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gammija · 3 years

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The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #tma #tma s5 #web!martin #web martin #webmartin #or as jonny called it:#spider!martin #tma theory #tma meta #martin blackwood #martin k blackwood #martin #tma martin #magnuspod #i feel like i say this every time too but #when i say martin lies a lot i dont mean that #in comparison to 'normal people'#i mean that in canon he gets specifically mentioned to lie; at a higher rate than the other protagonists #ditto for everything else. im not speaking about real life people who might have these traits. im doing a media analysis #my own real life bedroom curtains being blue dont mean im depressed but in media sometimes aesthetic themes can be deeper signifiers #and tma especially has some very strong aesthetic themes #ok i think im done talking now. webmartin theories always get me rambling #EDIT: oops i changed a part on mobile and now the formatting is a bit fucked #ill fix it back tomorrow #if anyone cares #EDIT EDIT: ok fixed it

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captainrexsbiggesthoe · 3 years

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Not fandom related but something very important.

Today marks a year since a close friend of mine passed away. There hasnt been a day that goes by that i havent thought about him. I think about the lack of support he got but i also think about the fact that maybe he just didnt know what to do or simply couldn't get the help he needed.

I live in rural Australia, and in the past few years ive been to countless funerals for young people, who have lost their lives because of the extreme lack of support in rural and regional areas.

Yes you could say go to your gp and ask for a referall or go to the hospital when in crisis. But thats simply not how it works in small communities. Patient confidentiality barely exists. And through previous experiences our services are underequipped and they simply do not want us. My own family members have been released from hospital only hours after being picked up by police and ambulances, only to be back in harms way.

And yet the only thing we're told is to drive to melbourne or Sydney to see mental health specialist, where for anyone it may well be virtually impossible to do so. Young people like my friend are dying because we are forgotten, we're left with the scraps from the bigger towns and cities. Our resources are currently the not for profit organisations such as:

The blackdog institute

Headspace:

Acon for lgbtq people living in rural areas:

These are just a few but if you know anyone or you need help, please reach out. Youre not alone, you are loved.

#personal #mental health #rural #Australia #suicide awareness

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collapse-and-comfort · 3 years

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Sudden Movements

I wrote this a while ago but I can’t find it anywhere on here, so I’m reposting it! I love the “character wakes up in a mental institution trope.” Please enjoy my self-indulgence!

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E

(CW: Forced Sedation, Mental Institutions, Restraints)

It was late morning when Illya resurfaced, thirsty and aching.

His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. Light played off the beige walls.They were far removed from the dank, concrete walls of the other place.

Where, then? And why?

His sluggish mind supplied no answers. The inability to immediately translate stimuli into meaning grated on him, and made his heart rate pick up. Sweat spiked on his brow, and when he tried to raise a hand to brush it away he found that his wrists were bound to the bed. His ankles, too. He tried to lift his upper body to afford himself a better view, but the heavy leather strap across his chest prevented that. His breathing escalated as he began to struggle. The binds had limited slack, though the cuffs were padded. He was not meant to do damage to himself, then. He supposed he should have been grateful they weren’t steel manacles, but this was a different sort of captivity.

The more he moved his hand, the more he felt the vein in his left hand burning. There was a needle there. He didn’t have to see it to know it. His eyes traced up the IV line, though he couldn’t see where it terminated. That explained why his mind and body were so slow, but he didn’t know what chemical was being fed directly into his veins. The thought made him tug harder, but without any real coordination.

“It’s alright,” someone said. The unfamiliar voice coupled with the hand that was placed on his thigh was the final straw.

“Nyet! ” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and the fear in his voice jumbled with the effects of whatever drug he was on created a foreign sound, utterly devoid of self or sense. He struggled even harder.

“You’re safe, Mr. Kuryakin. Please try to calm yourself.”

The pressure of the hand became more assertive, and the voice attached to it had raised in volume, but remained calm and entirely reasonable. For a moment, the man at his side had been someone else. Someone he didn’t think he’d ever escape.

He’s dead, Illya reminded himself.

With his energy flagging, Illya’s breath hitched and he turned his head on his pillow to see the voice’s owner. His eyes were gray, and downturned at the corners. They appeared kind. He had white hair and a white beard. He sported a paunch. His mouth was a thin line, but that fact did nothing to detract from the friendliness of the smile that greeted Illya.

“ Gde? ” He rasped.

He gave a final, pitiful tug at the restraint on his left wrist as his unhealed wounds dogged him as well. He drew in a juddering breath, and translated himself on his exhalation.

“Where?”

He searched the stranger’s face. The man nodded, and with a pat on Illya’s leg, he leaned back in his chair.

“You’re safe,” he said with an understanding smile. “You’re-”

“Where?!” Illya’s entire body tensed and pulled at the leather restraints before panting with the exertion and hating how scared he sounded. “Who are you?!”

The man’s eyes narrowed, not in anger. Rather, they seemed to focus even more intently on Illya. Another figure stood -How long had he been there? -with his arms crossed. He cut an imposing figure, and he looked down at Illya with disapproval. Illya’s muscles tensed even more, and his eyes flashed a warning despite the fact these people could do anything to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The thought made him want to both fight and scuttle away, but neither was a viable option.

“Everything okay?

“Everything’s fine, Paul.”

“I’ll be outside,” Paul said before casting another dubious look at Illya and disappearing out the door. Illya glared after him until the doctor spoke.

“My name is Doctor Vaughn,” he said. He kept his tone slow, and careful as though he worried Illya would misunderstand. “This is a private facility in upstate New York. You suffered a mental breakdown after your rescue, after which Alexander Waverly had you brought here for your own safety.”

Illya’s head swam.

He’d spent over a month denying he’d ever heard the name Alexander Waverly. Now here it was, casually stated. A fact. One of the people responsible for saving him. The person who put him here.

“You’re…” Illya trailed off. Vaughn was what? Lying? Playing a horrible joke? Crazy?

Illya swallowed and really regarded Vaughn, who looked down at him with what appeared to be earnest sympathy. Perhaps he was waiting for Illya to continue with that tack. Illya laid his head back on the pillow. Waverly wouldn’t betray him like this. No, there had to be a good reason.

“Why?” he whispered.

Vaughn nodded and scratched his chin as though he were pondering the parameters of Illya’s question. Illya opened his mouth to ask again -why was any of this happening? -but Vaughn laced his fingers in his lap and began to answer.

“What you went through on your last mission -your imprisonment, torture, the loss of a younger agent -”

Morgan, he thought.

Illya closed his eyes and shook his head. The darkness did nothing to curb the disorientation. Or the guilt. He was surprised by his binds again when he tried to cover his ears. He groaned. He couldn’t prevent Vaughn from saying those things anymore than he could prevent himself from hearing them.

“-these things have left you compromised. Hurting.”

Illya opened his eyes to meet Vaughn’s. There hadn’t been any condemnation or ire in Vaughn’s voice, but Illya flinched just the same. He was a broken thing to be fixed. A lump formed in Illya’s throat and he choked back the words ‘I’m fine.’ The ridiculousness of the thought didn’t escape him, even in his drugged state. A dark chuckle dredged its way out of him. It was a sludgy sound that in no way qualified as laughter.

“We want to help you process. To heal. We’ve been trying to stabilize you this past week...”

Illya opened his mouth to insist he needed no such help, but fell silent when Vaughn’s words sunk in. A week?! That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be, could it? He’d been rescued, and returned to U.N.C.L.E.’s headquarters, and then…

“You were, understandably, having difficulty adjusting after your rescue. A few weeks afterward, you suffered a collapse of sorts. Do you remember?”

Illya’s body went hot and he was certain he was going to be ill. There were patches of memory, but what led here? Illya swallowed his dread and remained silent.

“It seems you had an episode, during which you broke a fellow agent's arm, and the nose of another,” Vaughn continued.

A tiny noise escaped Illya’s throat. He could remember that old, familiar loss of control; everything going red. But there had been something else, too. There hadn’t been just rage. There had also been fear, and the need to escape. That same hideous desperation was clawing at the edges of his consciousness now. The memory of crunching bone made his stomach roil. It was less the recollection of the sound than it was the memory of the force and unmitigated fear that had propelled his actions; the lack of control.

“I understand spells like these, these dissociations, are not necessarily a new affliction for you.”

There was no accusation in Vaughn’s voice, but Illya didn’t respond.Those spells rendered him dangerous. He knew that, but never against his fellow agents.

Illya wanted to weep. He could have pulled in great, gasping breaths, but he clenched his jaws as though to keep his agony behind them. He dragged air in and out through his nose. He was aware of the pitiable sound it made. Tears stung his eyes. He swallowed hard and finally gasped for breath.

“I cannot be here,” Illya said as his eyes searched Vaughn’s. He began to pull at the restraints again, though he knew full well they wouldn't give. He couldn’t help it. He dug his feet into the mattress to compensate for his upper body's lack of mobility. He strained against the strap across his chest.

“It’s okay, Mr. Kuryakin,” Vaughn said as he stood. He did so with the fluidity of a man many years his junior. He disappeared from the room for a moment, but returned shortly thereafter with Paul in tow. “I appreciate that this is difficult, but I promise we are here to help you. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Illya caught sight of the syringe Paul had, and redoubled his efforts. He panted and cursed, not caring how crazed he might look; how dazed, and stupid, and ineffectual. Or how afraid. The restraints dug into his skin as he pulled. Vaughn advanced on him reciting calm, practiced assurances, the bulk of which were lost on Illya.

“NO!”

“Ssshhh, it's okay, Illya. It’s alright,” Vaughn said as he placed one hand on Illya’s left shoulder, and another on his left forearm. “You need the IV in for now. Paul is just giving you something to help you calm down. It’ll help. It”ll help.”

Paul loomed somewhere out of Illya’s line of sight, and Illya could hear similar, less sincere assuagements from him. Vaughn patted Illya’s shoulder. It was difficult to say if there was any condescension in the gesture, but the audacity of the gentleness made Illya wild with mistrust and the need to be free. The muscles and blood vessels in Illya’s neck and throat stood out in alarming relief as he continued to lunge, pull, and twist to try to see Paul.

“Do not touch me!” he snapped as his attention shifted between the two men. “No! No!”

It was too late.

Paul walked back into his field of vision. A cold burn crept through his veins, the source of which was stealing what remained of his senses. He willed himself to keep fighting, but thought did not translate to action. The forcefulness of his resistance ebbed, and the sound of his own erratic breathing filled his ears.

This isn't fair, he wanted to say as he felt his muscles go lax. The frown on Vaughn’s face told Illya that he would sympathize. Paul and Vaughn gently moved Illya’s limbs so that they were not bent uncomfortably.

“Nuh…” Illya mumbled. The shapelessness of the word ignited something in Illya, but it was snuffed out as quickly as it sparked. His world tilted and blurred.

“Rest,” Vaughn said. “This will pass.”

#tmfu #illya kuryakin #mental isntitutions #forced sedation #restrained #involuntary commitment #the man from UNCLE #psychiatrists #drugged #post trauma #mentions of dissociation #poor illya #I love him #I've always been pretty chuffed with this one.#released into the wild

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oceanselevenism · 3 years

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I've seen that most of the stories on ao3 about them are mostly canon-compliant (and I don't have anything against that tbh) but I was wondering if you have any aus that you think could fit them or that you'd like to see?

omg i have SO MANY aus!! (it got Very Long so its under a cut)

- college au! danny gets kicked out (hes on full scholarship and does Thiefly Things to cover his expenses so hes not endangered just fairly fucked up abt it) (does it count as kicked out if u only live w ur dad three months a year) in freshman year, he befriends rusty (1 year below him) in sophomore year, debbie also befriends rusty (she and danny dont talk much but shes 2 yrs below him at the same college), and when reuben comes calling for a job he thinks debbie has a boyfriend (thanks to debbie telling her dad that she does) so she fake dates rusty. who ends up joining the job. and danny is Very Jealous

- snl ripoff au! danny and rusty are the weekend-update-adjacent anchors and they get gay. i Would have this take place in la (reuben is taking A Risk producing a late night sketch comedy show on the west coast but the 11/12/however fuckin many are fantastic cast members so even though they lose revenue from the other timezones not watching as much as they watch snl or whatever, they still make BANK... but danny and rusty getting gay throws the equilibrium out of whack) BUT la sucks DICK so its happening in new york. also this way u get Ocean Sibling Banter (debbie and lou are the anchors for The Actual Weekend Update and when debbie/lou get together and also when danny/rusty get together there are so many ‘just switch out the blondes/brunettes nobody will be able to tell and we won’t have hr down our necks’ jokes)

- au where the caldwells, abt to go deep undercover on a Huge Fucking Case, have to give up custody of 6 year old linus to tess and danny. the case stretches on for twelve years and linus grows up w tess and danny (who get divorced like right after they adopt him bc tess finds out abt dannys Thiefly Activities-- he confesses to her bc he doesnt rly want to predispose the kid to said thiefly activities) and also isabel (she and rusty break up like Right Before tess and dannys wedding and its very funny; she then goes on to marry tess) parenting him (rusty isnt as much in the picture bc he doesnt feel bad at all abt stealing and tess doesnt want linus to pick up that mentality also rusty Feels Things abt danny)! then when linus is like 18 or 19 danny disappears (tess and isabel think its Thiefly Activities again and arent concerned, just disappointed, but linus is very concerned for his dad-slash-stepdad-slash-sort-of-uncle) and he tracks down rusty so they can find danny. they roadtrip across america and eventually catch up to danny, who is helping the caldwells, and the five of them take down whatever gang the caldwells were chasing. linus now has 6 parents

- au based on this post where some archaeologist finds a bunch of dannys [french person voice] Love Lettairs 2 rusty and so obviously the logical course of action is to rob the museum (which happens to be the museum that tess is curating. funny how things work out) without telling his team What Theyre Stealing. they successfully pull off the heist but turns out the letters were not among the items they stole!! danny is getting desperate. as a last-ditch attempt he calls tess and asks her to let them rob the museum. shes like Why The Fuck Would I Do That. he explains and she begrudgingly agrees. danny and livingston go break into the museum Again but rusty tails them bc dannys been acting Weird and he finds out abt the letters bc livingston sweats more whenever he tells a lie. they live happily ever after (literally, theyre immortal) the end. also even though dannys a werewolf the 11 all call him the new jersey devil (its not his fault that legend came to be ok!! he was very drunk!!)

- childhood friends au!! danny and rusty were best buds as very young kids and then the oceans had to move. flash forward 2 present day where danny and debbie r robbing a museum (theyre building a flower shop over the vault and tunneling in, the dudes in brazil who came up w it are very very clever) and guess which two people are the assistant curators (is that even a title?). guess. ill tell u its tess and rusty! danny recognizes rusty, rusty ‘does not recognize’ danny (which is valid. look at photos of child george clooney and tell me you would recognize him). the 11 demand that they use this to their advantage and so danny and rusty Sort Of Date while the rest set up for the robbery, and danny feels really bad abt it so on the day of (after everyone has gotten away, ofc, he might be a lovesick bitch but hes not a snitch) he confesses and rustys like lmao i was onto u from the start. what kind of a name is [insert alias here] anyway. then they go live a life of crime and its great

- @sanduschism came up w a fantastic au where danny pickpockets rusty and feels bad so he sends the wallet back and they strike up a Correspondence

- HOSPITAL AU!!! danny and rusty r er techs while theyre doing med school and nobody knows how they juggle their shifts w school but also rusty can do a tracheotomy in like 5 seconds and danny can tell when a person needs an mri before they even list their symptoms so nobody questions it and nobody splits them up Ever. when they eventually become surgeons, danny does cardio and rusty does neuro, and whenever they have to work together not only do they never have to say what theyre doing, they don't even have What Do U Want To Cook For Dinner convos fully out loud. tess is head nurse... she makes so many excel spreadsheets... they are ALL color coded. isabel is head er doc and nobody dares to halfass things on her watch. reuben is head hospital admin, saul is chief surgeon, basher is head of the burn unit, the malloys r the HUNKIEST nurses in town, frank does plastic surgery/ent (every patient loves him bc he is just So Calm), livingston is The IT Guy, yen does like orthopedics or physical therapy, and linus is their fav resident who they all lovingly tease 24/7. the ocean sibs r both Cardio Gods and each dominate their respective coasts. debbie is an nyc doctor and if she sees a mass gen doctor its on SIGHT. the few surgeries that she and danny collab on go so fast that the med students in the gallery Cannot tell whats happening. lou is also a plastic surgeon and she and frank r best buds. linus requests time off like 6 months in advance Every Time and everyone hates it bc then They have to be on call but he doesnt realize his Extreme Overachieverness is causing so much strife. whenever tess and danny get in an argument she colorcodes his rounds spreadsheet to be the most neon shit youve ever seen. can you tell i never fully progressed past my greys anatomy phase this one is like 93489302 lines long

- superpower au where rusty has midas touch and danny has corrosive touch and when theyre too young to have control over their powers (abilities develop throughout adolescence and the user gains control at the end of adolescence) they accidentally brush hands and are terrified they just killed each other but turns out their powers like. cancel out. so until they reach like 21 or 22 and can touch things without fucking them UP they just. hold hands all the time. bc otherwise they have to wear gloves to prevent Accidents and both of them “hate gloves” (and also love holding hands. gayasses)

- uhhh hallmark au where danny is a crime fiction writer out on some beach north of ocean city nj and rusty is his fancy nyc editor. everyone else is a thief including debbie who is just Very weirded out that her brother, who robbed boston’s institute of contemporary art at age 22 and got away with it, has decided to spend the rest of his life churning out books. he is very critically acclaimed and about half of the 11 are buds with him and use his published books as heist inspo. the other ~half of the 11 are buds with rusty, and they tell him if danny’s heists are feasible or not (they always are. scarily so.) anyway rusty and isabel break up 12 days before xmas and danny and tess break up 8 days before hanukkah so dannys heading to debbie’s place in upstate new york to mope for the holidays when A BLIZZARD HITS and he gets stranded in midtown. and he and rusty are buds but like. Email Buds. they dont hang out irl and therefore they dont let their Totally Bud-Like Feelings mess up their professional relationship. but danny is stranded and its hanukkah and he ends up crashing at rustys place for the duration of the blizzard. and then rusty ends up coming to debbies place for the rest of the holidays. and then they kiss on new years eve and debbie kicks them out bc theyre being gross

- And More! thanks for the ask, anon! sorry it got so long lol i just have Many Thoughts

#oceans 11 #oceans eleven #danny ocean #rusty ryan #danny x rusty #oceans 8 #oceans eight

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kuramirocket · 3 years

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It’s been more than a month since Frank Coronado got COVID-19, but the photographer from Oaxaca, Mexico, still gasps for air when he speaks sometimes. Although his illness didn’t put him in the hospital, his case was severe enough that he worried about suffocating in his sleep.

Coronado’s personal experience with the coronavirus has made the Oaxaca native sensitive to the pandemic situation in the state. As he watched case numbers continuing to rise, he also noticed more tourists defying widely practiced public-health protocols like wearing face masks in public.

On Feb. 25, Coronado posted a plea to his 171,000 Instagram followers: “Dear travelers, you are welcome in Oaxaca, but you should ALWAYS wear a mask when you are in public places.”

He wanted to publicly address the issue and encourage visitors to do better – particularly visitors who travel from Oaxaca City into smaller rural villages, where artisans are even more vulnerable.

“I get mad because I already went through (COVID-19) and know how bad it feels,” Coronado says. “I don’t want my people, the people of Oaxaca, to get sick.”

Unlike many of the world’s most-frequented tourism hot spots, Mexico never fully closed to foreign visitors. While the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has said Americans should avoid all travel to Mexico because of a “very high level” of coronavirus, the country has remained one of the most popular destinations throughout the pandemic.

Still, Mexico tourism plummeted last spring as it did around the globe; according to the state government, Oaxaca recorded less than half of its 2019 visitor arrival numbers in 2020. Numbers picked up again last summer, but welcoming outsiders back as the pandemic continues to rage has been complicated.

While Oaxaca doesn’t pull in nearly as many visitors as Mexican destinations such as Cancún, Acapulco or Mexico City, tourism is a significant part of its economy. Those who work in the industry have suffered.

With business trickling back, Sánchez is elated. He took coronavirus prevention courses by the Mexican Institute of Social Security (IMSS) and guided his first tour again on Oct. 20. Now he follows precautions such as checking guests’ temperatures, requiring face masks, social distancing and providing hand sanitizer. He also helps Americans get their mandatory coronavirus tests.

Most of his returning customers have complied with his safety protocols. But that’s not the case with all of the tourists he sees around town, like the Americans who refused to wear a mask at the request of an ice cream vendor, or the people who regularly break coronavirus rules at Monte Albán, Oaxaca’s most famous archaeological site.

“As soon as they go through the checkpoint, 30 steps after that, they take their masks off,” Sánchez says. “And most of them are foreigners.”

Beyond Monte Albán and Oaxaca City, Oaxaca’s artisan culture is one of its strongest selling points. It’s common for tourists to take day trips out to remote villages to see how the state’s famed mezcal alcohol, and arts and crafts, are made. With little access to medical care, those communities have been particularly vulnerable during the pandemic. Many closed to outsiders to protect themselves, but some have started welcoming back visitors for income despite the risk involved.

Omar Alonso, who has run food and mezcal tours in Oaxaca for seven years, says visiting rural communities can be done safely with the small private groups he vets ahead of time. But he regularly runs into the kinds of tourists he fears.

For example, Alonso says he often sees maskless foreigners in the mountain town of San José Del Pacifico between Oaxaca City and the beach.

“If you are going through a town where there’s locals and older people serving you food because that’s what they do for a living, it’s very frustrating because (foreigners) don’t respect them,” says Alonso, whose uncle died of COVID-19. “I can tell you that yesterday, when we went to have lunch, out of the maybe 20 tourists that we saw walking around town, maybe two of them had a mask.”

Vera Claire, a U.S. expat whose nonprofit Cosa Buena works with local Indigenous communities to preserve their artistic traditions, says she believes some tourists’ perception of Mexico could be the problem.

“I think there’s a stereotype of (Mexico) being a place with no rules, a place to have fun and relax and enjoy yourself,” she says. She regularly receives messages on social media or emails from strangers asking for Oaxaca travel advice, noting that they need to get away and forget about their lives in the United States for a while, she says.

“That’s a really dangerous narrative, of course, because they come here with that mentality that there’s no rules,” Claire says. “Those of us who are foreigners living here all have a responsibility of shedding light on the severity of the situation. … Mexico is beautiful. It’s a wonderful place to escape to. But the same thing is happening here.”

The frequency of spotting maskless tourists in Oaxaca City is increasing despite the prevalence of signs encouraging masks and most locals complying with the practice, Claire says. It’s unsettling as the coronavirus seems to be encroaching on her community.

It’s impossible to know exact case numbers in the area as testing is limited. But it was reported in January that hospitalizations in Oaxaca for COVID-19 were rising rapidly, with 13 hospitals in the state at full capacity and facing a desperate oxygen tank shortage, a problem plaguing more than Oaxaca.

“It’s a dramatic situation, and it’s not something tourists are seeing,” he says. “This is a harsh reality that doesn’t show up on Instagram.”

Reyes said he thinks the worst offenders are young tourists. He has watched them come from around the world to travel along a well-worn party circuit through Mexico City, Tulum and Oaxaca, attending huge, mask-free gatherings and putting locals at risk.

“It sends a really sad, de-motivating message to locals who are taking care of each other,” Reyes says. “We are all trying to keep it together, and these guys are flying around the city enjoying themselves and not taking care of us.”

Many in Oaxaca City don’t have the luxury of isolating from tourists – like Aurora Tostado, who owns the downtown coffee shop Marito & Moglie with her husband.

“People in Mexico, we have to get out of our homes to work. It’s not like we can work remotely like most of the people in the U.S.,” Tostado says.

The couple made adjustments to Marito & Moglie, moving more tables to an outside patio and encouraging customers to keep masks on and social distance. Insisting on safety protocols is something that makes her and her employees feel more comfortable at work, and something most guests appreciate – but Tostado notices others around town behaving as if the pandemic is over. “This is not Disneyland,” she would like to tell them.

#people always love our culture but when it comes to us as people most don't give a shit #this is what I have always said since the start converning tourists #especially americans in mexico #news #mexico #coronavirus #covid19 #covid 19 #covid-19 #oaxaca #indigenous #usa #united states #americans #🇲🇽

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch 97

We are inching closer and closer to the moment we’ve been waiting for in this story arc! As a result, you may notice the chapters getting longer.

No worries, though. We will return to your regularly schedule fluff and nonsense soon enough ;)

Thanks go out to @baelpenrose, @zommbiebro, and @creakingcryptid for giving me such amazing ideas and characters to play with in this chapter, and extra thanks to Bael for beta reading and helping with this chapter and a few more to come.

The next gathering of Jokul’s ‘followers’ was roughly a week away. I tried my hardest to focus on work, and if Tyche noticed that I was asking to spar much more than usual, she didn’t say anything about it. Maverick and Conor avoided asking about what happened at my meeting with Antoine, instead putting their energy into making sure I remembered to eat in the midst of everything. I was more than halfway convinced that they were conspiring with Charly and Alistair, as well, due to the sheer volume of attempts made to offer me food while I was at work.

Further worsening my anxiety was the fact that I had no clue how much of it Xiomara knew. She had been adamant that I keep my nose out of things, but here I was, neck deep in intrigue. There was no way of telling in our day to day interactions, since she was as inscrutable as ever - businesslike and brisk in Council meetings, relaxed and friendly outside of work. Even as I reminded myself that speaking about things openly would endanger me again, along with Antoine this time, I still found myself frustrated beyond belief. At no point in my life had I so much as fleetingly wanted to be, much less imagined being, a spy and yet here I was.

Halfway through my shift the day of the gathering, I sent a grateful Alistair home. I wasn’t at all fooled by his forced patience: he had been one breath away from throwing a cup at me all morning. Once he left, I signalled Simon, Arthur, and Parvati to my office. Ostensibly, this was a discussion of the potential for new Galactic courses being added to the curriculum.

In reality, we were planning a war of sorts.

Once everyone was seated, I nervously cleared my throat. “So, I know I invited you all here to discuss possibly adding Galactic Art History electives. And I swear, that is actually on the books to discuss.” Carefully, I pulled out a device identical to the one I had seen Xiomara use, and switched it on. Simon’s eyes widened, while Parvati’s rolled freely. Arthur didn’t so much as blink. “Everything we are about to discuss stays in this room, no exceptions. I am not sure how much of this Xiomara knows, and nobody but us will know the entire plan. Is that understood?” I waited for confirmation before I continued. Once I had it, I took a deep breath and soldiered on. “Tonight, the four of us will be attending a gathering of Jokul Bjornson and his followers. I am doing this at the request of a member of that organization, whom I trust with not only my life but those of this entire ship. However, contrary to past actions, I’m not an idiot. I negotiated to have someone there as backup, someone unknown to the member of that organization and unknown to be aligned with me.”

“We’re all three associated with you,” Simon ventured slowly. “Openly, even.”

I nodded. “Arthur will be in disguise. I’ve seen it, it’s good. I didn’t even recognize him.”

“But you need all three,” Parvati eyed me carefully.

“Simon is a decoy: someone known to be associated with me, very recognizable,” I gestured to him. “However, Simon, I just need you to be yourself, ask questions, look interested. If you see me, ignore me openly. Worst case scenario they will either ask you to leave or be forced to let you stay as my ‘backup’, okay?”

He nodded firmly with a determined look on his face. “I can do that.”

“Awesome,” I smiled before turning to Parvati. “Parvati, you’ll be the wild card. Yes, you are dating my fellow Councilor. However, you are also well known for speaking against the status quo, and that’s what this bunch thinks they are doing. Dazzle, keep your ears open, and keep them confused if you are there as my backup or not. Got it?”

She nodded solemnly before flashing a grin. “Performance art. I like it.”

I winked at her. “Got it in one. Arthur will be my actual back up, in disguise, being disgustingly friendly and agreeable with Jokul’s followers to the extent he can keep from vomiting. Something isn’t right in this so-called organization, so the goal behind this meeting is that my contact thinks that they and myself can talk some sense into Jokul.”

“Good luck on that,” Arthur muttered.

That evening, Antoine and I approached the location where Jokul’s ‘followers’ were gathering. Despite myself, I expected it to be some secret, dimly lit and clandestine location in the lower levels of the ship, near the Archives. My mind even supplied it with a dirt floor and flickering torches, cult members gathered in robes, muttering chants or prayers. Exactly one of those things was accurate, and I was surprised even that much was. We arrived on one of the lower levels, at least. But we arrived at a rarely-used general mess.

Jokul’s group was gathering in a public cafeteria. It didn’t even have doors.

I bit back a groan and made a mental note to let Xiomara know her intelligence agents sucked. Anyone could have just wandered past here, found them, and been done with this entire situation. I scolded myself and focused on the fact that anti-climactic was good. Less hurty, less dying involved.

Casually, I glanced around the room, making sure to take everything in and not let my gaze stop on any one person. I had to trust that the others either had already arrived or would soon enough. “This isn’t quite what I expected,” I told Antoine quietly.

He smiled. “You have a very active imagination, so I am sure the reality did not measure up.”

“I’m going to remember that comment. My ‘active imagination’ is where some of your favorite meals come from.”

“So long as I am invited to family dinners again, I will eat whatever you put in front of me,” he sighed before glancing over his shoulder when a peal of laughter rang through the air.

Following his line of sight, I saw exactly what I expected: Parvati, this time in white slacks and a sweeping purple vest with gold details, holding court and charming suspicious cult members with what I presumed were tales of her days abolishing institutions. “Somehow I am not surprised she is here,” I muttered.

“She is dating Xiomara, is she not?”

“I think so? They don’t talk about it much,” I shrugged before reminding him. “However, she also was a guerilla protest artist and very vocal opponent of both the Baconists and the plutocracy.”

He arched a brow at me. “Is she the person you insisted on bringing?”

“I’m not even sure she can fight,” I evaded carefully. “And I would hardly invite someone so high-profile to be my super-secret back up.”

“Hmm,” he mused before just a bare hint of a smile. “No, but she is a wonderful distraction.”

He’s on your side, I reminded myself as an icy trickle of fear shot between my shoulderblades. “She’s not my back up plan, Antoine.”

That annoying half-smile stuck around, unfortunately. However, before he could say anything, a booming voice rang out. “Sophia Reid! How daring that you walk directly in here, like a rabbit wandering into a wolf’s den!” I cringed at the awkward simile. He was trying so hard to be impressive. “Have you finally swallowed your cowardice and come to confront me without your human shields to save you?”

As Jokul approached, I glanced at Antoine. Before I could say anything, I was cut off. “Oh no, Sophia, Antoine Costa is mine now. I have prized him away from your side, showing him the truth of what you are doing to him and everyone on this ship.”

“Feeding them?” I asked in confusion, leading to a scowl from Antoine. “What!?”

“Jokul, I brought Sophia here so the two of you could speak, face to face. My hope is, if the two of you understand each other better, this conflict can be resolved,” Antoine explained in his most calming, matter of fact tone.

Jokul spoke again, but I barely paid attention. I was distracted by a rolling gait rapidly approaching, paired with an ominous and excited - gods I hope that’s just excitement - chuckle. If “Solozo” wasn’t rubbing his hands together in pure glee, I knew he at least wanted to. “ - cannot even deign to pay attention to her betters!”

I snapped my gaze up to his face, which had nearly purpled in rage. “I sincerely apologize,” I ground out. “I have hearing problems, actually, so I was trying to figure out what you were saying without asking you to repeat yourself. It’s embarrassing when I have to do that, honestly.” I frowned and tilted my head to emphasize my point. “It helps if you speak slower and don’t raise your voice, unfortunately.”

Jokul startled, though whether it was at my admission of a potential weakness or the fact that I had pretty much asked him to talk to me like I was an idiot, I wasn’t sure. Gathering himself and resetting the sneer on his face, he carefully enunciated. “There is no conflict to resolve. You want to be a tyrant, and this harmless mask you wear will not fool anyone for much longer.”

He really did think he was the hero, and my heart actually broke a little bit. “All I want to do is meet with you, in relative privacy. You and me, obviously, and two witnesses each to prevent any accusations of undue influence. You pick yours, I pick mine. And we talk. Just that.” I tried. I really did.

“Pah!” he spat. “So you can try to poison me with your words like you have so many?” The irony of that statement actually caused me physical pain when I restrained my laughter. “If you want to negotiate with me, you may either surrender and step down from Council and any other positions of leadership, or you can fight me as equals.”

Before I could respond, laughter erupted to my left. When I turned toward the sound in time to see Solozo bracing himself on my shoulder with one hand, the other clenching his chest. “I can’t, I just can’t… Stop, please. This is… Fuck. Just stop. Oh gods,” he gasped for a couple breaths before standing straighter. “I just can’t keep watching this. For starters, ‘equals’ is not the same thing as ‘intelligent woman who got elected without her knowledge and the moron who saw Vikings and based his whole life and personality around it. Number one. Number two, she came in here offering an olive branch, and you are reacting with fucking claymores. Very tacky. I’ll offer you one better, though: I heard from your followers here - they are chatty, by the way, wow - that you want to fight Sophia Reid’s pet warlord.” He stood back and spread his arms. “I’m right here.”

Jokul looked confused, and I admit it was a fair reaction. Arthur still had his prosthetic stomach on, along with his makeup. To add to the air of ‘slob’, his button-down shirt was now untucked and hanging up to show an undershirt. “This? This is your champion, Sophia?”

Arthur glared before glancing down. “Right, you still think I’m overweight.” He reached behind his back and under his shirt slightly before the stomach deflated. After tugging it loose and dropping it, he tried again. “I am Arthur Farro, Warlord of the Pacific Northwest. ‘Solozo’ is just a pseudonym I took from a character in The Godfather, and the fact that literally no one caught me on that says all of you have shit taste in movies.”

“Warlord of the Pacific Northwest?” I hissed. “Really!?”

He shrugged. “Guy’s file says he was a warlord, so it’s worth a shot. Maybe he’s heard of me. Or we had a skirmish.”

Jokul sneered some more, although I was starting to think that was just what his face looked like. “I will fight you, Arthur Farro, if only to show Sophia that she can hide all she wants and it will still never be enough.”

Even Antoine looked pained at the over-the-top antics. I managed not to roll my eyes. Arthur didn’t even try. “There is one catch,” he pointed out, holding one hand up to stop Jokul from speaking. “I win, you agree to have that chat Sophia specifically came here for. If you win, she agrees to step down from the Council.”

I turned, eyes wide in alarm. “I can’t - “

Arthur just grabbed my wrist gently and shook his head. “She’ll step down from the Council if you beat me.”

Jokul considered this before adding, “And all positions of leadership. She can never hold one again.”

“Agreed,” Arthur nodded, sticking his hand out to shake on it. As soon as that was done, he started to usher me toward the door. “Five days, Joke-kill?”

“It’s Jokul,” he growled. “And five days is suitable.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed as we made it through the door.

“Five days is traditional, Sophia. Travel time, rest, all that.”

“You are being - “

“Deliberately obtuse, yes. You’ve told me several times on various occasions. That idiot,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Doesn’t know you aren’t allowed to just resign from the Council without an elected replacement. You’ve certainly tried enough times. Second, come ON! You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want to watch me humiliate him in full view of the ship.”

“Oh, this is not going to be public,” I shook my head hard enough to make myself dizzy. “We are keeping this quiet.”

“Which is exactly why everyone will know and want to see it.” When I groaned, he scolded me. “You can’t honestly believe that a challenge that was issued in front of at least a hundred people is actually going to be a secret.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” I groaned loudly.

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #apocalypse #original scifi #original writing #my writing #hfy #humans are space fey #aliens #intrigue

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sciencespies · 3 years

Text

Giant Panda Cub Xiao Qi Ji's Best Moments—in Video

https://sciencespies.com/nature/giant-panda-cub-xiao-qi-jis-best-moments-in-video/

Giant Panda Cub Xiao Qi Ji's Best Moments—in Video

Smithsonian Voices National Zoo

January’s Best Giant Panda Moments—In Video

February 10th, 2021, 8:44AM / BY Laurie Thompson, Marty Dearie and Mariel Lally

January was a month full of firsts for giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji. The growing bear played with enrichment toys, took his first bites of sweet potato and bamboo, and had his first encounter with snow!

January was a month full of firsts for the Smithsonian’s National Zoo’s giant panda cub, Xiao Qi Ji. The growing bear played with his first enrichment toys, sampled his first sweet potato, took his first bite of bamboo, let fans into his habitat during his first livestream and experienced his first encounter with snow! Through each of these milestones, giant panda assistant curator Laurie Thompson and keepers Marty Dearie and Mariel Lally helped keep fans at home connected to our cub.

1. Tumbles and Toys (Jan. 11, 2021)

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Spending more time out of the den presents our cub with more opportunities to explore — and play! While we have presented Xiao Qi Ji with enrichment items before (most notably a pumpkin for Halloween) we have seen his interest in them grow exponentially since the beginning of January. These items encourage our giant pandas to keep physically active and mentally sharp; they also give the bears an opportunity to use their natural behaviors and choose how to spend their time.

With Xiao Qi Ji becoming more aware of and interested in his surroundings, keepers gave him two toys to investigate: a small red Jolly Egg (perfectly sized for a panda cub) and an empty PVC puzzle feeder. When Xiao Qi Ji is exploring the habitat and happens upon them, he usually stops for a few minutes to paw at them, pick them up and give them a nibble.

Some toys built for cubs are made from softer materials to help the animals grasp or chomp on them. Our team is very careful to watch Xiao Qi Ji as he plays during the day, since Mei Xiang’s more powerful teeth and jaws could damage the toys. Before we leave for the day, we remove these toys from the enclosure. Neither Mei Xiang nor Xiao Qi Ji seem to mind, content to eat or play with their bamboo overnight.

Personality-wise, Xiao Qi Ji seems to take after his mother. Like Mei Xiang, he is careful and cautious when it comes to exploring his environment. Now that he has mastered walking, he has started to practice his climbing skills. He is very deliberate about the paths he takes when traveling up or down the rockwork—more so than siblings Tai Shan, Bao Bao or Bei Bei were. He has taken a few tumbles here and there, but not nearly as many as his brothers and sister did at this age. Luckily, these bears are built to be robust and have thick, wooly fur to cushion their fall.

2. A Playful Panda Cub (Jan. 15, 2021)

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Giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji’s word of the week seems to be: play! Our 4.5-month-old cub’s interest in his surroundings really took off this week. He seems to explore the world with his mouth. He nibbles on everything from his paws and enrichment toys to mother Mei Xiang’s ears. While she is eating bamboo, we often see Xiao Qi Ji try to initiate a play session with a few not-so-ferocious bites. After Mei Xiang shifts outside in the morning, he often emerges from the den to “supervise” the keepers as they clean and get the habitat ready for Mei Xiang’s return.

Xiao Qi Ji received his first enrichment toys a few weeks ago and plays with them whenever they catch his attention. Those who have followed his siblings’ stories have asked when Xiao Qi Ji will get a rubber tub. With the adults, we often put leaf-eater biscuits or sensory enrichment (like bubbles) into these tubs. Cubs, though, seem to enjoy the exercise of climbing in and out or just sitting in this cub-sized space.

We weigh Xiao Qi Ji in one such tub. This week, he tipped the scales at 19.8 pounds (9.04 kilograms). He also receives tubs to play in during the day. He is not quite big enough to get out from underneath a tub if it were to overturn on top of him, so he only receives this enrichment during the day when we can keep an eye on him.

3. A Parcel of Sweet Potato (Jan. 22, 2021)

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Just like his mother, Mei Xiang, our giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji is curious yet cautious about the world around him. Yesterday — the day our cub turned five months old — we decided to introduce him to something new. Using a piece of bamboo shred as a spoon, we scraped some cooked sweet potato onto the end, then handed it over to Xiao Qi Ji. He grabbed the bamboo in his mouth, paused for a moment to take in the new taste, then lay back and licked the remainder. When we offered him more, he wouldn’t stop nibbling on it!

Xiao Qi Ji clearly enjoyed this new treat, which is not surprising since both Mei Xiang and his father, Tian Tian, are also fond of sweet potatoes. In addition to bamboo, nutrient-rich biscuits, carrots and apples, sweet potatoes are part of our pandas’ balanced diet.

Even though Xiao Qi Ji is beginning to sample some new foods, Mei Xiang’s milk is still his main source of nutrition. Around 1 year old, bamboo and other solid foods make up the majority of a panda’s diet. However, Xiao Qi Ji may nurse for comfort up to 18 months of age. He typically nurses at night and in the early morning. On Wednesday, Jan. 20, he weighed 20.79 pounds (9.45 kilograms), and continues to make good gains.

4. Livestream with Xiao Qi Ji (Jan. 27, 2021)

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This was a big week for our little panda cub! On Wednesday, Jan. 27, the giant panda team hosted our first-ever virtual encounter with Xiao Qi Ji. An important part of saving species is being able to tell their stories, and it was wonderful to see in the comments that many of you are as enamored with our adorable ambassador as we are. Your kind words and support for our bears and our team are much appreciated, especially as the Zoo remains closed and we continue to navigate this “new normal” brought about by the COVID-19 pandemic.

Xiao Qi Ji’s newest enrichment toy made an appearance in Wednesday’s broadcast. This week, we gave him a bright green ball with a small handle. Since it is made from a softer material than the adults’ toys, it’s perfect for him to chew on and sink his claws into. It is also scented like green apple, providing some olfactory enrichment, too!

During the livestream, this ball was at the center of a friendly game of tug-of-war between Xiao Qi Ji and keeper Marty Dearie. Don’t let Xiao Qi Ji’s small size fool you—he is remarkably strong! Just before Xiao Qi Ji stole everyone’s hearts — and wrestled his new green ball away from Marty — we placed him on a scale for his weekly weigh-in. Since his last measurement seven days prior, our 5-month-old cub gained another two pounds. This week, he weighed 22 pounds (10 kilograms).

5. A Bear’s First Taste of Bamboo (Jan. 29, 2021)

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This week, bamboo was on the menu. We saw Xiao Qi Ji munching on some of his mother Mei Xiang’s leftover leaves. As Xiao Qi Ji’s walking and climbing skills improve, we are starting to see him explore more and more of his habitat. Yesterday, he walked out of the den, through both indoor enclosures, and over to the opposite den. He sat up and pressed his face against the “take out window” where we routinely feed Mei Xiang. It was hilarious to see our curious cub waiting at the same window for us!

6. First Encounter With Snow (Jan. 31, 2021)

(Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute)

As snow blanketed the Washington, D.C. region, the Smithsonian’s National Zoo’s animals woke up to a winter wonderland. With this weather event came another significant milestone—giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji’s first encounter with snow! Keepers say although he seemed nervous at first, eventually he worked up the courage to take a little nip at the fresh powder.

7. Mei Xiang and Tian Tian Enjoy the Snow (Jan. 31, 2021)

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Slides, somersaults and pure panda joy. Happy snow day from giant pandas Mei Xiang and Tian Tian!

8. Tian Tian Has a Ball (Feb. 2, 2021)

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Giant panda Tian Tian had a ball in the snow. Literally.

This story was featured in the February 2021 issue of National Zoo News. Behind these ‘aww’-inspiring moments, an expert team works tirelessly to provide our panda family with everything they need to thrive, ensuring a bright future for this species. If this cub sparks joy for you, please consider making a donation to the Zoo. On behalf of the animals we care for and protect: thank you! Please note that the Zoo is temporarily closed as a public health precaution to help prevent the spread of COVID-19.

#Nature

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spreadlovespeakhope · 3 years

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Let’s Talk: Mental Health

I have been meaning to write, but life has been hitting hard for me, and I am sure it has for all of us, given the state of today's world still. I want to talk about mental health, why it is so important to me, and the movement I am trying so hard to push.

I grew up struggling with mental health, self-harm, and suicidal ideations that led to my early 20s. I also work with many youths, and I've heard many stories from those youth that have made me realize that our system on how we handle mental health is broken. We always try to push therapy, the suicide hotline, reach out for support, take a walk, or exercise in the fresh air or even sometimes use mental institutions when things get rough for some. Something I've noticed about all of these things is that they are either flawed or non-obtainable to some. Let us start with therapy and how that sometimes is very unaffordable to many people, given some therapists charge hundreds of dollars, sometimes even 300 for a 45 to an hour session. I want to understand why people do that, and I get that we all must make a living and we all need money to survive, but I have done the math, and I cannot understand why someone would pick a profession to help others and then limit the people they help with a paywall. I did not have access to therapy. I had school counselors, but they did not help when I was younger, and trying to afford therapy seemed impossible. It is hard to choose between your bills and your mental health; sometimes, $100 or $300 goes to groceries or medical bills or maybe rent, depending on where you live. I have heard stories where even parents have had to choose their finances over their child's mental health because therapy was too expensive, and you could see how much that broke them because they want to help the ones they love or want to help themselves. I work with many youths, and I've heard countless times that they go through counties because they can't afford a private therapist and have to use their insurance. Many may often seek help through their county using their insurance, but you may have to fall into the county's regulations and specific standards they follow. If you don't fit those standards by some chance, you don't get the help you need, or you are turned away because you do not meet the criteria. Maybe that is a government issue, or perhaps our system is just broken.

I chose psychology as my major because I want to make a difference and help others. I've been in the position of many of those still struggling today, and I understand the fear, loneliness, and constant feeling of being misunderstood. I also understand how difficult it is to afford therapy. Spread Love, Speak Hope is more than just a nonprofit it is something that means a lot to me and something I'm very passionate about pursuing. While the current goal is to raise money to fund therapy for others who cannot afford it through the sales of merchandise or donations, the ultimate dream is to change how we handle and deal with mental health. My goal as a therapist is to charge $60.00 per hour session with a sliding scale if needed because no one should ever have to wonder how they're going to afford therapy. I also would love to have a center someday where instead of mental institutions, we can use the center as an open and inviting place. If there are instances where someone needs to remain at the center for a few days, rather than being in a room, you are in a space full of love, hope, and understanding. A physical space where you can do art or play video games or sit around and talk to someone just because you need someone to listen. As a kid, I promise myself that I would do whatever I can to make a difference in others' lives, whether it be a stranger, family, friends, classmates, or coworkers. All I ever wanted to do was see people smile, see people happy and see people healthy. Spread Love, Speak Hope is my chance to do that; it's my chance to push the message of love and hope and the message that there is someone out there and there are people out there that are listening, that want to help and want to make therapy accessible and affordable. I spent a lot of time listening, asking questions, and understanding what others need, what I needed as a kid and as I grew up. The next thing I'm about to say might be more of a personal opinion or feeling, but I feel like our system is broken. We push all these things such as anti-bullying days, suicide prevention days, self-harm awareness days, and even have a suicide hotline that we continuously push. Sadly, I had my own negative experiences with the hotline and later found out that many others did as well. I've heard from others that if you call too much, eventually, they turn you away. If you text their line too much, they limit how long they're going to talk to you, or pass you along and give you some number or somewhere else to contact, or they ask a series of questions that are their standards that you have to follow for them to consider you sever enough to help to you. I understand that they're not really trained licensed psychologists, to my knowledge, but why are we pushing something so hard and yet turning down those who need it when that's the only lifeline when therapy is too expensive.

Change starts with us, and I can't tell other therapists what to charge or how to run their practice but you really got to ask yourself why you picked this profession? Was it to help people, or was it money because it's no secret that you can get a college education and charge people so much money to access the knowledge you gained through college. I know people currently in school working towards becoming a psychologist, and they chose the profession because of the money they can make through it. I feel like we've forgotten, or maybe some people have forgotten, the reason for this field or profession. I cannot justify charging someone $300 for an hour session. I can't justify making $600,000+ a year at the expense of someone else's mental health. I asked many people about my thoughts of charging $60.00 for therapy and was told they felt that it would be affordable for many. I guess this long post's point is that I believe that therapy should be for all and not for some, and that's what I hope to accomplish with this movement. The goal of Spread Love, Speak Hope is to be that outlet, to provide that affordable therapy, to provide that safe space, to give that hope, and to show that someone is fighting for you.

You are seen. You are heard. You are loved.

If anyone has read this far, know that I'm genuinely grateful that you took the time to listen and read something that truly is dear to my heart. I hope anyone reading this will consider sharing and spreading this word. Maybe you or someone else who comes along and reads this will consider writing for my blog and talking about mental health. If we start talking about it, people can no longer hide and pretend that the system isn't broken. I want to fight for all those who need it for every person who thinks no one is listening. I'm listening, and I'm going to do all I can to try and make a difference for all of us. If you would like to write from my blog, please check out my website which will be posted below.

If you can consider donating or purchasing one of our shirts, it would be so helpful. All the money goes to funding therapy for those who need it. We also have new designs that will come out in the future this year. Even if you can't donate or purchase something, a share could help us so much to reach others and build our network. If you're struggling to afford therapy, please reach out and contact me, and I will do my best to help in any way I can. Thank you again so much for supporting this movement. I can't begin to tell you what it means to me.

Warm regards,

Spread Love, Speak Hope.

Website: https://www.spreadlovespeakhope.com/

Want to write for us?: https://www.spreadlovespeakhope.com/blog

Email: [email protected]

#Spread Love Speak Hope #non-profit movement #non-profit #non-profit organization #mental health #love #hope #healing #help #therapy #psychology #change

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millie-ionaire05 · 4 years

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Saudade - Ot7 | 03

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 1,894

Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.

↤ Previous | 03 | Next ↦

January 19th, 2018 | 19:14

“Hoseok?” the older man questions, sticking his head out of the aluminum contraption called his home.

“Hey hyung,” Hoseok replies, his eyebrows coming up in question. “You gonna let a friend in?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen at Hoseok’s question before he steps to the side, signaling for him to enter. Hoseok smiles, trying not to let the tense atmosphere sway his happy expression. He was happy to see Yoongi. He was happy to see Yoongi. He continued that mantra in his mind as he stepped into the small living room.

Hoseok was surprised to find it clean inside, compared to the poorly kept outside, simple furniture set up to give the illusion of more space. “I didn’t believe Jimin when he told me you lived in a trailer,” Hoseok admits, his smile growing as he turns towards Yoongi. He doesn’t miss the way Yoongi’s eyebrows practically rise into his hairline.

“Jimin?” Yoongi questions, shutting the front door before shuffling into the living room as well. He motions for Hoseok to take a s“eat before asking, “Did you want something to drink?”

Hoseok shakes his head, patting the cushion next to him, coaxing Yoongi to take a seat. Yoongi hesitates, opting for the adjacent love seat instead, his hands coming up to rub against his pants. Hoseok knew to add to the facade he should comfort his friend, but he didn’t have the extra energy nor patience to bother. He was there for a reason, and he wasn’t leaving until he got his answers.

“You mentioned Jimin?” Yoongi starts, predictable as ever to the younger man.

Hoseok nods enthusiastically, leaning against the couch cushions and forcing his shoulders to look relaxed, bringing his hands together in an attempt to hide the shaking. By Yoongi’s expectant stare, he could tell that the older man wasn’t focused on anything else.

“We were in the same hospital. He showed up about...two months? Yeah, two months after I was admitted. Saw him in the common room after one of my sessions,” Hoseok explains, watching as Yoongi’s head nods up and down slowly, his lips pursed as his eyes unfocus. Hoseok knew he needed to reel him back in. “Finally got released after five months, so I’m just trying to catch up with everyone. How's Joon?”

Yoongi’s eyes come into focus at their friend’s name, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, and Hoseok’s eyes narrow at the gesture.

He’s nervous.

“Namjoon’s good. Still doing the same thing...just with more alcohol,” Yoongi mutters, his lips twisting into a scowl. Hoseok’s eyebrows raise at the information, and Yoongi shrugs his shoulders. “He’s still having a hard time coping…”

Silence drags on for a few moments before Yoongi announces he needs a cup of water, leaving Hoseok to his thoughts. They were all still coping, but Namjoon was usually the most level-headed of them all. Hoseok was completely surprised that he was resorting to alcohol of all things. But then again, if Hoseok hadn’t been in rehab, he probably would have continued what he was doing to cope, too. He shook his head just as Yoongi walked back into the living room, his eyes going up to the older man. He needed to get his information quickly, and he had to be smart about it.

“Well, I hope he’s able to find a better way of coping soon,” Hoseok says, trying to insert sympathy into his tone. “Uhm...I know this is weird, but Jimin mentioned something about a psychiatric institution. You’re doing okay, right?”

Yoongi’s lips turn up into a half smile, clearly touched at Hoseok’s concern, or possibly at the fact that Jimin’s name was brought up again.

“Yeah, no I’m doing fine. It’s Bang-Son Psychiatric Care Center, but it’s not for me, it’s for…,” Yoongi trails off, his eyes casting to the cup of water in his hand.

“Has there been any progress?” Hoseok asks, switching to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees. He purposely furrows his eyebrows and puckers his lips a bit, making sure to emanate sympathy, and Yoongi was eating it up.

“I...I don’t know. At first there was nothing, it was like he was a robot,” Yoongi shivers at his words. “But for some reason, I have a feeling he remembers what happened.”

Hoseok nods his head slowly when Yoongi doesn’t continue, resting his head on one of his hands. “What did happen?”

Yoongi’s eyes shoot up to meet Hoseok's, pain and fear flashing in them before sorrow replaces them, his pupils dilating to almost consume his chocolate iris’. Hoseok freezes, not wanting to make a sudden movement and scare Yoongi away, but they just remain silent. Finally, after what feels like ten minutes have passed, Hoseok sits up.

“I mean, I know what the police reported. But, Jimin said you actually witnessed it,” Hoseok states, his hand coming up to mimic Yoongi’s gesture, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck.

The rumble of the air conditioning breaks through the ever growing stillness between them, causing Yoongi to jump in his place. Hoseok keeps eye contact, noticing that Yoongi tries to look anywhere but in Hoseok’s eyes.

“Hyung, what happened that night?”

Yoongi shakes his head, his lips pinching into a thin line. Hoseok’s irritation grows as the time ticks, but Yoongi makes no indication to open his mouth.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” Hoseok scoffs before getting up from the couch and heading back towards the front door. Hoseok can hear Yoongi shuffling quickly behind him.

“Wait-,” Yoongi starts, but is unable to finish, his expression rapidly morphing from desperation to shock, until he settles on a combination mixed with terror.

In Hoseok’s hand is an unmarked 9mm pistol, which rests seemingly comfortable in his fingers. His index finger rests just outside of the trigger, close enough to squeeze if Yoongi tried to attack him, but not close enough to squeeze by accident. It didn’t matter though, Yoongi was frozen in place, eyes wide at the sight of the gun.

“Tell me hyung. What happened that night?” Hoseok demands, but Yoongi continues to remain silent, and Hoseok couldn’t tell if it was because of defiance or fear. “If you won’t tell me, then I’ll just ask him.”

Hoseok smirks at the way Yoongi’s mouth drops open, his shoulders beginning to tremble. Yoongi was scared, so that means he saw something, maybe something different from what the cops reported. Which means he’s keeping secrets. Hoseok was stuck in rehab for five months while Yoongi got to enjoy the world, moving forward while knowing the truth. The thought had Hoseok's stomach twisting in envy and disgust.

Hoseok slowly steps backwards, making his way to the front door without leaving the sight of Yoongi, his free hand reaching back to grab the door knob. The cold steel of the door knob brings goosebumps up Hoseok’s arms, the hair on his neck standing on end, but he forces himself not to shiver.

“This won’t bring them back,” Yoongi whispers, almost too low for Hoseok to catch. It takes Hoseok a full minute to process the words spoken before his face expression hardens.

“You’re right hyung, it won’t,” Hoseok spits out, his lips curling until he’s scowling. “But this could be what helps me move on. I have a right to know.”

Hoseok wasn’t sure what he expected, but Yoongi’s silence wasn’t one of them. Hoseok opens the door and quickly runs back out to his car, slamming the car door as Yoongi’s silhouette blocks the light in the doorway. The older man doesn’t come any closer though, and Hoseok doesn’t give him a chance, he quickly turns the car on and shifts it into gear. Not even bothering with a seatbelt, Hoseok speeds away, forcing himself not to look back.

✼�� ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Yoongi watches Hoseok drive away, his body still quaking at what had happened. When had Hoseok become like that?

Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to dwell too much into that thought, his body already moving faster than his mind can bother processing anything. Next thing he knows, he’s in his room, a small duffle bag open on his bed. He grabs handfuls of clothes from his dresser drawers, stuffing them roughly inside the bag as he also attempts to pull his phone out from his jean pockets.

He almost sends his phone flying, his fingers shaking as he strives to re-orient himself and bring up his contact list. It takes him a solid five minutes before he’s able to find the person he needs, his thumb roughly jamming at the screen before he shoves the phone in between his ear and shoulder, his feet guiding him back to the dresser to continue packing. Yoongi starts to worry when the line just rings, but finally the person picks up after the fifth ring.

“Yoongi?” the deep voice questions, static filling the line briefly before clearing.

“Namjoon...Hoseok was here,” Yoongi says, his voice quaking and he tries to focus on not letting the phone slip from its position. “He tried to get me to talk about that night-”

“Did you say anything?” Namjoon interrupts, his voice increasing in volume.

“No, of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, stopping in his tracks and grabbing the phone from its spot. “Though I almost did when he pulled a gun on me.”

Silence envelopes the other line, the only indication Yoongi had that the younger man hadn’t hung up was the sound of heavy breathing.

“Do you think he’ll come here?” Namjoon finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Only two people saw what happened, me and…,” Yoongi stops, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t think he’ll go there, but I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going.”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for Yoongi to answer. Yoongi places the phone back into the crook of his neck, making his way to the bathroom to resume his packing. After several minutes, Yoongi finally hears a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line.

“He’s going to see-”

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” Yoongi interrupts sarcastically, his lips curling in frustration. “Look I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’m packing my stuff and hiding out in my studio, since only you know where that’s at. I suggest you do the same.”

“Do you really think it’s come to that?” Namjoon questions, causing Yoongi to pause once again.

“All I know is when Hoseok finds out, we’re fucked. We kept it from everyone Namjoon, even the police!” Yoongi exclaims, stopping in his tracks once again. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a vengeful Hoseok coming after me - I’d rather the cops take me in.”

Emptiness fills the line, and Yoongi has to look at the screen to double check that his friend hadn’t hung up. Suddenly, Yoongi hears rustling on the other side.

“Alright hyung. Stay safe,” Namjoon mutters before hanging up, leaving Yoongi baffled.

Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to stay surprised for long, forcing his feet to move as he puts the last of his things in his bag, taking one last look around before making his way to his front door and into the night.

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jooheonspinky · 4 years

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Saudade - Ot7 | 02

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 1,914

↤ Previous| 02 | Next ↦

January 14th, 2018 | 11:21

“Okay Mr. Min, here is your badge. You’ve dropped off your personal items: wallet, keys, cell phone, etcetera?”

Like a robot, Yoongi nods his head, his jaw clenching in irritation as the nurse says the exact same thing she’s said for the past four months. It wouldn’t have bothered him as much if it was a different nurse, but this is the same nurse who’s seen him every time he’s come to visit. You’d think by now she would remember his face. Yoongi shakes himself from his thoughts when he sees her eyeing the contraption in his arms.

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said I could bring it for him…,” Yoongi trails off, becoming frustrated again when the nurse’s expression morphs to one of confusion. “You know...to see if it helps with his memory.”

The nurse's eyes widen in understanding, her head bobbing up and down. Her fingers tap away at her keyboard before the big white doors open and Yoongi is able to step through.

“Make sure to wait for the doctor in the common area,” the nurse calls out just as he steps through the doorway.

He doesn’t even bother responding, having already known this information as it was discussed over a month ago with the doctor. The doctor had pulled him aside during his last visit and asked if there was something Yoongi could do to help. At the time Yoongi wasn’t sure, and even told the doctor that, at least until the doctor mentioned that he was sometimes caught humming a tune. Out of everyone, Yoongi was the only one who produced music and shared it. At least the only one who did it legally.

So there he was, sitting in the common area by himself with his keyboard gripped in his arms, waiting for the doctor to come by. He habitually touched up his blonde hair, trying to keep the strands out of his eyes, but not allowing too much to be moved to expose his forehead. The clock on the nearby sickly bright white wall ticked loudly, causing Yoongi’s right eye to begin twitching.

“Ah, Mr. Min,” the tall brunette haired man says as he rounds the corner, thick lips and a bright smile lighting up his face. “It’s great to have you here again. We’ve been making some progress, so I’m hoping your visit will help with that.”

“Sure, Doc,” Yoongi murmurs back, watching as the doctor smiles wider at the nickname. “I’ll do my best.”

“And that’s all we can ask of you,” the doctor states as he gestures for Yoongi to follow him. The doctor doesn’t miss the way Yoongi’s eyebrows come together, giving another wide smile full of bright white teeth. Yoongi couldn’t help but notice how it resembled the walls of the place. “Since we’re making progress, we’re allowing this one time exception to your visit. Also, this makes it safer in the event the other patients need to use the common room. We don’t want to trigger anyone with the music and have multiple people injured. It could get messy.”

Yoongi nods at the doctor, picking up his pace as the doctor's wide steps begin to leave a gap between them. Yoongi did not want to be left behind in the hallways of the place, as he was already somewhat lost from where they had originally started, having turned through multiple corridors.

Eventually they get to a room, the entrance door mostly a glass window, allowing anyone who stood outside to see in. Yoongi noticed that a security guard stood by the door, and he turned to look at the doctor.

“It’s a precaution. In case he has an episode,” the doctor answers smoothly, gesturing towards the room as his eyes remain on the man on the opposite side of the glass window.

“Do you think he will?” Yoongi asks, his own eyes moving to peer into the room.

The room was simple, clean, almost bare. On the left side of the room, a small plastic desk was screwed into the floor, and a similar textured plastic chair sat in front of it. Yoongi noticed that the chair was also screwed into the floor, and wondered if it was necessary. On the far wall was a humongous window, the sun illuminating the white colored room, giving the illusion that the room was more spacious. Only a few paces to the right side of the room was a twin bed, bed posts screwed into the floor, and a single mattress on the bed frame. Thin white sheets adorned the mattress, with which he sat on top of, legs crossed and onyx gaze blank.

Involuntarily, Yoongi shivered. He did every time he saw him, but Yoongi couldn’t help it. It still creeped him out that he had gotten this way.

“Okay, Mr. Min. This is where I leave you,” the doctor declares as he turns to Yoongi, bowing his head slightly. “If you need any help, please refer to Mr. Shin right behind you. He’ll be sure to assist.”

Yoongi bows his head to the doctor, watching as the man walks back from where they came before, disappearing around the corner. Yoongi’s eyes move to the security guard before he gives a small nod, his arms trying to juggle the large keyboard while trying to open the door. The guard seems to notice his struggle and opens the door for him, Yoongi’s thanks falling from his lips as he steps into the room, jumping slightly when the door closes behind him.

“Hey,” Yoongi says awkwardly, his feet shuffling as he tries to figure out where to sit. Eventually he takes the spot next to him on the bed. “How are you doing?”

Yoongi waits a few minutes like the doctor instructed on his first visit, waiting for an answer that he knew he wouldn’t receive. When silence continues to drag, Yoongi adjusts the keyboard into his lap. He starts playing one of the first songs he’d produced, flinching when he turns towards Yoongi.

“I’ve been doing pretty good,” Yoongi states as he continues playing softly, a small smile claiming his lips when he hears soft humming. “Been working a lot, making new music. It’s going really well, and they finally gave me my own studio.”

Yoongi sits silently as he continues playing, transitioning from one song to the next, all the while listening as the humming grows louder in confidence.

“You know we miss you…,” Yoongi trails off, noticing that the humming lowers when he speaks. “Namjoon misses you.”

Suddenly the humming stops, but Yoongi doesn’t move, afraid of what could happen. He just continues playing, transitioning from song to song. Quite a bit of time passes before the humming resumes, and Yoongi lets out a small puff of air.

“Jimin still doesn’t let me see him, but I keep trying,” Yoongi continues, as if he had never stopped talking. “Does it make me insane if I keep trying?”

A small puff of air slips in between the humming, and Yoongi can't help but smile.

“Alright, smart ass,” Yoongi quips, glancing up at the man next to him, noting that his dark brown hair had long since grown in; the hazelnut shade it had been those many months before now tinted only half of his hair, which had grown almost to his ears. “So do you think I should just give him space?”

Yoongi wasn’t sure what he expected, but he can’t help but let his smile fall as the humming continues, no words filling the space between them. Just the keyboard music and the humming. Yoongi sighs before stopping, the humming becoming the only sound in the room, his eyes becoming blank once again.

“Please,” Yoongi whispers, almost too low for his own ears to hear. “Please come back to us.”

The only reply is the humming, to which Yoongi roughly stands up, leaving the keyboard on the bed as he steps away from him. Yoongi’s intentions were to pace, but as he drew closer to the desk, the image of a black bird drawn messily on a piece of paper catches his eyes. He steps closer to the desk, grabbing the paper and raising it up.

“You drew this?” Yoongi asks, not surprised when no response comes. “It’s really good.”

Yoongi turns to glance at the man on the bed before focusing back on the drawing. From that angle, Yoongi notices the sun shining through the back of the drawing, and something seems off. Yoongi squints at it before realizing that there was something on the opposite side of the page, and he quickly turns the paper to view the back. Freezing in his tracks, Yoongi’s breath becomes stuck in his throat, the roughly written initials burning into his heart.

Yoongi doesn’t waste a moment, rushing towards the bed to grab his keyboard as he shoves the drawing in his pocket. The man on the bed doesn’t even react to Yoongi.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Yoongi promises before leaving the room, not noticing that the humming has ceased.

The door shuts behind him, but he pays it no mind, murmuring a thanks and goodbye to the security guard before he speed walks down the corridors back to the entrance. His mind is a blur, his heart pounding all the way up his throat and in his ears. He doesn’t notice when he gets in his car and doesn’t buckle his seatbelt, the beeping in the car not even fazing through his loudly beating heart.

He doesn’t process anything within his surroundings, his brain turning on the autopilot feature as he navigates through traffic. Nothing clicks back into focus until the sound of sirens gets closer, and his eyes blink rapidly as he tries to figure out if he’s getting pulled over. To his luck, it’s a passing ambulance, and he quickly slows to the shoulder of the road to let it pass. Once it’s passed, and no other emergency vehicles are approaching, he pulls back onto the road.

He blinks at his surroundings, noticing that he’s heading towards the pier, and he steps on the gas with renewed fervor. Yoongi’s mind becomes blank once again as the image pops into his mind, the beating of his heart picking up its pace anew.

Less than ten minutes later he is walking through the pier, making his way to the only shipping container that wasn’t graffitied before banging on the heavy metal door. A moment passes before the metal door creaks, Namjoon’s face coming into view.

“Yoongi?”

Yoongi doesn’t even bother with a greeting, pushing the younger man aside and stepping into the shipping container. Crinkled sketch papers litter the floor, the coffee table, and the makeshift sofa bed. Empty cans of beer accompany the crinkled sketch papers, and Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

“Are you seriously drunk right now, Namjoon?” Yoongi snaps, watching as his friend gets closer. “It’s not even one yet.”

Namjoon shrugs before throwing himself on the sofa bed, his eyebrows coming together as his hand digs into the cushions before pulling out an empty soju bottle, throwing it onto the floor to accompany the rest of the mess. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“We have bigger problems than your drinking!” Yoongi exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air before stuffing his hand into his pocket and pulling out the drawing. He shoves it into Namjoon’s face, watching as his friend’s eyes widen in fright. “I think he’s starting to remember.”

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bluehhj · 5 years

Text

listen to me — chapter 13

LISTEN TO ME — 0013

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.8K

The next morning, Jisung was surprised to open his door. Although his two best friends lived on the same street, Han never liked people to wait for him. He preferred to go his own way, for he had no time to leave. There were times when he was too late and missed the first two classes, as well as times when he arrived too early to lose sleep and the patience to wait for the minutes to run on the clock with the speed of a turtle. Not even in the company of Chaerin, when still he shared the same roof with the girl, was acceptable. Jisung liked freedom. However, a small plague wanted to change the routine that day.

"Good morning, oppa!" Yoorim opened her smile. The excitement and excitement she carried could be seen eighty miles away.

"Good morning" on the other hand, Jisung's drowsiness could be seen more than a hundred miles away. His eyes met Hyunjin's 4x4 pickup truck across the street, its black body shining in the sunlight. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"We're not being good friends lately" Yoorim's positive aura lost intensity as she assumed a sorry expression. "We barely talked last week and just met in college."

"It's okay" Jisung forced a sincere smile. "None of us are unoccupied to the point of being able to spend all day talking."

"I know, but it's different now, you have to feel loved."

"But I already feel loved" such words sounded strange in the boy's mouth, his throat seemed to twist painfully to expel them. "Don't worry about it, Yoorinnie, I'm fine."

Heo kept her little eyes fixed on his friend's face as she absorbed his blatant lie. At last, she sighed and nodded. She was already accustomed to Jisung's genius and knew that he'd rather die than admit that he needed someone.

"Anyway, Hyunjin and I want to do something at home tomorrow. It's a simple thing, just to distract our minds, Are you coming?"

"To be the third wheel?" the boy laughed. "I think not."

"Nah, you don't have to be the third wheel." Hyunjin had gotten out of the pickup truck sometime unnoticed by Han and was now approaching the pair. He was wearing light-blue jeans and a striped button-down shirt of white and dark blue; as always, looked like a model. Meanwhile, Jisung wore his sweats and his dead face. They were real opposites. "Woojin hyung is also coming and you can call your new friend."

"Jinah?" Jisung raised his eyebrows and almost refuted that the girl wasn't his friend, but realized that, since when he felt bad after being rude with her, denying her was no longer so easy. "Would she come?"

"Probably so" Yoorim shrugged. "Not only for you, but for Woojin as well. I bet they're friends or at least they get along, after all, Woojin oppa gets on well with everyone."

Jisung leaned against the doorframe and pondered. The last time he talked about Jinah to the couple was in the University cafeteria, when he said he'd push her away in his own way, that on days when he was still trying to win the clashes with the girl. Hyunjin and Yoorim were supposed to believe nothing of it, and they really didn't, so much so that they were now indirectly insisting on a rapprochement between the two. Jisung followed another line of thought and began to remember his few experiences with Jinah and the reasons that led him to fail to keep his word from sending her away, and he tried in many ways!

Ignoring was no good, being rude wasn't enough, forcing a friendship with the intention of making it bad enough until she gave up, either. What was Jinah's problem? He insisted on questioning himself.

"Aish," Jisung grunted and shook his head to keep the thoughts from stealing with unwanted perseverance. "I'll talk to her."

Hyunjin opened his snowy white smile. He believed in first impressions, and the one he had from Jinah had been great. He wasn't sure of anything, but something in his heart said that the girl would do well for Han's patched heart, so, he would make efforts to help.

♡˖°

Jinah had a hell of a headache.

She really wanted to pay attention to Taeyeon's class — it was the best of them, dammit! — but her throbbing head was stealing all her concentration. She couldn't tell, but she was pretty sure the one responsible for that torment was the lasagna Chan had planned to make for the previous day's dinner. Jinah mentally noted that she should never again be a guinea pig for the culinary experiments of her friend whom wanted to change the eating habits of that apartment, but didn't accept the fact that he was almost graduating for a doctor, not a chef. When the nuisance of not being able to stare at the slides without feeling a twinge behind her eyes, Jinah gave up trying and gathered up her few materials, then quietly exiting the room.

The campus air rushed into her lungs as she pushed her body out of the building. She was torn between going home early — since there weren't many important things on that day — or just getting some rest until the next class. If she chose the first option, she could review the matter for the tests that would be applied at the end of her penultimate period at the institution or simply lie in bed and sleep until go to work. The indecision was dispelled when she felt her phone vibrate inside the pocket of her jeans, and the girl already imagined that the person who was sending the messages was Jade. No mistake, after all. After reassuring the american, saying that she only left the room because the headache was preventing her from understanding the luminous content of the projections, she decided that she'd stay at the University until the end of the five lessons. It was tempting to stay at home doing nothing, but she couldn't do it whenever she wanted and forgot her obligations.

Jinah sat down on one of the little tables on the campus and covered her eyes with her hands. It was about fifteen minutes to the next class, that is, fifteen minutes to try to repair the damage inside her head. Her whole body went into a perfect state of inertia.

On the other side, oblivious to the girl's presence, Jisung held up the face of someone who only wanted to die as he left the library. Han had taken advantage of his free time, since the professor hadn't gone in the day because of family problems, to look for a book that would help him to do a work required by the same teacher, last week, and having exhausted the minimum of encouragement he had to scour the dozens of shelves, completely lost the want to do anything that involved burning the remaining energy molecules in his cells. In short, he just wanted to procrastinate.

Jisung continued on his way to nowhere, but, when a wind hit his face and brought a scent of pear and peach, it was impossible not to look away and recognize the gray sweatshirt that should've been the girl's favorite. The fact that her head was down didn't stop him from recognizing Jinah's dark and silky hair. The doubt soon came.

"Hey" he touched the girl's hair, who jumped in fright and looked up at him. "Are you alright?"

Han Jisung worried?, Jinah thought. Or rather, worried about me?

"I am," she replied casually, hiding the surprise. "It's just a headache."

"Why don't you go home?"

"Just because of a headache?" the girl raised her eyebrows, trying to be indifferent, but this only served to worsen the discomfort and soon turned into a grimace.

Jisung sighed and felt his pockets. Besides being a forewarned person, he always suffered from migraine attacks, so carrying pills was almost as vital as charging his phone.

"Here." he tossed the silver card to the other.

"How will I know it's not poison?" Jinah made a joke.

"You won't know" Jisung sat on one of the empty benches and watched the girl pick out a capsule and swallow it with two sips of water from the half-bottle that was in the pocket of her backpack. "But just for now. Your body will let you know soon enough."

"Fool" Jinah rolled her eyes with a slight smile tracing her lips. "Why aren't you in your class?"

"My professor’s getting a divorce. It seems like he was going to solve something related to that" Jisung shrugged, the other's life really didn't interest him. "Remember my friends, Yoorim and Hyunjin?"

"Yeah, why?"

"They'll do something at their house tomorrow and asked if you want to go."

Jinah thought it odd, "But I only talked to both of them once."

"Yeah, but they think I'm not aware of the attempts to make me socialize with different people," was Jisung who rolled his eyes this time. "Anyway, you can go if you want. Woojin hyung will also be there."

"You don't mind?"

Jisung looked at Jinah's pretty face and for the first time, was sincere in replying: "No."

The girl smiled. She imagined she'd hear a whatever, but, apparently, things were really changing.

"Okay, then. What time will that be?"

"I don't know, I think at eight."

"Woojin knows where it is?" obviously Jinah would have Kim's moral support, for although she had no difficulty keeping in touch with people, getting to the home of two "strangers" alone was a little embarrassing to her.

"Woojin must know even the address of the President of the United States."

Jinah opened her mouth to respond, but stopped when she noticed someone else's presence. It was Lalisa Manoban, who passed by the table looking at them in a weird way, similar to what Yugyeom had looked at Jisung the other day. Jinah quickly despaired. She didn't want others to judge her relationship with Han in the wrong way, because she knew he didn't like it and didn't want to ruin things again. However, when she prepared to question the thai girl, Jisung intervened.

"Nevermind" he checked the notifications on his phone and wanted to die even more when he saw that the minutes had run too fast and that he couldn't be late at all for the next class, since the teacher was annoying. "I have to go." he stood up.

"Thank you for the medicine" Jinah handed the card back. "And the invitation."

"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."

The girl nodded and, as the boy walked away, she opened a satisfied smile. She only hoped that that more receptive phase of Jisung persisted and that he wouldn't be like he was before again. Jinah felt good to see him get good little by little.

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mentalillnessmouse · 5 years

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i keep seeing posts that say stuff like "it’s okay to just do absolutely nothing 'productive' today" and maybe so but what if it's not just today? what it was yesterday? what if it will be tomorrow? what if it's been everyday for the past two years? i'm tired of living like this. i'm too exhausted from depression and anxiety to get a job, but i can't afford any kind of help without one. what am i supposed to do?

Hey anon,

I’m sorry you have been so exhausted for so long. Working on recovery alone without outside/professional help can be incredibly difficult. If you can talk to others about your struggles and receive emotional support, if nothing else, it’ll help you begin your way towards recovery.

I think it’s important to mention that being productive and getting a job can be separate. If you clean something up, that is being productive as well! I don’t want you to placing your self worth exclusively on getting a job - which is very difficult! And the fact that you want to break out of this exhausting cycle is a very good start towards, at the absolute least, managing your symptoms.

If you can, start one thing at a time. Make a list or think up things you’d like to work on and pick something. Work on improving it until it is a habit. For example, do you brush your teeth and shower everyday? You can get those toothbrushes that are one use with toothpaste automatically on them to help make the process easier. Maybe a nice scented soap makes showers more attractive or sitting down makes it easier to accomplish. Do your best to feel better about the fact you managed to complete the task! This can mean reflecting on the days you haven’t showered or brushed your teeth and looking at what you have done and going, “I am making progress and slowly getting better!” On days when you can’t complete a task, look at the days you did manage to complete the task. You’ll know that is possible because you’ve done it once, so you can do it again in the future.

I’d like to be clear and say that this is just an example scenario, I don’t automatically think you are not doing these things. But I hope you can see ways to break down the things you would like to begin working on, the ways you can make it less exhausting to accomplish them, and work on celebrating what you have done. Perhaps thinking about progress doesn’t help. If it’s better for you, you could mark it physically, such as marking a calendar with gold stars for days when you manage to accomplish your tasks and silver for when you don’t quite make it. Anything at all that works best for you to note your progress and recognize that you are moving towards recovery may help!

I do think therapist would be incredibly helpful if your symptoms are bad enough where you feel as if you have done nothing productive for two years. We do have this source that helps you locate low cost therapy, although it is exclusive to the US and Canada. There is also this source that may help you as it offers tips and other solutions for when you can’t afford therapy, which sounds like an issue for you at the moment.

I am going to include a lot of resources for you. I hope that you will try to use some of these suggestions and resources to learn what does and does not work for you to piece together a plan towards managing your symptoms so you can continue moving forward and finding a job, as it sounds like that is your current goal. If it helps even slightly, it may be worth trying for at least a week to see where it goes. I’m hoping that the bigger the pool of resources you have at your disposal, the easier it will be for you to begin managing your depression and anxiety.

With that being said, here are the sources:

Depression, Dysthymia, and Depressive Symptoms

Help Guide, a site containing articles to help understand, help numbers, “tool kits”, and self help.

Mental Support Community, a forum to talk about regular unipolar forms of depression and how it affects your life.

Mental Help, a site that has basic information, resources, articles, and a list of books that might be helpful.

Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance

FacingUs Clubhouse Wellness Tracker, Wellness Book, Crisis Planning, Etc.

Mood Gym is an interactive website that allows you to learn cognitive behaviour therapy skills for preventing and coping with depression.

The black dog institute has some great resources for depression and bipolar disorder.

This is a link to a great workbook you can do to teach you about coping with depression.

Teen version of HelpGuide for depression

WebMD has some natural ways of coping with depression

You Feel Like Shit – An Interactive Self Care Guide is DepressionResource’s interactive website to cope with bad episodes and try to get you on your feet again.

Productivity/Motivation/Getting Things Done

7 Things You Need to Stop Doing to Be More Productive, Backed By Science

24 Ways to be Uncommonly Productive Today

21 Tips to Become the Most Productive Person You Know

You Thought You Couldn’t Be Productive While Feeling Depressed, Just Wait Till You Read This

Reframe What You Think About Depression

12 Steps to Creating Motivation When Depressed

Responding to Unusual Behavior—Low Motivation

When Depression Causes a Lack of Motivation

Finding the Motivation to Recover from Mental Illness

myHomework: useful for students, especially those of us with poor memory. This app is a practical planner: it syncs across devices so you can easily access your classes and assignments anytime and anywhere, and it reminds you of assignments, classes, tests, due dates, etc.

SoundNote: this app is useful if you have to take notes. It records the lesson and then, if you’re looking for a specific moment, you just have to type what you remember (even just a word) and the app will jump at that point in the recording.

Audionote: same as SoundNote.

Anxiety and Panic-Related Symptoms

Help Guide, a site containing articles to help understand, help numbers, “tool kits”, and self help.

Mental Support Community, a forum to talk about anxiety disorders and how they affect your life.

Mental Help, a site that has basic information, resources, articles, and a list of books that might be helpful.

Here is a great explanation of anxiety and some self help tips.

This is a guide to Muscle Relaxation that might help your anxiety.

Here is also an article on social anxiety disorder self help tips.

Here is also some information on exploring and coping with panic attacks.

Here is some information and self help tips on how to handle panic attacks.

Here are some exercises you can do that helps to keep you in the present: grounding techniques, mental grounding exercises, physical grounding exercises, soothing grounding exercises.

Here is a online self help book that has some self help tips and information on social skills training.

Here is a self help workbook that you might find helpful: panic attacks workbook.

Here is a video with step by step instructions of how to do breathing techniques to help with panic attacks, made by a licensed therapist.

Beyond Blue, a nonprofit working to address issues associated with depression, anxiety and related disorders in Australia.

Social Anxiety Support

Anxiety management techniques

There is more information available on our Helpful Resources Page if you’d like tips for finding jobs and such with mental illnesses. They aren’t included in this list as I figured you may want to learn way to begin recovery and such before jumping into finding work. They are available to you whenever you need them though!

Best of luck to you anon! I hope everything goes well for you and that these resources help you at least somewhat.

Please feel free to message us again anytime!

- Xan

#ask mim #Anonymous #depression #anxiety

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thecomicsnexus · 5 years

Text

Disordered Minds

SPIDER-MAN/BATMAN: DISORDERED MINDS SEPTEMBER 1995 BY J. M. DEMATTEIS, MARK BAGLEY, SCOTT HANNA, MARK FARMER AND ELECTRIC CRAYON

SYNOPSIS (FROM MARVEL DATABASE)

In the beginning of the story, it shows the respective heroes awakening from their nightmares about the death of their loved ones (Spider-Man's sees his uncle Ben Parker murdered and when the killer reveals himself to be the Joker; Batman witnesses the death of his parents at the hands of Carnage) and the reflection on their roles as super-heroes.

In Ravencroft Institute, Spider-Man is at the institute at the behest of Dr. Ashley Kafka to oversee her attempts to cure Carnage from his mental condition. Despite the high-tech containment system, Carnage breaks free and battles Spider-Man, but is then stunned and reverted back to Cletus Kasady by the institute's heavily armed guards utilizing "microwave guns". Kafka is confused as to how Carnage was able resist the high intense levels of heat wave from his prison that neutralize the symbiote. She determines that the only way to neutralize the symbiote is through Kasady's mind.

Spider-Man and Kafka are then greeted by Cassandra Briar, a behavioral psychologist appointed by congressional committee to deal with people such as Kasady. Briar's solution to Kasady's hostile mentality is to insert a bio-technic computer chip into his body to control and pacify him. However, Kafka and Spider-Man are opposed to Briar's unethical methods. But they are over-ridden by Briar as her method puts an end to Kasady's terror as Carnage. Kafka and Spider-Man have no say to prevent Kasady from undergoing the implant surgery.

Meanwile, in Gotham City, Batman stops the Joker from unleashing Joker venom-infected bats. Later, at Arkham Asylum, Briar and Kafka are viewing the security footage of an imprisoned Joker from Dr. Arkham's office. Briar consults with Arkham on using her bio-technic chip to solve Joker's insanity. Dr. Arkham is unsure of Briar's method but is convinced when Briar surprisingly shows a pacified and timid Cletus Kasady in handcuffs. Briar fully explains to Arkham that the chip not only calmed Kasady's aggression but subjugated the symbiote into a state of dormancy because, without Kasady's violent emotions, the symbiote had nothing to feed off of and is therefore tamed.

Sometime later, the Joker is implanted with the chip and is displayed along with Kasady in a press conference in front of Arkham Asylum as Briar praises the use of the chip. Afterwards, Briar and a driver escorts Joker and Kasady through Gotham. The driver is uneasy at having the two criminals too closely unguarded. Briar assures him that the two are no longer the men they once were, and that "the Joker and Carnage are dead". As Briar says this, the driver is impaled by Carnage. The symbiote explains to Briar that the chip proves useless in containing him and he has been waiting for the right moment to "explode".

As the car they are in crashes, Carnage holds both Joker and Briar hostage as the government escorts are at a standstill. A guard then reveals himself to be Batman. Carnage shows Batman that he is entirely different from the usual Batman's Rogue's Gallery nemesis. While Carnage is talking, Spider-Man appears and saves Briar with his webs. Spider-Man and Batman attack Carnage. However, Carnage escapes along with the Joker by shooting shards of tentacles at the guards, forcing the heroes to delay and tend their wounds.

Later, Batman tells Spider-Man to stop 'helping' and leave the city. Spider-Man protests to him that he only wants to help, but Batman states again that he doesn't need or want his help and then leaves.

At a warehouse, Carnage manages to destroy the bio-technic chip within the Joker allowing him to be who he was again. Carnage then proposes that he and the Joker should work together. The Joker agrees.

At the Bat Cave, Batman researches Cletus Kasady and realizes that his psyche is too unfathomable to grasp. Batman then decides to leave to "pick up something" after implicitly disrespecting Alfred's finger sandwiches.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man swings across Gotham City and stops an insane mugger from murdering a woman and is then greeted by Batman in his Batmobile who beckons him to come with him.

In Joker's hideout in a abandoned theater, the Crown Prince of Crime explains to Carnage his plan of implanting his Joker virus in hundreds of "Joker-in-the-boxes" and to be given away to "needy tots" as their "Christmas present". However, Carnage argues against the Joker's scheme as "stupid" and prefers the more direct motive of mass-murdering people in the most horrific way. This disgusts the Joker, who proudly proclaims that "style" and "theater" are the better route. The Joker decides that teaming up with Carnage is wrong, comparing him to David Hasselhoff. After infuriating Carnage, Joker makes his leave through a trapdoor. From a safe distance, the Joker uses a remote detonator to destroy his hideout in a massive explosion while Carnage is still inside.

Meanwhile, traveling in the Batmobile, Batman apologizes to Spider-Man for denying his help and that having a friend who knew about Carnage may prove helpful in arresting the symbiote. The two manage to track Carnage's location through a remnant of his chip by tracking its frequency, and discovers the ruined theater. The two discover the body of Carnage but it proves to be a trap, as Carnage grabs hold of Batman, who tells Carnage he'd rather die than submit.

As Carnage is poised to make the killing blow on Batman, the Joker interrupts and tells Carnage to back off from killing Batman, as he is the only one who has the right to kill "his" Batman. Joker then reveals a Joker-in-the-Box containing the deadly virus, announcing his plans to unleash it immediately. Spider-Man expresses shock at Joker's mindless disregard for human life, while Carnage displays abject fear of being killed, giving Batman the edge in combat with the cowardly villain. Spider-Man then snatches the Joker-in-the-Box from the Joker with his webshooter, as Batman subdues a "weak-minded" Carnage into submission, forcing him to revert back to Kasady. Spider-Man tracks down Joker and grabs hold of him, and threatens to kill him, which delights Joker, who is eager at the chance at driving a "goody two shoes" into cold-blooded murder. Spider-Man relents, releasing Joker, and taking him down with a punch, knocking him into unconsciousness.

With the defeat of both Carnage and the Joker, both Batman and Spider-Man thank each other, wordlessly with a handshake. Spider-Man swings off, returning to New York, as Batman watches over Gotham.

REVIEW

That “chili-con-carnage” Joke will stay with me forever.

There are two things to admire in this book. One is the engraved cover, the other one is Mark Bagley’s art. But the story itself is just an excuse to do the cross-over. It is also a bit too naive to think that the symbiote wouldn’t resist something like that chip.

J. M. DeMatteis has experience with both characters, but his Batman is usually played for comedic effect, something that works better in Spider-man. As a result, we have a very lonely and sometimes cruel Batman.

But even with the characterizations, the story has a great premise and ends without any messages, themes or concepts. At least for the “lobotomy” plot. Both Batman and Spider-man are victims of gun violence, and are doing this to save others from the trauma they lived through. It would have been better if the main plot revolved about that.

I give this story a score of 8

#mark bagley #mark farmer #spider-man #batman #dc comics #marvel comics #comics #review #1995 #modern age #joker #carnage #batman80

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 11

Why are they like this? Why? What is even their issue?

Ao3

Astrid is a believer in hard work.

There are very few obstacles in life that can’t be overcome with determination, willingness to get her hands dirty, and dedication to the cause. However, deciphering her feelings while sitting across a dingy bar table from Hiccup’s sharp jaw and green eyes, holding a beer she got from her best friend’s cousin who now only owes her forty-seven dollars while said best friend and Hiccup’s cousin hook up might be one of those outlying obstacles.

And that’s not even unpacking the fact that she only met Hiccup because he was giving serial killer tours to her apartment, the past tense being because a new set of twin murders interrupted his route with the promise of further interruptions. And then that gets even more complicated because not only did she and Hiccup kiss while she was at work, but later that same night she was with him when they discovered the second murder victim, seconds after she accidentally called him sexy.

Or not him specifically, but something he did, and that’s almost worse.

And she might be able to scrape together some plan of attack for all of that, but adding the fact that he also happened to discover the first body after a middle of the night private serial killer tour he gave her where they were caught trespassing and practically hugging on camera pushes it over the edge.

She’s lost.

And there’s the whole thing he’s been in custody twice in as many weeks but she still can’t stop thinking about how he looked at her, like he absolutely couldn’t handle not kissing her for another second. Even though she was being stubborn and loud and forcing her opinion on him. Maybe even because of those things.

Neither of them knew what to say while they finished their drinks and their interaction devolved into silence occasionally punctuated by people watching commentary. He offered to walk her home, but she took an Uber because as safe as Berk’s new condo developments brag about being, she doesn’t live in one of those.

She lives in yet another Grimborn murder site, likely on a list to be revisited.

Yet another complication.

“You’re thinking about that ship roster really hard,” Fishlegs sits down at his desk, flicking through his meticulously maintained planner.

She half wonders what Fishlegs would say about her current conundrums. He’s got the kind of analytical approach she can really admire, but his opinion of Hiccup is clear and deserved. It was Hiccup who pushed her against the bookcase and threatened his precious encyclopedias, after all.

“It’s complicated.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She thinks a minute, “no.”

Astrid doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to do something about it, she just doesn’t know what to do.

Hiccup (4:23pm): hey are you at work?

She hates how the silent implication makes her cheeks burn.

Astrid (4:24pm): yeah

Hiccup (4:25pm): oh cool, would you mind if I dropped by and got a copy of that Al, I. Safe picture to laminate? The one you gave me is wearing out quick and it’s smeared not that you care I’m sure it smeared in your fervent quest to prove me wrong

Astrid hates how she can’t deny that her stomach flips. If Fishlegs repeated his concern right now, she’s not sure what she’d say, but he disappeared into the back room to organize new donations.

Astrid (4:27pm): sure

Hiccup (4:28pm): be there in like 5?

Her heart stutters and she tries not to care. She can’t help but hate how she left it at the bar, the weird backward walk towards the door, the insistence that she get a ride rather than walk. And now she has to deal with another random, instantaneous meeting? She needs time and planning and for it to occur away from Hiccup’s undeniable pull.

She tries to focus exclusively on her work but every time she hears the door open she jumps and has to reread at least a paragraph. The first is the mail, the second is someone lost and hoping for the library upstairs, but the third is Hiccup, determinedly faking casual as he trots down the stairs with uneven strides she still wants to ask about.

“Hey!” He says too brightly and Astrid purposefully takes a second too long to look up.

“Hi.”

He pauses a couple feet in front of her desk and swallows hard. He shaved recently, and he looks younger and sharper and somehow more likely to catch her off guard.

“Are you doing something super important for the future of Berk’s history’s maintenance or…”

She can’t quite stifle her smile, “not really.”

“Great,” he grins wider, all crooked teeth and genuine excitement and everything would be so much easier if Astrid’s heart didn’t skip like a turntable in a hurricane. “So, Al. I, safe message? If you don’t mind…”

“Right, sure,” she stands up too quickly, chair rolling back a few feet and smacking into a bookshelf.

“No rush,” Hiccup laughs, shoulders rigid and hands waving at her chair, “wouldn’t want you to break something in your excitement to help me copy something.”

“I haven’t put it away since last week, I still need to talk to Fishlegs about how we’d recategorize it as Grimborn-related,” she ignores his comment about breaking things and leaves her chair where it is, leading him down the familiar aisle between old yellowed papers to the table she set her findings out on.

“Does that mean there’s a special stack you send Grimborn-ologists to so that you don’t have to talk to us?”

“Well, that would be my solution,” she flips carefully through the paper to the picture, trying not to think about the vague wrinkles in the print from his hand clenching as he kissed her. “But currently Fishlegs’s solution is to just send them all my way.”

“Let me guess, it’s been busy?” He skirts around mentioning the recent murders, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it feels like all she talks about lately, as she leads curious, insensitive people to documents she then has to make sure they don’t take as a souvenir.

She nods, “I hate to say you’re right, but you are pretty well adjusted, considering the crowd as a whole.”

“What makes you say that?” He cocks his head, reverently taking the paper from her and following towards the copier. The encyclopedias mock her when his hand brushes against her arm.

“You know, there was the guy who wanted his girlfriend to lay on the floor to pose like Elizabeth Smith,” she wrinkles her nose, “but I don’t know how even that compares to the guy who got angry at me because I didn’t magically produce modern crime scene photos to compare to vintage ones. He claimed this was a ‘decaying institution’ because I explained we obviously don’t have access to current police case documentation.”

“What an idiot,” Hiccup snorts, “this is a historical archive, there are obvious environmental controls to prevent decay.”

“That’s bad,” she doesn’t understand how he can melt more stiff tension than she can think through with a bad joke, it must go hand in hand with how he made her feel safe in dark alleys when logic and reality continually affirm she was anything but. “Come on, that was lame.”

“It got a smile,” he says, self-satisfied but not smug, and his eyes narrow when he sees the copier, “we meet again, old friend.”

“What?”

“The copier and I have history, remember? I tried to copy a comic book three years ago and jammed it up,” he sets the paper down picture up on the work table and pats the top of the copier with a careful hand, “the foundation of Fishlegs and my blood feud, as you put it.”

“Right,” she takes the paper and carefully folds it back to align the picture with the corner, “maybe I should press the buttons then, I wouldn’t want to involve myself in that drama.”

The copier is probably older than some of the archive’s collections and it takes a minute to turn on, its wheezing fan turning the silence awkward as Astrid’s worries whir back to life along with it. Hiccup is alternating between staring at his feet and the side of her face, brows furrowed.

“Thanks for letting me come by, by the way, and for the picture. And for finding the picture, in the first place, even though you were only doing it to prove me wrong, which you did, it clearly does have punctuation—but that’s not what I mean.” He doesn’t pause to breathe so much as to let the mental gears behind his eyes rotate fully so that he can pick back up where he got off track. “I uh…I guess I understand all the very real reasons you probably want nothing to do with me—”

“What?” She turns to face him, frowning.

“I’m just saying I get it, and I appreciate you being cool about it even as I’m…practically having a spasm over here trying to talk to you,” he laughs, high pitched and nasal, his arms flailing and smacking the copier. It coughs and she has to press the start button again. “And considering the size and scale of ass I made of myself at Gruff’s the other day, I get that other things that might have ummm…been said or occurred are likely voided, as it were—not that there was any kind of contract when you said and did them, I was just amazed someone as, you know, astounding as you seemed to be starting to like me, maybe—”

“Hiccup,” she reflexively puts her hand on his shoulder, sure that if she doesn’t hold him down he’ll vibrate into another dimension, “I let you give tours to my apartment, do you think I’d do that if I didn’t like you?”

“Oh,” he thinks on that for a second, eyes darting to her hand on his shoulder, and she carefully retracts it, flushing as he half smiles. She gets that bone deep feeling she’s going to regret what she just said as he opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and presses his lips together in a tight line.

The copier spits out a single, un-smeared picture and he reaches for it, already leaning away from her like he’s planning a great escape. That isn’t allowed and she grabs it before he can, setting it on the small table behind her and crossing her arms.

“What’s your problem, Hiccup?”

“Problem?” He blinks, long eyelashes adding to the innocent façade, “I wouldn’t say I have a problem, I think I just—the long and short of it is I met someone really…amazing, but I pissed her off before I even officially met her and for some reason she forgave me enough to go on a private tour with me and it felt—I don’t know, like we—but it doesn’t matter, probably, because then there was a murder. Except maybe it does matter because then we kissed and it was,” he’s so red he’s practically glowing but his frantic energy is dissipating with every word, like he’s exorcising himself of it, “and then we found another murder victim, together, which isn’t my ideal date or not date or…activity.”

“Mine either.”

“It’s not the association I really wanted, you know?” He winces but his chuckle is real, “but at the same time I don’t blame you if you look at me and see, you know, a modern times Grimborn murder re-enactment scene.”

“I don’t,” she looks at him a little too hard, taking in his open, nervous expression and the hope there that he’s trying and failing to put out. “You know, your problem sounds pretty similar to a problem I’m having right now.”

“Yeah?” He isn’t bad at pretending to relax, but his stiff upper body doesn’t fool her, “did me blurting it all out like an idiot help?”

“Maybe,” her small smile feels tired, “at least we’re on the same page.”

“That’s all I’ve been hoping for since you found this picture,” he points at his copy, “which is still amazing, by the way, I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

“Just another thing wrapped up in Grimborn.” She shakes her head, “my apartment, my job, my…” She looks at him importantly, fumbling for a word that could encompass everything he just said and the way she feels when she looks at him. Excited and comfortable at all the wrong times.

“So we just don’t talk about Grimborn then,” Hiccup shrugs, shoulders forcefully easy as he leans back against the copier, knuckles white where his hands are gripping his upper arms.

“What else are we going to talk about?” Astrid pulls the original Enquirer out of the copier and folds it carefully on the table next to it, trying not to feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

She knows he doesn’t ignore advantages and this time it makes her hold her breath.

“We could talk about the fact that you like me,” his voice dips at the end, conspiratorial, and Astrid can’t shake the feeling that the papers are listening, adding information to their tightly stacked volumes and storing it for later. “I’m kind of still wondering how I managed that.”

“Who says it’s not your Grimborn knowledge?” She wishes he was wearing the hat. The hat makes him bold and winking and silly, an act she can act back at. He’s vulnerable in an unzipped jacket and band tee-shirt she wants to ask him about and it’s an invitation to be vulnerable too.

She usually clicks tentative yes on those, hoping people get it means no.

“I thought we weren’t talking about him.”

Astrid can imagine all of those stories in all of those papers, all the people largely forgotten and lost in their own environmentally controlled, ink preserving worlds, turning away out of a well-deserved kind of respect. She keeps their secrets legible after all, the least they can do is keep her secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a little intense,” she edges closer, finger messing with the copier buttons while she drags her eyes to his. Green even in the dingy corner of the room, soft and shy and locked on hers like he’s not going to let either of those things stop him.

“A little?” The corner of his mouth quirks into a quiet half smile, eyes squinting with that eternal curiosity that feels heavy and light and warm when directed at her. She could bring up Grimborn and re-direct it, but as convenient as that would be, she doesn’t want to.

“Most people want me to back off,” she tucks her hair behind her ear and watches him suppress a smile, “you don’t.”

“Back off? As in decrease the intensity?” He laughs, long arms flailing, hand brushing her arm and shrinking back, cautious and hopeful and jittery. “Never, why would—if anything increase it. More is better, right?”

She lets it hang long enough for him to get nervous, for the hope to condense into worry and indecision and the urge to open his mouth to keep convincing, “more intense then, is what you’re saying?”

“I umm,” he clears his throat, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking that she’s real and giving her reason to prove that she is, “wouldn’t mind. I welcome it, actually.”

Somehow, he still manages to be surprised when she grabs the back of his neck to pull him down to her, hands flailing and hitting the copier again when she kisses him.

Astrid will never admit to anyone, personalities trapped in hundred-year-old papers included, how many hours of sleep she lost not to thinking about murder, but to lamenting the fact that Hiccup kissed her before she kissed him. The cheek doesn’t count, that was impulsive and embarrassing and looking back with what she knows now, everything would be a lot less complicated if she’d acted on her full impulse then.

He wouldn’t have been stumbling on a body fifteen minutes later, for a start.

Kissing him first is better, she likes his shocked pause and sharp inhalation against her cheek before coming back to life with soft, careful lips.

It’s good for a lot of reasons that Hiccup recovers quickly from shock, but right now the only one that matters is his hands settling warm on her hips and pulling her closer. He kisses like he talks, meandering and endless, lips pressing trailing anecdotes along her jaw while she desperately wants him to get to the point.

The copier creaks and chimes when she leans harder against him, one hand in his hair and the other sliding under his jacket to feel the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. He feels stronger than he looks and his light grip on her hips feels teasing, half the story when she needs it all now. She nips at his lower lip to hurry him along and he manages to stumble while standing still, fingers digging into her sides for support at the sharp snap of breaking plastic behind him.

“Shit,” Astrid pulls back and Hiccup kisses down her neck, nose dragging along the collar of her shirt and making her shiver, “we’re breaking the copier.”

“I’ve fixed it before,” his breath is cool against the damp trail he left under her jaw and she closes her eyes, willing herself to pull back.

“Astrid is the one to talk about Grimborn with, it’s not really my specialty,” Fishlegs voice shatters the tension and she stands up too fast, straightening her shirt and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Hiccup is not as quick, staring at her with a dazed, open expression, lips kiss swollen and hair sticking up on one side. She grabs his hand and pulls him away from the copier, swearing when one of the plastic trim pieces clatters to the floor, the clips on one side snapped off.

“Fix it fast,” she shoves it into his limp hands, trying and failing to pat down his hair as another voice joins Fishlegs’s.

“Ah yes, Astrid, I’ve been waiting to meet her,” it’s accented and polite, but something about it sends a chill up Astrid’s spine that has nothing to do with Hiccup struggling to make the trim piece stay in place.

“Oh?” Fishlegs is defensive, again, and she’s really going to have to talk to him about that.

“For the investigation.”

“Do you have duct tape?” Hiccup whispers, but it’s too late as Fishlegs is coming around the corner with a tall man in a gray uniform that matches the sinister undertone in his voice. Hiccup thinks fast and leans back against the copier again, holding the trim piece in place and waving at the newcomers.

“Hey Fishlegs,” he says brightly, despite Fishlegs’s scowl, and then his voice drops flat and unimpressed, “Mr. Grisly.”

“I should have expected to find you two together again,” the man in gray holds out his hand and when Astrid shakes it, it’s icy, not even vital enough to be clammy. “Mr. Grisly, head of the Neighborhood Watch Force, I’ve been invited to help investigate the recent murders and I understand you were unlucky enough to encounter a victim.”

“Yes,” she resists the urge to wipe her hand on her pants when he lets go, “I gave my statement to the police.”

“Of course, I’ve read it.” His grin is as dead as his touch, everything animated about him condensed in his eyes. “You have an interesting perspective on all of these unfortunate happenings.”

Saying luck and fortune too many times too close together makes them sound like badly veiled intention.

“I wouldn’t say I have much of a perspective at all,” Astrid shrugs, tucking her hands in her pockets, “all of it is in that statement.”

“You were hear to ask about Grimborn,” Fishlegs cuts into the conversation and Astrid is surprised that she doesn’t mind his protective tone for once, “I can actually help you with that.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help, not with the real Hiccup Haddock expert right here.” Mr. Grisly gestures at Hiccup with those waxy fingers and he raises his eyebrows, shifting against the copier with a scrape of plastic that would be funny and awkward in any other tense situation. Here though, it just sounds like a pin dropping during a stealth mission, a weakness on display to someone looking out for one.

“I wouldn’t call myself a Hiccup Haddock expert,” Hiccup laughs, deflecting, “I know myself maybe a five out of ten at best, you might want to talk to Officer Jorgenson about that one.”

“I was speaking of the Viggo Grimborn suspect Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” Grisly’s chuckle is gravel thrown through a window, all solid malice and sharp edges, “although it does inform the current case to hear how clueless you are about your own actions.”

“Not my actions so much as my intentions,” Hiccup blanches, shrugging like there’s some hope of pulling this situation back towards the casual. “And my reasoning. Basically my trajectory in life, but I’m pretty solid on my own actions. What do you want to know about Admiral Haddock?”

“I’m just curious about the connection.”

“There’s no connection, the original book is fiction,” he elbows Astrid for corroboration, “right? You’ve read it.”

“Bad fiction,” she agrees and Mr. Grisly smiles.

“My favorite. Can you recommend me a version?”

“Uh,” Hiccup looks at Astrid out of the corner of his eye, realizing he’ll have to move, and she tries to look casual putting her hand on the piece of loose trim. Her fingers brush a little low on his back when she does and she can’t hide her blush with a stoic expression so she just tries to avoid Fishlegs’s eyeline. “Sure, I know where they are in the library upstairs.”

“How helpful,” Grisly’s approximation of delight is more menacing for his dedication to it.

“Anything for the investigation,” Hiccup steps carefully away from the copier and looks at Astrid seriously for a second, “talk to you later?”

“I’m sure you will,” Grisly and Fishlegs say in unison with exact opposite intonation, Fishlegs’s arms crossed as he purposefully stands in the way and forces Hiccup to walk around him on the way to the stairs.

Hiccup and Mr. Grisly are barely out of sight when the other side of the copier trim pops free, waving in mid-air.

“And he broke the copier, again.”

Astrid sighs, taking the trim piece off and setting it on top of the machine, “to be fair, we both had a part in that.”

“He broke the copier,” Fishlegs raises an eyebrow, “and I told you to check out a study room.”

“Nothing happened, we were just…arguing about Grimborn.” She rubs the back of her neck, willing the heat to dissipate from under her hair.

“Right, that always gives me a hickey,” he looks pointedly at her neck and she pulls her hair forward to cover it.

“It won’t happen again,” she nods, “and he said he can fix it.” She doesn’t mention the duct tape comment, there’s no way that would go over well. They don’t even have scotch tape at their desks because glue and old documents is such a bad combination.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” Fishlegs oversteps, yet again, but Astrid’s almost glad that someone finally asked. “You used to be so determined to get him away from you, what changed? And why does he have to be here so often?”

The last question dents her last clinging scrap of resolve and she lets it go.

“Has anyone ever thought you were a little too academic, Fish?” She tries out the nickname, letting this feel like friendship even though that risks more awkward questions.

He snorts, “there was a time in elementary school that I legitimately thought my middle name was ‘get your nose out of that book, young man’.”

“One second it was something to be proud of that I was the first Hofferson to go to college,” she shrugs, faking noncommittal even though that word has never applied to her, “but when I came back having learned things, suddenly I was uppity, disrespectful. Hiccup…he seems to like it when I’m right. He doesn’t even mind when I’m loud about it.”

“Here I thought we were bonding,” Fishlegs smiles, “I thought you were finally going to admit you’re just fascinated with the top hat.”

“You caught me,” she punches him in the arm and he winces, “come on, that did not hurt.”

“I barely know you Astrid, and I’m as sure that you are freakishly strong as I am that you aren’t uppity or disrespectful,” he rubs his arm and weighs that, “well, disrespectful to priceless collections of Brittanicas, maybe—“

“Shut up about the encyclopedias or I’ll hit you again,” the threat is empty and friendly and final, getting Fishlegs off of her mind and letting her wonder about Mr. Grisly with her full attention. She doesn’t hesitate as much as she would have thought before texting Snotlout, hoping for a little illumination, as he doesn’t seem very good at keeping his mouth shut.

Astrid (5:02pm): some guy calling himself Mr. Grisly just came by my work

He doesn’t answer right away and she tries to focus on work, but documentation isn’t really holding her attention after all that happened in the last hour. Especially knowing Hiccup is just upstairs with ostensibly the creepiest man she’s ever met while her lips are still tingling from that kiss.

“So this is the glamorous job that lets you afford your own place,” Ruffnut interrupts, strolling down the stairs and perching on the edge of Astrid’s desk, wrinkling the corner of an old shipping manifesto.

Seeing Ruffnut hasn’t brought on so much relief since that first night in her apartment when someone downstairs started yelling murder.

“My job is to keep stuff like this safe,” Astrid pokes her friend’s butt until she scoots off of the paper and then sets a heavy book on it to press the creases flat. “And my apartment is cheap. What’s up?”

“Tuff needed to drop off a check upstairs so I thought I’d come say hi, like the thoughtful and attentive friend that I am.” Ruffnut’s smile says otherwise and Astrid sighs, still ultimately glad for the distraction. Her eyes were starting to glaze over trying to find a reason to name a stupid shipping manifesto for thirty bushels of apples as important in any way, especially when so many other things obviously are.

“You’re here to brag.” Astrid doesn’t expect the flash of frustration, bordering on jealousy, given that she and Hiccup have been on however many not dates by now and Ruffnut is the smug one.

“I was going to say gloat but brag works too,” she laughs, “also, I did forget to get his number so if you could help me out with that…”

“You’re telling me you never found a moment of pause to get his number?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, gloat is a better fit, I see that now.” Astrid’s phone rings, Officer Snotlout Jorgenson flashing on the screen, “speak of the devil.”

“Wait, why’s he calling you?” Ruffnut tries to snatch the phone but Astrid beats her to it, “he should be calling me.”

“Then you should have given him your number,” she picks up, too aware of Ruffnut leaning down on the other side of the phone to listen, “what’s up?”

“I’m not actually a weirdo who calls people, I just don’t want a written record of bitching about Grisly as long as I have to see his stupid face at work every day,” Snotlout starts, “what was he doing talking to you?”

“Just asking about the investigation,” Astrid glares at Ruffnut, turning her office chair away so to try and minimize the eavesdropping. It seems smart given she can’t trust Ruffnut not to run around threatening disembowelment. “The investigation that you’re calling about, the one with the current murders and I happened to find one of the bodies, so it pertains to me.” She drives in the point.

“Duh, Astrid, keep up,” Snotlout laughs and she grits her teeth.

“Not having a problem with that, thanks, but who is this Grisly guy?”

“Thought you were all caught up,” he teases but apparently thinks better of it and continues, “no but it’s probably good you know because Hiccup won’t remember not to antagonize those NWF fucks—“

“NWF?”

“Again, since you’re so caught up, I’ll pause and explain that Grisly douche is the leader of these pseudo-police assholes acting like they own the place because a few condo developers are paying him out the ass to keep the streets clean, because apparently public cops aren’t good enough for rich people.”

Astrid groans internally, remembering Hiccup mouthing off while trying not to remember his mouth.

“Well, I wish I’d known that a minute ago because he left with Hiccup—“

“Shit,” Snotlout sighs, “I love the guy but keeping him out of jail is a full time job.”

“Ugh, you guys bonding over your boyfriend being an idiot is boring,” Ruffnut groans, “give me the phone, I’ll ask for his number.”

“No,” Astrid shushes her, but it’s too late.

“Is that Ruffnut? Is she there with you?”

“No.”

“Give her your phone, I have to tell her something,” he pushes and Astrid rubs her temple.

“Is it your number? Because then I could stop being your go-between.”

“Nah, it’s about last weekend—“

“No, I’m hanging up now,” Astrid doesn’t wait for an answer before doing exactly that and turning back to Ruffnut. “Are you done gloating?”

“Since I can tell you’re done listening to it, sure,” she shrugs, “the gloating was mostly just a bonus anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted a ride home.”

That’s almost sweet enough to mute her annoyance and she starts to thank her for the offer and decline, but then she thinks of what Snotlout said and the hollow, manic look in Grisly’s eyes. The idea of him being in command of people doesn’t scare her, but it makes her nervous. She’s never been less sure that this whole situation is only going to get worse and she hates it.

“Sure, I’ll take a ride, I was just about to pack up anyway.” Astrid declines an immediate call back from Snotlout and texts Hiccup instead.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

“Sweet, more time to get that number out of you,” Ruffnut grabs Astrid’s bag for her.

“Not a chance.”

#ripped #hiccstrid fic #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #hiccstrid #tw copier abuse

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adultprivilege · 5 years

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Hi, I was wondering why you said that the institution of parenting is structurally abusive? (I think I have a vague notion of why you might have said that, but I'd like to get it cleared up)

so we got two asks with this question, I’ll leave the other one to the other mod because maybe they have a different perspective. This is Mod Isaiah speaking right now, btw.

In my opinion parenthood is structurally abusive because any system of power, without any easy source of retribution for the powerful, is inherently abusive. Even if your parent is actually perfect, but they just don’t give you the freedom to know that you are safe in this society, is abusive. There is still a very real threat that they could abuse you and get away with it, because CPS isn’t gonna do anything, and foster care is terrifying to so many people, and no one in the rest of the world will ever believe the child.

So, a comparison. Relationships have to be consensual in every way. A person should be able to not participate in different actions (if I specify sexual it ruins the metaphor), they should be allowed alone time, they should be trusted by their partner, they definitely shouldn’t be hit, physically harmed in any way, screamed at, or anything else drastically aggressive by their partner, they should be able to maintain contact with everyone else in their life, they should be allowed to leave the relationship entirely, and to encompass all of this they should just have the freedom of choice so long as that choice doesn’t infringe on someone else’s freedom of safety.

In the early Americas, and in a whole lot of countries that I’m too lazy to google, women were considered to be owned by the husband in the same way that children are owned by their parents. That’s why the “ownership” of women was always transferred from their fathers. They weren’t allowed to control their own finances, they didn’t need to consent to sex for it to happen, they would be forced to spend time with their husband, they could be yelled at and screamed at and hit and have no way to escape, they would never be trusted to be capable of handling themselves, I mean a real consequence of sexism is female genital mutilation being used to promote chastity till marriage which still happens in places like Liberia (I’m not sure if it’s legal there but a huge part of the secret society “Sande” is female genital mutilation to promote chastity and refusal to masturbate) they could straight up be refused to see their family ever again, they would have to go through an incredibly difficult court process and prove that their partner was abusive to pre-1950s standards (I don’t actually know the exact year but it was past 1950, Adam Ruins Everything has the whole story) , and we all know they were never given freedom of choice. Of course, their husbands could’ve been generous, radical feminists, suffragists, they could’ve given their wives whatever they wanted. But if you were put back in the 1900s as a female, you would never trust a man enough to marry him, and many cis women decided to dress up as men just to escape the oppression.

Let’s think about another comparison. Slavery. I know any comparison to things like slavery or the holocaust are always really touchy and dangerous to do unoffensively, but I pick this one specifically because it is so drastic. I’m not gonna compare the two in terms of awfulness, because I think it’s impossible to properly measure either in terms of awfulness when our society is still justifying both and influencing us to do the same. And I don’t prefer the idea that someone will guess which I think is worse. It’s awful, and yet at the time that personal slaves were legal in the USA, many people would justify it with “I treat my slaves properly, why should I get rid of my slaves just because someone else is bad to them?” And “now we know” (quotes because this is bullshit and if Donald Trump was given 4 more years I think he could have enough influence to make slavery legal again and liberals would just say he’ll get his karma when he’s out of office, or that this is why we have to vote for Warren, or some bullshit, we don’t actually know that slavery is bad, we just want some moral highground to pretend we’re not racist anymore) that slavery is awful no matter what, because it is literally ownership of a human being. I’ve always wanted to go to the places where slavery was still legal, buy a bunch of slaves (hear me out and don’t misquote me) and then free them. But a huge part of that has to be letting them know that I’ll free them immediately and they don’t have to do anything for me, giving them power over me to make the power balanced, going into some legal process to free them in their home country, and paying for their plane tickets if they wanna come to the US to escape their former owners. And I mean, this has been a huge thing on my “when I’m rich” to do list ever since I found out slavery is still a very real problem in a lot of places. But the fact that Thomas Jefferson thought it’d just be fine to buy slaves and own them in a moral way has been interpreted as extremely offensive at this point.

But children, if you literally have the rights to own them, is totally cool you guys. Totally. I mean it should just be generally understood by now that owning another human is wrong, even if it isn’t for profit. And parenthood, for the most part, is ownership of a child. And it’s straight up the same thing as 1850s marriages. I’ve seen a lot of people say they don’t know anyone who wasn’t spanked or beaten as a child, and frankly I only know a couple people who weren’t abused, and even they seem to have taken some issue with the fact that their parents had a right to them as people. It’s cruel because you are blatantly saying “I have more power legally, politically, socially, and economically than you, I control all of your finances, I have been assigned with the duty to care for you and make sure you own up to your responsibilities, I pretty much own you in terms of legality and society, you have no means of leaving this house unless I force you out, and also I’m not only allowed to but ENCOURAGED to punish you in whatever means possible. Pretty much the only thing I’m not allowed to do without social judgement is sexually abuse you, and even then people either won’t believe you or they’ll think we’re from Alabama and we’re just like that. And if you want to leave, you’ll have to call this organization that is just famous for putting you in an even worse household, and they’ll probably just call me to tell me what you said behind my back and then ditch.” That entire situation sounds like a horror novel to an adult, and we are rooting for the adult to escape. But for a child it’s perfectly fine to us.

So is there a method of changing this? In my opinion yes, but it is much more radical than anyone would like. I think children should be able to leave their parents and find other parents or enter contracts with older children to live with them temporarily or permanently. I think all children should be given financial independence and a salary for going to school, one that mostly is earned through attendance and participation, but could be raised slightly with the right grades. I think at teenage years, maybe 14, people should be given the right to vote, because if the government is so much more active in childrens lives than adult lives, through schooling, parenthood, and mental hospitals, then why do children not get a say in that? The founding fathers believed that people without property shouldn’t vote because they might be biased and vote for whomever will provide them property, and their vote might come out of greed. Adults use the same logic to prevent children from voting, saying they’ll vote for someone who will limit school work, but honestly that’s a very necessary action. We need to cut down on school hours, because 40 hours a week has been proven to be stressful to adults and much more stressful to children, and we need to add those hours to summer, creating 2 week breaks 4 times a year rather than having 3 months that make summer famous for unlearning your entire last school year. We need to have teachers check in with parents regularly to make sure that the children are safe and well cared for, and check in with students to make sure they feel comfortable. We need to fund CPS and create radical reforms to it, I mean don’t get me started with that because I’ve already written an essay for this ask alone. We need to make sure that educating children on abuse and sex is required all across the country, and that we start at younger levels like second grade with some not very emotionally taxing or explicit knowledge of sex or abuse, and then we do another more involved abuse education in maybe seventh grade, and tenth grade. We need rehabilitation for abusers, and therapy for victims if they want it. I’m big on prison abolitionism in favor of restorative/transformative justice combined with rehabilitation, because the current system sends parents into a justice system that ultimately traumatizes people who were already likely abused as a child considering the cycle of abuse, and then sends them back into the world. I don’t think anyone has to take pity for them, abusers are not good people, but prison does not work.

And a big part of this involves abolishing capitalism. personally don’t believe in capitalism, socialism, communism, or anarchism at the moment. I’m still sort of deciding, but I’ve been mostly interested in crafting my own version of all four. I think different sections of the government should incorporate each one, but the system will only fail if you have just one system and no others. In my opinion, whatever system there is, wealth should exist, but there should be a limit to the wealth you can have. You should not be able to own more than five houses, I hope this isn’t too radical for the multibillionaires. There should be a limit to your wealth, but there should also never be such thing as a “living wage.” People should not have to pay to exist, that is cruel and inhumane. College, healthcare, housing, healthy food, basic internet (only because it’s basically a necessity at this point, most people are starting to look for jobs online so how is a person going to survive without this, I mean it’s basically god at this point), and accomodations for disabilities should all be provided for free. Money should only be used for things like pools and going on a hiking trip with a professional Grand Canyon guide. Idk I can’t think of anything right now but stuff that isn’t required just to get someplace in this society. The reason for all this being that the biggest link to abuse is struggling with money. I have seen people, like with my own eyes, being verbally belittled by a parent for not being able to renovate an apartment well enough to rent it out up to the parent’s standards, because they were constantly struggling with money. That family would constantly have fights because the parent would take out financial shit at their children, or have an awful day at their job that was an hour away and come home screaming about meaningless shit. And my own experiences of abuse almost entirely disappeared relatively when my family was able to afford mortgage and we no longer had to save up for my college tuition. Poverty and former trauma are the biggest causes of abuse and we need to address that through the destruction of capitalism.

But yeah I’m gonna let the other mod know to answer the other ask on this because my opinion might not represent them and I take some really radical stances on child rights activism. Thanks for the ask and I’m sorry for the essay!

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