. Great. That’s cool. Never fought a whole army before, but — y’know.” Peter sighed and let the nanobots of his suit form a mask around his head. Amongst themselves, the Guardians murmured and huddled together. You were left to stand beside your mentor, your whole body quivering from the inside-out with mounting fear.

“Remember, you’re not the only one that’s afraid.” His hand found yours, and he squeezed with as much strength as he could. It wasn’t much, but you felt the sentiment behind it. “And consider this——”

Stephen’s lips curled into a smirk. “If you think we’re afraid to face his army, imagine how afraid he’ll be when he sees ours.”

You couldn’t help but to let out a genuine laugh this time around.

Hands up and fingers tingling, you prepared yourself. Your apprehension was still strong, but you have too many people counting on you the same way you were counting on them. You needed your magic, and you would be damned if it disobeyed you now.

“I wouldn’t wanna fight against us either.”

#doctor strange x reader #doctor strange imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #( writing characters I've never written for before makes me super nervous but!! I TRY BECAUSE I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU ALL )

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soy-em · 5 years

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Em’s big 2018 rec list - J2 version

Here is the J2 version of the best fics I’ve read this year (written in 2018 only).

Follow the Stars by @nisaki-chan

NC17, 15k

Jensen goes to sleep single and wakes up married.

This is a beautiful fairy story, evocative and sweet.

The Guy Next Door by Whispered_story

NC17, 11k

Jensen hates his new neighbor. Jared is loud, obnoxious, and too damn hot.

More sweet getting together fluff; just what everyone needs at Christmas.

My lips are the gun by Kelleigh

NC17, 2k

When Jensen finds out there's a lipstick color called 'Jared' by Tom Ford, he can't stop imagining the way the shade would look on his boyfriend's lips. He's never clicked 'buy' so fast in his life.

This was one of my favourite spn_masquerade fills, partly because I too saw that lipstick and wondered, and partly because it just hits everything I like in a PWP.

Like a music that holds my hands down by Saltandbyrne

NC17, 23k

Perpetually-single pediatric dentist Jared lets his best friend Misha talk him into going to an anonymous BDSM party. Jared hooks up with a gorgeous stranger, but panics after their encounter and leaves before he can learn more about him. A year later, Jared is stunned to recognize Jensen Ackles as the father of one of his new patients and the guy from the best one-night stand of Jared’s life. With some encouragement from Jensen’s co-parent Danneel and Jared’s plucky office manager Genevieve, Jared realizes that he and Jensen might be perfect for each other after all.

I loved this. This is a combination of seriously hot bdsm kink and a rom-com - and it works so, so well!

Retrain by @nerdygeekypastrychef

NC17, 31k

Jensen Ackles wins teenage submissive Jared Padalecki in a poker game run by Stephen Amell. Jensen doesn’t know anything about being a Dominant or taking care of an abused kid but he can’t let Jared go, he has to help him learn who he was meant to be.

Maybe I’m biased because I beta-read this, but I am a sucker for protective Jensen and this fic has that in abundance!

Tempting Jensen by hpjk_addict

M, 53k

England, 1815

Jensen is an extremely pious young man. He is determined to live a life of purity, devotion, obedience and self-denial, devoid of all passions, pleasures and diversions. His one and only ambition is to become a clergyman. His mission in life is to atone for his mother’s sins that broke apart his family and caused his father’s death when he was a child.

However, his plans are irrevocably ruined when his guardians’ son, Jared, returns. Jared disrupts his daily life, disturbs his peace of mind, makes him feel things that he has never felt before and challenges all of his notions about himself. He overwhelms him with his liberal touches, embraces and caresses, makes him blush at his unabashed nakedeness, makes him laugh, teaches him to enjoy life outside his studies and gradually seduces him into his bed.

Following his desires for the very first time in his life, Jensen agrees to accompany Jared to London in order to explore their forbidden relationship that, should it become public knowledge, will destroy them both – unless, of course, Jared’s past affairs, youthful indiscretions and a terrible secret that he intends to keep from Jensen will tear them apart first.

Beautifully written regency J2 - what more could a girl want.

All that is gold by cherie_morte

NC17, 24k

AU: Jensen is an elven prince. All his life, he's wanted nothing more than to prove his worth to his aloof father, King Alan of Gnaven. When an attempt to impress the king by battling a gryphon goes wrong, Jensen thinks he’s as good as dead. Instead, he awakes in the home of a strange man named Jared who lives in an abandoned village alone. Despite saving his life, Jared has no love for Jensen or his kingdom. In order to convince his reluctant host to let him stay until his wounds have healed, Jensen offers to share a magical gift: a bard’s song. Jensen’s song wins him Jared’s esteem, but as the two grow closer, Jensen learns secrets about his father that force him to question his loyalties and change his kingdom forever.

One of my favourite fantasy aus this year.

Offering by @shayleas

NC17, 160k, check the tags for kinks/enticements

Jensen is straight, thank you very much, and set on his conservative Texan future with the girl of his dreams. But after accidentally seeing his college roommate naked, his straightness comes into serious question. As for Jared, what is a gay boy supposed to do when someone as hot as Jensen decides to experiment with him? Definitely not fall in love.

I rec’d this last year, but as it was finished this year I’m cheating and including it again. Quite simply the best J2 fic I’ve ever read, absolutely heartbreaking at times. Put a weekend or a week aside and read.

This, and My Heart, and All The Fields by @nisaki-chan

NC17, 19k

Jensen is assigned to escort Prince Jared to his friend's wedding in another kingdom. He doesn't expect himself to be in the middle of a conspiracy, neither does he anticipate falling in love with the prince.

This wasn’t written for me, but it could’ve been, it hits all my favourite things so perfectly. Older, somewhat grumpy Jensen who is enchanted by rayofsunshine!Jared is probably my all time favourite J2 fic trope, and coupled with an excellent plot and steaming hot sex, it makes this a last-minute must-read addition to this year’s list.

Last year’s J2 rec list has been marked NSFW so unfortunately I can’t link you back to it *rolls eyes*

#my recs #j2 rpf

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where-ls-my-mlnd · 4 years

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You ever just randomly get in the mood to partake in self-destructive behavior? Wait, shit. Let me rephrase that. Make it sound less deranged. You ever sunk into a vicious sorrow, like, the worst, most agonizing, screaming sorrow you’ve ever felt in your entire life, spend a week being consumed by this horrible unrelenting pain, and then develop the urge to do things that are deleterious to your well-being in order to cope? Holy fuck that sounds even worse. Ah, son of a bitch— don’t go thinking I’m insane now, alright? ‘Cause I’m not. Severely insane, anyway. I’ve always had a couple screws loose, but that’s okay, and hardly the point, anyways. The point is quite simple at its core. Allow me break it down for you. Ever since I was young, I have been terribly, dangerously, and inexorably fond of self-destruction. That’s not a secret. Never has been. You don’t develop a drug addiction because you like the feeling of safety, you know what I’m sayin’? It stems from a profound inner sense of chaos, a desire to escape; whether it be from your emotions, your life circumstances, or the world at large, that is so strong, and so fucking undefeatable, it becomes larger than you are. Even the strong-willed can be absolutely wrecked by addiction. No one is exempt. Addiction doesn’t give a fuck who you are, where you’re from, what your aspirations are. It just wants to break you, and then build you back up again, and have you walking around half-alive for years and years so it can feed on the last of your life force. It doesn’t want you too strong, but not too weak, either. The ideal is for you to be slowly decomposing over the course of half your life or sometimes more so that it can drag out the torturous process for as long as possible. If you’re lucky, you’ll hit bottom, a massive part of you will die, and you’ll be reborn. What you choose to do with your second chance at life is entirely up to you, and that’s the tricky part. I’ve seen many people carelessly waste their chances, as if they thought God was just doling them out for free. I’m rueful to say that I have wasted my own chances before. A gross disregard for the life I was so blessed to still have. But maybe I should go easy on myself. Why should I take such care of my life— when I did not even want to live it? That’s a question for the ages, ain’t it? Psychologists would love to pick that shit apart. Well, anyway, what I am incredibly happy to say is this: I was one of the lucky ones, and after countless failed attempts, I was able to kill that monster once and for all, and in its death I found a brand new life for myself. It’s not an easy life, but nothing is ever easy with me. All that matters is it’s my life, I fucking made it for myself, and I am so damn grateful and elated to be living it. What I am hesitant, and slightly anxious to say is this: in my heart resides the same fondness for self-destruction that got me into so much trouble as a teenager. I’d like to say I’m not surprised— and if I did, it would be at least half-true. I have always had an unadulterated, skin-crawling need to be free. And I’ve always gladly done whatever I thought was necessary to achieve that freedom, even if it was illegal, stupid, morally bankrupt, or just absurd. That’s the thing with me. I can’t fucking stop, ever. If used for different purposes, it may even be called admirable: that furious, unyielding drive. I like to think I can still channel that energy, in my career specifically, but these days I’m honestly not sure. But there is a difference. Back in the day, I would start shit just for fun. I was seeking something, for sure— something that I still don’t feel like I’ve found. Beyond the classic premise of a teenager’s quest for self-discovery, there was no greater goal, or purpose for my antics. I did it because I could, and because after a while I began to fall in love with destruction. Raising hell was my religion. In an otherwise Godless world— that was always the altar at which I worshipped. Now, I find myself self-imploding because of so, so many violent, turbulent emotions to which I cannot put a name. It’s just like, my fucking mind, man...it’s a hell zone. That animal urge to unleash all inhibitions and just say fuck it is only ever activated by deeply unpleasant feelings. It’s almost like I’m...acting out. I‘ll be overcome by a wave of melancholy, or hit by sudden, thrashing anxiety, and I’ll get so overwhelmed that I feel like I need to do something to let it out. Something drastic. Something impulsive. Something absolutely fucking insane. Something like what I’m doing right now. Driving in my car, vibrating with excitement in my seat, to pick up J, who’s waiting for me in that damn park so we can go to a fucking club. A club! I literally just passed three years of sobriety, fuck, what is this? Am I trying to relapse? Well, no— I’m not an alcoholic, what the fuck? You know, I mean, can I handle my alcohol? No. But like, if I start drinking, can I stop? Uh...yeah! I’m only a drug addict, it’s fine! Holy fuck that was the most disturbing sentence I ever said. Well, whatever, I don’t think anyone’s gonna whip out any fuckin’ shards in the middle of a nightclub. Coke, that’s a given. But like, I can avoid it probably, also I barely like it! So who cares?! Imagine someone offers me a bump— I’m not gonna whore myself out for it. Not gonna hold out my hands and beg oh yes, please, PLEASE give me some coke! You know what I’m gonna say? WHAT THEY TEACH YOU TO IN SCHOOLS, BABY! N-O! NO...no thank you, not a big fan of the booger sugar, I’m a member of the elite, I only like amphetamines. OOPSIE I forgot to use past tense. Used to like amphetamines. There we go. Oh mother of fuck, what am I doing? God— I hardly remember getting in my car. See, this is what I mean! When the pain gets real bad, I start to act fucking chaotic! And lord knows the pain has been abject as of late. To this day I don’t know how I even survived Sunday night. In that dark, sinister park, and in J’s brutally honest words, I was met with a feeling of despair I can only describe as deadly. I don’t know how I didn’t do something to myself. I’m sure I wanted to. After a certain point I think I just blacked out. System overloaded or something. I got home, by some fucking miracle— I know because I woke up in my bed around 3 am because I had been crying in my sleep, which is just fucking neat. After that, I don’t know. I really wish I could remember. Perhaps some things are too horrific to remember. The days that followed were even worse. I spent my time floating in and out of sadness, then to bitter, uncontrollable anger, back into sadness again, then for the grand finale there’d be a thick feeling of complete numbness, and that would be what followed me throughout the day. Sometimes I’d see her in my dreams, and still miss, love, and need her desperately— other times I’d feel disgusted by the vile creature she has become and want to forget we ever shared a moment so sacred. It was mostly the first one though, and that’s what made it so hard. You should’ve seen me, flipping through old photos of her like a fucking weirdo and clutching them to my heart, like if I held them close enough, she would hear how loud it beats for her. I was lovesick for the very first time since I was twenty one years old and discovering that bad boys, if given the chance, will treat you bad every damn time. I was never under any illusions that this was healthy, but I knew something was seriously fucked when I abruptly stood up and almost passed out, and later realized it was because I hadn’t eaten in two days. Thank God for fast food and its obscene amounts of fat otherwise I might still be a touch too skinny. Before I knew it, the week had passed me by, and this brings us to tonight. Tonight. It’s kind of a funny story how my spirits got so lifted. I was in the shower, which is a story in itself. I don’t know how I forced myself to take a shower in that state— I can’t even get out of bed most days. I get out of that bitch, right? I bury myself in my towel like a blanket ‘cause it was colder than my father’s stare in there. I wipe the steam from the mirror. And my breath was stolen away. I actually looked good. Fuck, I looked amazing. My eyes were bloodshot from crying, yeah, but my eyelashes looked darker, longer, little tiny beads of water dripping off them, and my complexion looked so fresh and healthy, and my lips had somehow turned a perfect shade of pink like I just blew a cherry popsicle or something. Was I sort of...pretty when I cried? Is it just like Lana Del Rey said? Oh my god, I thought. It was. I watched as my eyes brightened and my face was lit up by a smile at the realization. I broke into this demented cackle, and stayed there five minutes longer than I should have, gripping the edge of the sink and laughing gleefully. By the time I got back up to my apartment I was still in disbelief. Did I look that good all the time? Had I always been sexy? I couldn’t stop looking at myself. It was like I had been given a whole new face, a whole new body. I tried to just sit and quietly watch TV but it felt too wrong. It’s a Friday night. I live in the heart of the city. I’m not emotionally attached to anyone anymore. I have exceptional looks all of the sudden. I have more pent-up sexual frustration than I know what to do with. It just seemed too...perfect... And so, I decided, with a slightly manic sense of determination, that I was going to go get laid. Got a little dressed up because, yes, it’s true, my closet does consist of more than just hoodies. Fluffed up my hair a bit, stared into the mirror some more, then I hit up J. Man did he sound jittery when he answered the phone. Never in my life did I think that J would ever ask me, under any circumstances, for any reason, “What...what’s up?” I was too enchanted by my own reflection to analyze it at the time. “LISTEN, are you busy?” I demanded, trying out different poses in the mirror. He wasn’t. This pleased me immensely. “I wanna go fucking clubbing, J. You wanna go clubbing?! Let’s go clubbing! I ONLY WANT TO GO IF YOU COME WITH.” A heavy sigh from the other line. “I don’t know, man...” Panic instantly arose and began to frazzle my mind. Oh, god, it all seemed so clear now. He was gearing up to leave me. That was all there was to it. I had been too clingy, too emotional, too inconsiderate before; I had expected too much of him, and for that he was pulling away from me. That sigh held the leaden weight of our previous interaction and it was palpable, even over the phone. It was obvious I had to do something. “Come on, J...there’s money in it for you.” Needless to say, he was suddenly very eager to agree when I told him to wait for me in the park and that I’d pick him up in one hour. All the while I’m fucking hauling ass to collect his ounce of coke that I promised him, splitting it up into several different amounts and agonizing over how best to organize it. I figured it out eventually— because I fucking worked my brain half to death. The attention to detail was painstaking but it had to be done. And now, here I am, riding around the city, glorious night air blowing in through the open window, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of Uptown Funk, feeling that same wild, intoxicating rush as if it never went away. Perhaps I’m going a little crazy, perhaps I’ve never been saner. But I haven’t felt this good about myself, or anything, in a long time. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve felt very confident since I entered my twenties. Something about all the self-introspection makes it hard to view myself in a positive light. But I’ve done enough of that, enough self-introspection for ten lifetimes. If there was ever a time where I deserved to go fucking ape shit, and have fun, and act like a normal twenty-something year old...it would be now. Spring break, bitch. May as well bask in my freedom while I still have it. Lush, gorgeous greenery juxtaposed with tall, steely, glittering buildings and the sudden feeling of quietude that being surrounded by nature brings: that’s how I know I’ve made it to the park. Almost out of respect for the calm, solitary setting, I instinctively go to turn down my music, drowning out the sounds of saxophones and terrifically catchy guitar riffs and Bruno Mars’ bright, joyous voice in favor of comfortable, worshipful silence. I wouldn’t mind driving around this place for a while, but I don’t have to look very long to find him. He’s standing on the sidewalk, looking as close to peaceful as he can probably get, cigarette in hand; never without his crutch, his trademark accessory. A shadowy figure in the near-dark, an apparition, an enigma, as always. I find myself breaking into a smile as I pull up and then subsequently stop the car, sliding out of my seat and nudging the door closed with my hip. I can see him very well now that I’ve gotten closer and— oh! What the fuck— okay, J! Giving me a little shirt-half-unbuttoned moment! He’s...okay, wow, he’s kind of serving. He’s really serving. He’s dressed in this sleek little black shirt that matches his hair just divinely and dark jeans and he looks so good I can’t help but raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes in surprise. “JAMES DEAN! How’s it going?!” I exclaim in lieu of a proper greeting. “What’s this little number? Did you get all dressed up just for ME?!” I let out a laugh, “Goddamn, man! Who the fuck told you to show out like that?! You are giving me so much life right now, J. I swear to God—you look so fucking good! What the hell?!”

#/livingladolcevita #4/17/15 #the bros #BABY WE ARE GOING S0 MOTHERFUCKING FAR UP #WE ARE GOING UP STREAKS #I should tag this as The Return of Stephen's Self Esteem #welcome back! it's only been three fucking years

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bharatiyamedia-blog · 5 years

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With Summer season Trip Right here, How A lot Display screen Time Is Too A lot?

http://tinyurl.com/y3o2lqm7 MONDAY, June 3, 2019 (American Coronary heart Affiliation Information) — Dazzling graphics, partaking purposes and a dizzying array of beeps, pings and rings make smartphones and different transportable devices exhausting to withstand. With summer time trip beginning for thousands and thousands of American kids, many mother and father are asking: How a lot display time is an excessive amount of? In newly launched tips, the World Well being Group recommends no display time for youngsters youthful than 1. Children 2 to four years previous should not spend greater than an hour per day in entrance of a display, and fewer is healthier. “What youngsters at that age want is interplay with mother and father and different individuals,” mentioned Dr. Stephen Daniels, a professor and chair of the division of pediatrics on the College of Colorado Faculty of Medication and pediatrician-in-chief of Kids’s Hospital Colorado. “If they’re interacting with a tool, it has the hazard of turning into the accepted norm.” However display time is a default exercise for a lot of kids. And the older youngsters get, the extra time they spend in entrance of a display. In accordance with the nonprofit Widespread Sense Media, so-called tweens, kids ages eight to 12, spend almost six hours per day utilizing media, and youngsters common nearer to 9 hours a day. “I believe we must be deeply apprehensive about it,” mentioned Dr. Wendy Sue Swanson, a pediatrician and the chief of digital innovation and digital well being at Seattle Kids’s Hospital. “Because the iPhone and all these units began washing into the world, we stay very in another way than human beings have ever lived earlier than.” An excessive amount of sedentary habits like display time can set kids up for well being issues down the street, together with heart disease. “In case you’re utilizing a display, you are not walking locations, going to the park or running round taking part in tag,” Swanson mentioned. Whereas some research have discovered that so-called exergames like “Dance Revolution” can enhance motion, Swanson cautioned about changing bodily actions with digital ones. “If it is a wet day, and they’ll play a dance sport as an alternative of Pac-Man, nice,” Swanson mentioned. “However it’s nonetheless changing one thing extra significant, a real-life motion with social interplay that builds esteem, comradery and sportsmanship.” There are issues about display time’s affect on mental health as effectively. A current research suggests 2- to 17-year-olds who spend a minimum of seven hours per day on screens usually tend to be recognized with depression or anxiety than kids who interact in much less display time. It isn’t clear whether or not display time causes depression and anxiety, or if people who find themselves anxious and depressed retreat to their screens, mentioned Dr. David Hill, a pediatrician and chairman of the American Academy of Pediatrics Council on Communications and Media. “Each could also be true, or one could predominate,” he mentioned. Not all on-line actions are unhealthy, Hill mentioned. Kids do their homework on-line, join with different like-minded youngsters and have interaction in inventive endeavors resembling artwork, pictures and programming. However parental involvement is essential. “They want mother and father to information them, reiterate the lesson and assist them to grasp what they’re seeing,” Hill mentioned. Daniels recommends kids and adolescents prohibit display time to 2 hours a day, including that some locations, notably the dinner desk and the bed room, must be no-device zones. Devices within the bed room could delay bedtime, he mentioned, and a few analysis suggests the sunshine emitted by screens impacts the power to go to sleep and the standard of sleep, which has been linked to obesity in childhood and later in life. Sources can be found for fogeys, together with various apps designed to handle display time. The American Academy of Pediatrics affords a media plan that locations display time in a bigger context that features different actions like homework, sports activities and household time. Swanson recommends mother and father assist kids set their very own limits after which implement penalties when kids don’t self-regulate. “Dad and mom are coping with one thing stronger than them, and it is solely going to get higher, extra creative, extra pleasant,” Swanson mentioned. “We have now to be extra considerate about how we rear kids to be masters over the expertise.” American Coronary heart Affiliation Information covers coronary heart and mind well being. Not all views expressed on this story replicate the official place of the American Coronary heart Affiliation. Copyright is owned or held by the American Coronary heart Affiliation, Inc., and all rights are reserved. 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joyfullightbouquetblog-blog · 6 years

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Don't let people trick you into thinking that there are 'right' ways to protest Trump

New Post has been published on https://www.uberbuyer.com/2018/07/14/dont-let-people-trick-you-into-thinking-that-there-are-right-ways-to-protest-trump/

Don't let people trick you into thinking that there are 'right' ways to protest Trump

If you’ve listened to the chattering classes lately, you’ve learned that there are civil and uncivil ways to protest Donald Trump and his administration. Most of these pundits frown on nonviolent heckling, confrontation, and shaming of aides like Kellyanne Conway, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, and Stephen Miller. They argue that such behavior erodes civil norms, and they fret that the subsequent viral media attention will alienate moderates.

While their opinions are worth hearing, there’s an unmistakable disconnect in being told by the country’s most influential writers that the powerless should meet their personal expectations for civil protest.

These are people whose livelihoods and reputations are largely safe from the Trump administration’s bureaucratic cruelty. If they become a target of the bully-in-chief himself, it’ll probably translate into increased book sales or page views — not deportation.

Nothing more reliably generates panic among US elites than the prospect of powerful white people facing any consequences whatsoever for their words & actions. https://t.co/YgfrZCUt3k

— David Roberts (@drvox) July 9, 2018

Pundits more interested in decency and decorum often view the endgame of protest as satisfying skeptical white moderates. Other strategies are considered doomed approaches for swaying public opinion or motivating voter turnout, which says something about whose needs these commentators think are most central in American life and politics.

As Nick Baumann, an editor at HuffPost, put it on Twitter last month after a Virginia restaurant owner declined to serve Sanders, “One thing the Red Hen situation has made abundantly clear is that the vast majority of people in the national media identify more closely with the White House press secretary than with anyone who might be in a position to cook or serve food to her in a restaurant.”

Meanwhile, those who turn to confrontational protest may see it as a signal to the rest of America that Trump’s racist rhetoric and policies are not normal or acceptable. It can be a rallying cry or an act of solidarity, regardless of whether it happens between two people in a restaurant or bookstore, or on the streets with thousands of people chanting the same message of resistance.

Every time we remind our office holders that the power belongs to we, the people, we are patriots.

— Brittany Packnett (@MsPackyetti) July 4, 2017

It may very well drive voter turnout in imperceptible ways by inspiring people who feel overwhelmed by the relentless cynicism of our politics, or encouraging those most negatively affected by Trump’s policies — and who wonder why their neighbors and countrymen aren’t voicing dissent on their behalf. That analysis, however, gets less interest and attention than the strategy of appeasing those occupying the so-called middle ground, ostensibly to win them over at the ballot box.

Yet what goes unsaid when we obsess over how white moderates will react to uncomfortable yet nonviolent displays of protest is that one man’s electoral strategy can be another man’s oppression. There’s a reason Martin Luther King Jr. singled out the white moderate for criticism in his Letter from Birmingham Jail, written in 1963:

“I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.”

Some may remember the Civil Rights era as a golden age for civil protest, but Celina Su, an associate professor of political science at the City University of New York, says mainstream historical pundits have a way of shifting the narrative so that those we agree with now abided by “respectability” politics.

Up until recently, for example, portrayals of Rosa Parks cast her as a tired woman who just wanted a seat on the bus. Instead, Su says, she was a “fierce” activist who’d attended training camps for civil disobedience.

“Folks who were really effective were definitely not considered civil at the time,” says Su.

She’s not surprised, given the current political climate, that some people are shaming Trump administration officials they encounter in public. When the average person lacks the financial power and access to a platform that the president and his high-profile staff members posses, while watching democratic institutions fail before their eyes, they may very well resort to using everyday forms of resistance to make themselves heard.

I keep reading in the press that we’re having an “immigration debate” when it is ethnic cleansing, crimes against humanity, and an assault on all of our rights. We were never having an immigration debate.

— Alexander Chee (@alexanderchee) July 6, 2018

We should also question the idea that consensus can be inherently neutral and fair.

“Most often, unless you’re really paying attention to power and inequalities of power in the room, consensus is another mask for domination,” says Su.

There’s one more reason we should view catering to white moderates as a self-defeating task: The goalposts of civility will most certainly change depending on the messenger or the message. When Rep. Maxine Waters (D-Calif.) told people to continue confronting Trump officials in public, specifically about the separation of migrant children from their parents, Democratic leaders condemned her remarks, which were also mischaracterized by the president as an incitement to violence.

Maxine Waters is pushing back and calling on everyone to speak out against this Trump Administration whenever they see someone out in public. Check out this tag to see how pissed she’s making Trump supporters…I wonder why? 🤔 pic.twitter.com/ONjUPrYLc5

— Amee Vanderpool (@girlsreallyrule) June 24, 2018

Liberals may abandon shaming and public confrontation on the advice of pundits, but there’s no act of protest that someone somewhere won’t find objectionable or indecent. We know the president himself has no qualms about turning commentary about protest into inflammatory, misleading tweets. Most of his supporters seem eager to follow his lead.

So for anyone, liberal or otherwise, who feels compelled to speak out against the president, his administration, and its policies, perhaps look past the lecturing from pundits and focus first on nonviolent forms of protest favored by activists and advocates in the trenches. Listen to what the people harmed by Trump’s policies want to see as acts of solidarity. Hold your conscience in as high esteem as you do electoral strategy. There may be more effective ways of airing your grievances, so spend time studying tactics and talking to organizers.

But if you’re faced with an unexpected moment to hold someone powerful accountable, I hope its King’s voice you hear in your head, and not a pundit’s who has nothing to lose.

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joyfullightbouquetblog-blog · 6 years

Text

Don't let people trick you into thinking that there are 'right' ways to protest Trump

New Post has been published on https://www.uberbuyer.com/2018/07/14/dont-let-people-trick-you-into-thinking-that-there-are-right-ways-to-protest-trump/

Don't let people trick you into thinking that there are 'right' ways to protest Trump

Nothing more reliably generates panic among US elites than the prospect of powerful white people facing any consequences whatsoever for their words & actions. https://t.co/YgfrZCUt3k

— David Roberts (@drvox) July 9, 2018

Every time we remind our office holders that the power belongs to we, the people, we are patriots.

— Brittany Packnett (@MsPackyetti) July 4, 2017

“Folks who were really effective were definitely not considered civil at the time,” says Su.

— Alexander Chee (@alexanderchee) July 6, 2018

We should also question the idea that consensus can be inherently neutral and fair.

“Most often, unless you’re really paying attention to power and inequalities of power in the room, consensus is another mask for domination,” says Su.

— Amee Vanderpool (@girlsreallyrule) June 24, 2018

But if you’re faced with an unexpected moment to hold someone powerful accountable, I hope its King’s voice you hear in your head, and not a pundit’s who has nothing to lose.

#people #protest #right #there #thinking #trick #trump

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