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anika-ann · 19 days

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Back and Forth - part 6.1

Part 6 - Back-Up 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7500

Chapter summary: In which the rescue party arrives for you and Steve... and Steve reflects back to the time in captivity. With you.

Series masterlist

Warnings: mentions of sensory overload, mentions of mental health issues, canon-typical violence, blood, violent thoughts, mentions of death, mentions of pain and unhealthy relationship to pain, mentions of chronic pan and chronic illness, questionable medical procedures, feels, language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: To the surprise of no one but me, we're getting anotehr two-part chapter. Ah well.... we get Steve's POV in return! Enjoy ✨

Being overwhelmed was far from a foreign state to Steve Rogers.

In fact, given his history, he would have thought he had seen it nearly all – and not only seen.

Earning enhanced senses, after having lived for over two decades with his sight and hearing impaired due to a long list of illnesses, equalled sudden sharp clarity and cacophony of overwhelming noise of all colours, tastes and smells. As welcomed as the change had been, since his body was finally widely regarded as useful enough, the transformation came as a package deal with an occasional sensory overload even after all the years he had had to adjust.

Enhanced memory, too, came with a price; with a crushing amount of detail laced into heart-warming memories as well the terrifying and painful ones, trapping him in his mind at times, during daylight as much as during night-time when he had less control over his own thoughts.

Assuming the title and mantle of Captain America, be in the past century or in the new millennium, was tied to a whole another source of overload, both mental and physical.

So truly, Steve was rather used to being overwhelmed in various senses of the word, handling it better at certain times and worse at others.

And yet – the past few hours were overwhelming in an entirely new sense, indescribable and as corporal as intangible.

Perhaps it was you.

Perhaps it was him being back to a regular human, even if not quite.

Perhaps it was becoming part Inhuman.

Perhaps it was everything hitting him at once on whole new scale he was not used to.

His brain was in a hazy overdrive by now; a strange fog and clarity, thoughts crawling in and dragging painfully and at lightning speed at once. Onslaught of emotions. Body drained from fighting a non-existent gunshot wound as well as a real one, still processing what he had experienced – and what he had learned.

Steve tried to push it all away and think hard how to help instead,despite your agonized scream still echoing in his ears pilling misery on top of his own – but spite could only get him so far.

The rollercoaster of the past hours was taking a true toll on him; and it was almost ironic that while his body had partially regressed to one of a regular human, it was the emotional and mental load that seemed to drain him hundred times more severely than the physical exertion – and overwhelmingly indeed.

Steve wasn’t one to cut himself some slack often, but perhaps he deserved it this time. And perhaps he would grant himself the luxury – once this endless, horrible experience only fool might call an adventure was over.

Seconds had felt like hours. Hours had felt like days. And every soul on Earth had better believe that Steve had been counting, trying to scramble for any resemblance of control, even as he had none.

Counting seconds, in thousands, hoping you hadn’t been taken too; then, that if you had been taken, that you were close to him somewhere. Then, praying that you were at least still alive, anywhere.

Yet, to have his second and third wish fulfilled brought no real joy and only a speckle of relief, because he had been taking stock; and while he knew you were nearby, he had no idea where you two actually were.

What he had known for quite a while was that something was wrong. He had known the moment when he first woken up, tied and chained – but that wasn’t exactly a new, let alone useful piece of information.

Helplessness and uncharacteristic weakness were everything but a good feeling too. Those didn’t look on anyone; but for a man of his past, feeling like having regressed to the weak body he used to own – and to have that happen in the least convenient moment possible, in the moment where he needed to be stronger than ever – forged the heaviest chain of all. One wrapped around his neck and tightening with every second ticking off.

And the crushing waves of emotion wouldn’t cease coming. Not to you; clearly, understandably.

And most definitely not to him.

Your panicked frustrated voice when you couldn’t project, cutting right through anger and frustration he himself felt but for entirely different reasons. A creeping suspicion he didn't dare to speak of, even as ‘impossible’ was a word Steve barely bothered to keep in his vernacular these days.

Then, your shared shock when the impossible turned out to be true; the briefest feeling of belonging and connection. He gripped onto that and used that to stomp on his doubts, anger and fears – because he had to. For your benefit. For the benefit of you both.

He slipped into the role of a leader because you deserved that.

You needed reassurance and guidance so you could rediscover that incredibly brave and capable person he knew; only to have the rug pulled right under your feet as soon as you found your footing, sending you literally to the ground – and sending Steve down a rapid spiral of chocking panic when he heard not one but two gunshots from your cell.

A heavy thud.

Complete, terrifying silence, interrupted only by his own deafeningly pounding heart before he managed to find his voice at least to defend you with words.

If there was anything to defend still.

The confident leader façade he had put on despite feeling lost cracked like an empty eggshell. A suffocating weight found seat on his chest instead, rage smouldering. His own thundering shouts contrasted starkly to the silent promise he made, to whoever was able to listen – that if Hydra had--- if you were-- he'd tear them apart with his bare fucking hands and it didn’t matter he couldn’t do that now, even if the fire in his veins burned all the hotter for that. He couldn’t do a single damn thing; trapped like a pathetic little human quivering and jerking his body in laughable attempt to free himself from bounds some cruel god had trapped him in.

He barely felt the jolt of sharp pain aside from the initial tug, as something in his shoulder snapped along with one of the many chains, but he did feel a stab of that pain with every other yank, exhausting and fuelling him at once.

You still made no sound; no scream, no whimper, nothing to latch his hopes onto. Had he had the capacity, he would blame the burning of tears in his eyes on the physical pain as not to let Hydra see he cared.

But he was beyond that. That was the damn least important of his problems at the moment. You were at the forefront and if he had thought seconds had felt like hours before, they felt like days at that moment.

And you were still silent.

Steve way beyond caring what information regarding his rather complicated relationship to you he’d give away. But he wasn’t above begging. Not when it was his responsibility to protect. To save. Not when it was you. Not when he hadn’t even had the chance to-

Please.

The suffocating relief at hearing your voice diluted his panic a fraction, but only accentuated the utter helplessness of his position; his hands literally tied, while you were stuck hanging with your life on a thread and having to help yourself, just so you wouldn’t bleed out in a cell right next to him.

God, the love and hate he had for your spite, for all the fight left in you, even if directed against him as you verbally snapped back. Fuck, so be it, he thought, even as his voice didn’t listen to him at all, barking orders he had wished he could have executed himself. So be it, just hold onto that fight in you.

And then, the most heartbreaking crack in your voice when you begged him.

Begged him not to make you do what you had to in order to survive.

You couldn’t have had the slightest clue about the firm grip you took on his heart that moment, how hard you squeezed and how violently you tugged – and it wasn't important. Nor was Steve’s acute need to grab you, hold you tight and somehow save you, sweep you away, to do the impossible task for you, to take away even the littlest fraction of your burden, somehow.

Projecting to you, as surreal as it was, was ironically the first thing that felt right in the past hours; even as the image of you, frail despite having just proven immense strength, was all kinds of wrong.

Steve hated fighting with you but seeing you there in a pool of blood, he would have taken hundreds of fights. It was almost funny that you hadn’t fought him about going to the gala, only protested in front of Tony – because Steve would love to take on that fight now, travel back in time and for all the sweet moments of holding you and talking to you, he'd let you win that fight and would have never gone to that damn place. Not if this was the outcome. The gorgeous image you had been only few hours prior kept flickering in Steve’s mind like a firefly teasing him to follow, to try to catch it, only for its light to die out and show dark crimson soaking the remnants of your dress instead.

The reason for trying his hardest to be soft when he treated you wasn’t guilt, even as he knew that this, all this wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for him and it laid heavy on his conscience.

He'd treat you with utmost care possible in the conditions anyway; but his conscience made for his shaky hands. His conscience and the sight of you so ashen, a ghost of the stunning woman he had shared a dance with, the stubborn brave woman he worked with. He hoped his damnest that you didn't notice the tremble: he couldn’t afford that. You needed his support. You needed a rock to lean your weight onto even as he felt like a pebble that would fall apart to sand if someone squeezed it in their palm.

And he was so damn proud of what you had accomplished – proud and relieved – his respect for you growing tenfold. Grateful when you brushed over the slip of his tongue, smiling even, showing your humour even when he had let the endearments slip from his lips.

The tug on his heart at that was gentler this time, but no less insistent. The sheer trust in your eyes, the careful nuzzle into his touch when he crossed ever boundary possible because he needed to touch you, was a balm to his soul and acid at once, because maybe this was the only moment he’d get to touch you like this. Maybe that effort was fruitless and you two wouldn’t make it out. Maybe you would, but you’d quit, rushing back to Coulson’s team. Maybe you’d stay, but the wall that seemed to always be between you, preventing you from understanding each other, from listening, from growing closer, would only grow higher.

And yet; Steve revelled at the brief sensations, because he viscerally needed to feel that you were still there, not slipping away.

And then you did.

And so did he, the gaping hole in his chest burning and suffocating even as his flesh seemed unharmed, even if within seconds, his arm wasn't.

Bewilderment. Pain. And then that goddamn hope that this was just him – this was him feeling the pain, a little extra revenge from the artifact that had switched your powers for the effects of his serum. The faint hope slowly cracking as his mind filled with images of you wincing, hunching, grimacing in moments when you had probably thought no one was looking, barely visible but always there after having been hurt in your spectral form.

Then, all worry and wondering briefly forgotten as he preened, bewildered all over again but no less pleased of how high you regarded him, much higher than he deserved and certainly higher than he had ever thought. The threads of connection to you he had felt before solidifying and hardening in a difficult moment.

Understanding, a warm one – and then another, ice cold, turning below freezing. Your barely audible voice responding to questions charged with emotions Steve could barely contain with a battle raging within him. Because you had kept a painful secret. More than one.

Not where I come from.

Determination.

Admiration.

Compassion and affectionate sense of belonging, born anew; the understanding of one achy heart of another.

A promise he wasn’t sure he'd be able to keep when they barged into his cell and yours – and made him slip back into desperation and rage and self-hatred for his inability to project again and protect at least if not save. Steve hated himself for the swirl of pride in his chest when you refused to give up, trying to stall, to make them talk... until you couldn’t be brave anymore. Until you were begging him to stop trying to help, scared for yourself no doubt; but the fear for him, the stubborn conviction that it was your duty to protect the paradigm of perfection and virtue with speckless of recklessness and stubbornness you apparently thought he was, dripped from your quiet breathy voice.

A breathless I'm sorry, Steve, tearing a fresh gaping hole of panic in Steve’s stomach at the resignation in your voice speaking so painstakingly clearly of how you thought these were your final words to him.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Fuck everything.

Not in this damn life, not on his damn watch.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to goddamn at least try to block the pulsing pain and project again, heedless of your request, not caring if it tempted the Hydra agents in his cell to shoot him again – because there no universe in which he'd just stare into Hydra’s face and listened to your end and did nothing.

And then, at least, overwhelming relief flooding his veins; faster than his actual thoughts, since he was at his wits end.

The realization that it wasabout to be over was dull and intense, sudden as much as unexpected.

He registered the ground shaking under his feet barely seconds before two Avengers blasted through the door of his cell, only having just connected the dots as to what a sudden earthquake could mean besides a movement of tectonic plates.

Agent Daisy Johnson. Quake. The Inhuman with ability to feel and control vibrations, natural frequency of particles in every living and non-living thing. It flashed through Steve mind like a lightning; he hoped she’d quake Hydra agents’ bones apart.

But she wasn’t the one to appear in front of him as the sounds of repulsors hit his ears instead, a deadly shadow of enraged Winter Soldier knocking the two Hydra agents down as they still clutched on their fresh wounds caused by the Ironman himself.

Steve had never been so relieved to see a man in a metallic suit to leisurely walk into the room, his mask clicking open as the dust settled, revealing a half-smile, half-smirk.

The pressure in Steve’s chest, however, barely eased. Sharp pain still radiated from his non-existent and yet very real gunshot wound, as well as the one on his arm, and from the shoulder he had likely dislocated during his most intense fight against the maddeningly unyielding chains; his ribcage felt all the tighter not only for all that, but for the lingering anger and feeling of utter helplessness as he had been stuck and stunned while you had been tortured in ways he didn’t want to imagine but would haunt his nightmares anyway.

It crashed into his mind anew even as it had never left, a wake-up call snapping his from his haze.

Steve was overwhelmed to death and tired just as much, but it was still nothing compared to how injured you were.

And that was why the first thing he choked out through the tightness in his chest and throat, gaze burning into Tony’s irritatingly calm face was:

“She needs immediate med evac!”

“Hello to you too,” Tony hummed with what almost seemed as amusement, eyeing the chains with raised brows, and made his way to him.

Series of cries and crashes sounded from behind the wall, making Steve wince, head snapping the direction just as the ground shook again, a thud and something that distinctly sounded like breaking of a bone amplified tenfold causing his heart to stumble in his chest in fear. He knew sounds of a fight when he heard it; and while he knew that was a good thing – the recue party being able to what you couldn’t at the moment, exactly what he had wished for barely five seconds ago – it didn’t mean his body wasn’t vibrating with need to move to join that very fight.

And Tony was still walking to him calmly, without care in the world but seemingly with all the time there was in it, as if you hadn’t been shot twice, bleeding out, the only thing disturbing Tony from his walk of fame being a stray bullet from a Hydra agent who got punched to his face for the trouble, and that was distinctly your voice whimpering and Tony was just-

Steve yanked at the cuffs stubbornly, gritting his teeth when the action made his shoulder throb, little spots dancing at the edge of his vision – fresh wave of dread and rage pooled in his gut and made his vision laser sharp, much like his voice.

“Goddammit Tony, I’m serious! She’s-”

“We know Steve,” Bucky said evenly, worried gaze trailing over Steve’s body as he himself was twisting one of the goon’s arm behind his back in what Steve knew was a very painful angle. Good, he thought fleetingly, these bastards deserved to suffer. “Johnson managed to hack the cameras with Friday’s help as soon as we located you. The emergency team is ready...”

Almost pointed brief silence followed Bucky’s words, the noise of battle dying out, followed by gentler sounds; shuffling, gasps, voices speaking quietly; worried and disturbed, but firm.

Bucky smiled a bit. “And I'm sure Spectre’s getting medical attention as we speak.”

Steve’s eyes slipped shut as he took a wavering, agonized breath as his own wound cried for attention – but the violence in him, having been brewing for hours now, didn’t subdue. Your screams still echoed in his skull, even with his momentary memory working as one of an almost ordinary human.

He’d never forget that sound – not when you screamed the first time when they had shot you. Not when you screamed just a few moments ago when they had done god-only-knows-what to bring you more pain.

He felt the curse roll off his tongue, acute desire to swear on Bucky and Tony and others for having wasted time hacking secured feed and watching as the wicked voices from behind the wall hurt you more, instead of rushing to the rescue faster – but in the back of his mind, he knew all too well they had done their best. Because they always did – especiallywhen not one, but two of them had fallen into Hydra’s clutches.

Steve knew that; but a lot of good that had done, hadn’t it?

Couldn’t they have just— if they had only arrived at least a few moments earlier, flown in faster, infiltrated the base more effectively, if Steve had pulled harder, if he had been able to focus a little further and project again, shield you, because apparently, he wasn’t about to bleed out or suffocate upon being shot to his damn chest in the spectral form even if it felt that way-- and had he had set himself on the death road by catching another, very real bullet, it wouldn’t have mattered because at least he’d be able to do something, goddammit, instead of being a sitting goddamn duck.

“Didn’t anyone tell you sleeveless shirts got out of fashion and were never actually fashionable, Cap?” Tony noted, seemingly unbothered and completely blind and deaf to Steve’s inner turmoil.

As Steve snapped his eyes open and shot him a murderous glare, he saw a flash of worry and anger in his friend’s face.

Distantly, Steve remembered that this was how Tony coped when he was overwhelmed himself.

Responding would have been a waste of breath and would have blocked the precious noise from behind the wall, telling Steve that you were indeed being taken care of, probably having already carried away while others took care of Doctor Barret and other excuses for human beings that had been in the cell with you.

You were being treated. You had the serum – or some version of it anyway. You’d be fine.

Even as ‘fine’ was the last word he’d use to describe the utter shitshow that had taken place in this base. Nothing about what had happened here was fine, even as there were fractions of it that Steve would now always cherish; too bad they were overweighted by the ton of things he’d rather never think of again but stuck to his memories like molasses to his fingers.

The pain from your spectral wounds lingered? You had always felt like this, even if no one could see a scratch? Could you still feel the wound from two weeks ago when you had been retrieving the data Hydra had planted now, as you had two actual gunshot wounds to your thighs, so poorly taken care of, wrapped in the missing sleeves Tony was mocking? Was it like that? As if it wasn’t enough that blood was no doubt seeping through the fabric still, and maybe they had pushed against those, poking-

Jesus Christ.

“This might hurt a bit,” Tony warned him, kneeling next to him and frowning at the chains again, clearly wondering about the safest and fastest way to remove them.

Steve automatically sighed a thank you as Tony’s metal-clad hands moved to break the metal with sheer strength, before Steve turned his gaze to Bucky again, the question nudging insistently on his brain; a phantom image of you, dressed in what had been a breathtaking gown soaked in blood, torn and dusty, pristine white cloth coloured crimson around your thighs, face distorted in agony even when he had tried his best to work in the gentlest way possible. God, the undiluted innocent trust in your eyes-

“How long you’ve been watching? What did they— they hurt her further. How?”

Bucky met Steve’s intense gaze, his own disapproving and resigned at once – a silent conversation not longer than two second took place. Bucky clearly didn’t want Steve to know, aware it would only twist the figurative knife in his gut, the knowledge of whatever had happened in the other room torturing him, feeding his blame for simply having sat there while you had suffered.

He was right. But Bucky was just as well-aware of the fact Steve would find out anyway; hell, Bucky probably thought Steve would watch the footage just to learn.

And he was damn right.

So he came to the correct conclusion that it was better to just tell. And Steve was grateful, even as he braced himself for a figurative punch to his stomach.

“Long enough to know not to mess with the artifact. Johson cursed like a sailor when she saw it,” Bucky said slowly, pausing as he cuffed the other Hydra agent. Steve’s eyes kept burning a hole into his head as Bucky glanced at him again, no doubt hoping Steve would change his mind. Vainly – but he hadn’t expected as much. His weary sigh told Steve that. “They restrained her so she couldn’t escape the touch of the artifact, even though they never got to that part. They forced her on her knees. She had to put her weight on her legs-“

Steve gritted his teeth as inferno of pure fury exploded inside him, flooding his strained muscles with power; his hands curled into fists, his left hand, still trapped, breaking the last remaining string on metal on him with ease when he pushed his whole body into a single tug.

He was going to smash their faces.

He was going to break every little bone in the sleazy Hydra bastard who sounded like he was revelling in your cries and he was going to enjoy it-

“Cool it, Rambo,” Tony said flatly, the thinnest thread of satisfaction lacing his voice nevertheless. “We get it, you’re mad as hell, but we need to take care of you too. You can go all John Wick on them later. You don’t have your usual strength, you’ve been shot, have about a thousand cuts, those shoulders of yours don’t look as hot as usual either and you breathe like you have at least five broken ribs,” he listed, surprisingly accurate. Not that Steve cared. He didn’t need to be enhanced nor in full strength to release the violence he was now brimming with; he had seen ordinary humans commit unspeakable crimes with their bare hands. He could do the same if he pleased. And it would – please him, that was. They had hurt you; and then they hurt you further, just because they could, when you couldn’t even defend yourself, when he was right fucking there- “Come on, Cap. Let’s leave this shitshow behind.”

Two of Coulson’s agents whom Steve vaguely recalled by name – Agent Mackenzie and Agent May – strode in, taking the two Hydra agents off Bucky’s hands. Bucky was by Steve’s side in a blink of an eye, helping him up; it honestly surprised Steve how much he had to appreciate that, his legs wobbly, the world a little hazy at the edges of his vision causing him to grip on Bucky’s arm, the pressure transferring to the centre of Steve’s chest and causing him to wheeze silently at the fresh burst of pain.

Okay, shit, maybe giving Hydra hell could be postponed a bit-

“Easy, pal. You’ll be okay, but you really look like hell now,” Bucky said, Steve involuntarily proving his point when his left knee gave out momentarily, the only thing saving him from falling being Tony’s swift reaction as he supported him from other side. When had he got so light-headed? “Yeah okay, maybe walking isn’t the best idea-“

“I’m fine.”

He was. Definitely in an infinitely better state than you.

“Sure you are, pal, and I’m the President-“

“Stark, don’t, the situation is horror-like enough as it is,” Bucky huffed, helping Steve hobble. “You stumble again, I’m carrying you bridal style, punk. Then we figure out how to reverse the effect of that damn thing and-“

“No!” Steve cried out on instinct, energized at once – and earning glances shocked enough to elaborate. “I mean… there’s enough time for that. I’m… not fine, but I’m alright enough. We need to make sure the change is safe first. We… we don’t know how exactly it works. And trial and error is not an option.”

It was not. There was no chance in hell Steve was going to test whether you’d be able to hold on without the serum with the injuries you had even in a controlled medical environment, and that was just one of his concerns. There were several others.

Where Tony was satisfied with his explanation, Bucky’s gaze lingered on him, a silent question he didn’t have to voice, because he already knew the answer; a fond and exasperated faint smile formed on his face.

You want the healing factor to do its work before you switch it again, don’t you?

Damn right Steve wanted that.

His feet might feel heavy, blood-flow restoring only now as he had moved the stiff muscle, but his brain was still working – and there was no way he’d touch that damn artifact with a ten-feet pole until he knew you were stabilized at least. Preferably later, because God knew Bucky was right; Steve might be aching all over, but you most definitely needed his healing factor a lot more at the moment.

And if there was the slightest chance that artifact might mess with either of you and your powers further, that was just more reason – one Steve would gladly share and point out at the reason – to wait.

The switch would be attempted – for sure.

The chance was probably never going to be a clean zero and the mere idea of staying this way – without an essential part of him, the part of him that enabled him to fight for what he believed in – was paralysing, no matter that he would have had a different and very useful power in return. He imagined that beside the healing factor which you could immensely benefit from, you might appreciate the other quirks too, but would prefer having your powers back still. Even as you were an excellent fighter and could hold your own more than well, with your true power, one that had nothing to do with mutations, being in your mind and heart. But your Inhuman power was a part of you as much as the serum was part of him.

The switch would be attempted – but in the right time.Steve was not going to take another risk, nor approve of anyone else taking it. But for sure - both of you would definitely welcome the return to the norm; at least where abilities were concerned.

If you’d revert to your old ways in your interaction as well remained to be seen – but unlike with the power switch, no amount of prior research or stalling would help Steve predict the outcome.

“Is Agent Campbell with you?” Steve panted, forcing himself to stay focused on the puzzle he could actually help solving. “He’s-“

“-not, he’s already diving into archives and all the retrieved records from the cute little cult-like community of Inhumans they had, researching the artifact,” Tony interjected, a brief smirk audible in his voice. “If anyone can make sense of Jiaying’s notes, it’s him. We know. We might not have not had our head strategist but we can do okay when it comes to it, Cap.”

A tired smile curled Steve’s lips upward.

“Thank you. I know you’re just fine without me,” Steve noted, smile slowly slipping when he remembered another piece of intel they needed to explore. “Can you-- we need to check up on Spectre’s mother.”

Bucky frowned at him in confusion. “They took her too? No other prisoner has been reported in this facility yet.”

Stev took a wavering breath as they exited the building, fresh air feeling like heaven despite the burning in his lungs – and the sight of multiple quinjets as well – and only then explained.

“Not sure. They just mentioned her in passing. Could be that she’s working with them. Could be they used her Inhumans research. Could be she’s in danger or hurt. I’m not sure, maybe they just mentioned her to get a rise out of Spectre. Either way, we need to know.”

“We’ll get right on that, pal,” Bucky assured him, grabbing his arm firmer to help him hop on the jet. “Now let’s get you home.”

A whole medical team was on Steve the second he stepped into the plane. However, as Tony started the quinjet, the ramp rising however, Steve was deaf to the questions asked; something much more important caught his attention.

One of Tony’s brilliant inventions, a modification of his suits, a stretcher designed for the field where wheels were a real inconvenience.

Two field medics; and you.

He only got a glimpse as the group headed towards the quinjet, but he had seen enough.

Unconscious. Ashen. Bloodied. Improvised bandages soaked through with crimson as you had been apparently forced to your knees. Remnants of your beautiful evening gown, one that made his heart beat its way out of his chest and sear, a precious sight to behold, a memory to cherish; the sight and all other senses full of you as you had smiled mildly, as you chuckled, as he held you in his arms, having moved almost effortlessly across the dancefloor.

And this was the price you paid; your punishment for Steve’s and others’ insistence that it would be fine to go to the auction.

God, he was such an idiot.

Arrogant idiot who had thought that if something had gone awry a bit, he’d handle it, especially with you by his side. He had seen the golden opportunity to apologize, to smoothen the rough relationship between you two at least a bit, to make a nice memory with you, so desperate to take a chance to show himself in a better light that for once he hadn’t minded Tony meddling.

This was Steve’s punishment for that arrogance and focusing on his own agenda; and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, because you were taking the brunt of the impact of the consequences of his actions – and the lack of it. You were paying the price for his irresponsibility, for his incompetence.

God, how he wished he could turn the clock back.

Like so many times before.

He was sure his lips were moving, automatically responding to the questions of the meticulous medical team eventually. But that image of you remained in his mind, even when he closed his eyes, hazy due to pain medication he didn’t remember receiving.

The fact that it had done nothing to relieve the pain from the wound he had suffered when in his spectral form only made his stomach turn further.

Your pain lingered. And unless his brain was more messed up than he had thought, not only that your pain lingered for days, weeks even, but you also had no relief for it.

Steve just wanted to scream and punch and tear something apart.

“You won’t believe me, but it needs to be said,” a mild voice sounded next to him, causing his eyes to snap open in fright; he hadn’t noticed people moving around. Hadn’t noticed another of his friends arriving. Did you have someone close nearby? They might be operating on you already, despite the risks, so probably not. “Steve, look at me.”

It was hard to resist Natasha’s gentle command, but Steve had been through a lot harder trials today. Yesterday? Both? It had been light outside…

He kept staring ahead, her face, the flash of red hair, appearing on his vision even as his gaze wouldn’t focus on her.

He knew what she was going to say. It was clear as day – and she was right about one thing. He wouldn’t believe her. He couldn’t.

“This isn’t your fault.”

If Steve’s chest didn’t hurt so much and if he wasn’t trying to pretend like he was listening, he’d scoff.

“Listen to the lady, punk,” Bucky added. “She knows her shit. We all… pushed you a little bit to go. No one could have known.”

“We should have.” I should have.

Both of his friends’ faces came into focus as Steve spoke up, uncannily similar concerned expression on their features.

“Maybe. But we can’t change that now – and you know I hate trying to look at the bright side of things just to cover up for the hard dark facts, but we did discover a large base of operations and eliminated it thanks to you two,” Natasha noted and Steve gritted his teeth as he inhaled sharply, his lungs crying out in consequence. “That might have not been the plan, but it still counts. What you two have been through there – and we don’t know half of it, I’m sure – wasn’t for nothing.”

Steve gulped, averting her gaze. He couldn’t say she didn’t have valid arguments; there were good things that came out it indeed, the truth about how your powers worked among them, because at least now Steve would be able to take that into account after you hopefully managed to switch powers back. But that didn’t mean the horrible experience was lessened for it.

It didn’t mean it had been worth it.

“And you did a damn good job patching her up in that situation,” Bucky argued further, only making Steve’s stomach churn. Because that wasn’t true. He hadn’t been fast enough. You did the hardest work. You- “We know enough to understand you managed to project? I mean-“

“She dug out the bullets herself,” Steve said dully, despite the images his mind had conjured about that flaring up inside his head again being impossibly vivid and nauseating.

Bucky’s voice fell silent and Steve took satisfaction – a sick one, one knew – in the horror casting shadows over both Natasha’s and Bucky faces. Good. He needed them to understand. He needed them to understand that despite the state they found you in – precisely for that, perhaps – you were a goddamn fighter.

And he had failed you.

“She dug out the bullets herself while coaching me through projecting to the hallway so we could get out. Only when that didn’t work, I projected to her and found her barely conscious, but with two damn bullets out and her hands and legs soaking in her own blood. Don’t tell me-“

“She’s one tough agent, Steve, we get the message,” Natasha interrupted his sombre speech flatly, face strict when he snapped his gaze to her; but her voice still spoke of warmth. “We know that and my respect to her only grows with every mission, but that doesn’t diminish your merit. Controlling a power which you had an entirety of few hours – of which most you spent unconscious, I assume – enough to get to her, taking care of her after that, was still hard work. You were both without your usual powers. Clearly, you both pushed beyond your limits. And survived, thanks to each other. But you alone did a good job.”

Steve averted her gaze, his face and the burn of angry exhausted tears probably saying it all: Did I?

I did nothing.

I didn’t do enough.

When she said it like that, it sounded like he had managed quite the feat, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It still felt like a failure on his part; but God, was she right when she said you had outdone yourself, fighting tooth and nail and pushing yourself to do the unthinkable and succeeding.

Steve cleared his throat, hoping to swallow the lump having grown there.

“How did you find us?” he asked, aware his friends would recognize that as clear evasion of digging deeper into the topic.

And hopefully, they’d take it.

Even with that sigh on their part.

The corners of Steve’s lips twitched up a bit at the ridiculously coordinated sound of exasperation and exhaustion from Bucky and Natasha; they were good for each other. Absurdly so.

“Barret was on the shortlist of my suspects,” Natasha explained simply. “For all the sophisticated manipulations and tricks, trying to get our scientists do their dirty work, no one thought of the possibility of us tracking him once we knew he could be the mole.”

“Cocky bastards,” Bucky hummed. “Luckily.”

Steve couldn’t but agree; he might have been pissed at the universe for the team not having appeared earlier, but he didn’t want to imagine what they would have found had they come later.

“How did Coulson’s team get involved?”

Bucky’s sudden grin seemed out of place, but warmed Steve’s heart anyway.

“You’ll like this one. Johnson was keeping tabs on the mission – the gala, that is. She actually recovered a draft of Spectre’s message about the artifact as soon as she found out about the ambush, came barging into the Tower with a few friends at her heels. She still had a cut on her forehead from their own mission. Speaking of tough women…”

Natasha smirked; and Steve’s smile widened, the sign of joy feeling genuine for the first time.

You did have someone by your bedside, even as most of your current team fussed over him, maybe even for that exact reason. Coulson’s team – your friends – were in your corner. Likely in every sense of the world. Good.

His stomach dropped to his feet only when the idea occurred to him that it might be enough for you to draw you back to Coulson. Away from the Avengers. Him included.

Gritting his teeth, he forbade himself to worry about that now. Even if that was the case, he would have to accept it; he’d have to be happy for you. He’d have to. He wouldn’t have a word to say against that decision. He hadn’t exactly done the stellar job of making you feel welcome, and as for keeping you safe-

“That’s good,” Steve said weakly at least, stomping on the unpleasant thoughts, latching onto the bright side – if it wasn’t for Agent Johnson, the rescue party could have been smaller. And slower. He was beyond grateful for the friends you had. “She’s a good friend… and I hope she’s been treated by now?”

“She was. As much as was possible during the flight anyway. And she does seem like a good friend... one who drives Tony crazy.”

Steve couldn’t but grin at Natasha’s sidenote, especially since he heard someone approaching from behind, probably the man in question himself. “Even better.”

“I heard that, Cap! How’s he doing, doc?”

Doctor Shaw glanced at Steve briefly, waiting for his approval, before he secured another butterfly band-aid over the cut on his forearm. Steve just nodded.

“Well, I’ll be able to tell more once we’re at the Tower, but for now, I’m confident enough to say that the patient will eventually make a full recovery.”

“Especially after he gets his mojo back, right?” Tony added, earning a slightly amused raised brow from the man.

“If you are referring to regaining the effects of the serum, particularly the increased accelerated healing factor, then yes, Mr. Stark. I’m hopeful.”

“There’s no rush with that-“ Steve protested instinctively, only for Natasha to carefully wrap her fingers around his left wrist – the least injured non-intimate part of a body she could find.

“We’ll figure it out, Steve. Together.”

And she’ll be fine too, the look in her eyes said, causing Steve’s shoulders to slump and making him internally wince in pain.

“Alright, Captain Rogers. Are you comfortable with me reporting-“

“Yes, Doctor Shaw. Proceed,” Steve said before the doctor could finish asking about sharing his medical information with three other people present, causing the man to smile briefly.

“Right. Your dislocated shoulder is stabilized for now, as is the gunshot wound. I would advise rest, bedrest preferably, and I’d recommend you to respect it this time as the effects of the serum, particularly the healing factor, do not seem to be present.”

Steve pointedly ignored the two piercing gazes and one snort from his friends at the note about him respecting doctor’s orders. He did respect all medical personnel immensely, both as people and professionals – there were simply times at which he couldn’t entirely follow their recommendations.

Doctor Shaw cleared his throat before he continued.

“The cut on your forehead was minor, as the majority of the cuts on your arms, apart from three of them with about two stitches each, they should heal within a few days. We disinfected it thoroughly, but we will monitor the progress regularly, especially for signs of infection. Again, if you could limit straining your muscles by let’s say lifting heavy objects, it would certainly help. As for the injury under your eye and over your cheek, there is no fracture and the swelling is going to disperse within hours. Do expect a bruise, however. Again, my recommendation is to rest. And do not hesitate to report if you feel that you should receive a higher dose of pain medication – I admit we do have slight trouble calculating the dose as we are in the process of determining the metabolization of various medication in the current state of your body.”

He made another pause, frowning, first at his notes in the chart and then at Steve.

“Now, before I leave you to it, I detected no injuries to your ribs or sternum, no swelling or bruising or worse, yet you are clearly in pain, having difficulty breathing. We can talk about fresh higher dose of fentanyl once we get to the base to relieve you, but as of now, do you have any idea what could be the cause for-“

“I’m fine. It’s… my pain is about two on the scale-“ of three “of ten, the breathing it probably just the adrenalin still wearing off. That is possible, no?” Steve suggested, hoping his lie sounded at least a fraction more convincing to the doctor and his friends than to himself.

Now that the pain from other injuries subdued, it felt like someone was drilling a hole not his chest and then poked around once he broke through the bone to the insides; or as if someone shot him. But he couldn’t say that without casting suspicion on you. He couldn’t do that until he had a plan of approaching the issue, preferably with you even if he felt like benching you forever for the stunt you had been pulling at him and the whole team – and possibly you previous team. What were you even thinking?

The doctor eyed him curiously, but nodded at last, clearly satisfied for the moment.

“I’m simply going to take some rest and then I’ll be as good as new,” Steve added, an innocent – but honestly grateful to all the care the medical provided – smile on his lips.

He would swear Bucky mumbled ‘little shit’ under his breath. Doctor Shaw dared to raise a questioning eyebrow, clearly seeing Steve was trying to butter him up, but didn’t protest and took his leave.

Steve felt three slightly suspicious glares remain, but no one asked. For now.

They were about to land anyway.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Sorry it took so long, loves, life - eh🥲

As always, any feedback and thoughts shared are insanely appreciated 💗

I hope April has been treating you well - and if not, it's about to change 💕

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x you #captan america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #agent reader #shield agens reader #avenger reader #inhuman reader #anika ann #back and forth

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dailyhistoryposts · 2 years

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Common Cognitive Biases in Propaganda

Successful propaganda relies on a few logical and psychological tricks. They can never be completely overcome, but being aware of them in yourself can help you realize when you are being manipulated.

A cognitive bias is a pattern of thought that leads to irrational judgement. There are many, many biases. Here are a few of the most common ones.

Apophenia: perceiving connections that don't exist. This could be overemphasizing a small sample size or a single story over large amounts of data of perceiving a relationship between unrelated events. Check out these Spurious Correlations! You may have fallen victim to apophenia in the gambler's fallacy--feeling confident that a commonly occurring event will occur less commonly in the future.

Availability bias: overestimating the chance something will occur because its easily available to your memory. This might include anthropomorphism--thinking about non-human things through a lens of human actions, the frequency illusion (when you buy a blue Honda, suddenly it seems like every car on the street is a blue Honda! In reality, you're just paying more attention). Survivorship bias (things that did not make it to the end are not included in the statistics).

Confirmation bias: THE BIG ONE. YES, YOU DO THIS ONE TOO. The tendency to seek out and more readily believe information that confirms rather than challenges your preexisting biases and preconceptions. A person presented with incontrovertible evidence they are wrong will often double down in support of the thing they were wrong about. Confirmation bias is one of the reasons the eyewitness testimony is actually not very reliable!

Extension neglect: the mathematical sin of ignoring the sample size. There is a mathematical way to determine if a group is able to generalize to the larger population, and some studies and many stories do not meet the threshold. A common way this manifests is by overestimating medical events. A medication doubling your risk of a side effect sounds scary, but not if your base rate was one-in-ten-million (now doubled to one-in-five-million). "One death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic" (the difficultly of judging large amounts of damage in proportion) is also a form of extension neglect.

Framing effect: Different ways to portray the same information can lead to different conclusions. Prefering default options over better changes, the tendency to spend more money in smaller amounts (like coins over bills), or viewing the benefits of something compared to a previous option instead of on its own merit.

Prospect theory: Problems in how we view future probabilities. This might include the sunk cost fallacy (not wanting to give up something bad because you've invested time or money into it), the psuedocertainty effect (being more likely to take risks to avoid negative outcomes than gain positive ones), and the tendency to prefer and actively defend the status quo even over change for the better.

Problems with self-assessment: People are very bad at self-assessment. Consider the Dunning-Kruger effect (unskilled people overestimate their ability, experts underestimate their ability), the illusion of explanatory depth (overestimating your knowledge of a subject). This also includes empathy gaps, places where empathy is reduced. For example, in the hot-cold empathy gap, people currently feeling strong drivers or emotions (hunger, madly in love, physical pain, extreme anger) have difficulty imagining not being in that state. People who are calm have difficulty imagining themselves subject to those drivers. So people in a 'hot' state act according to their drives and short-term goals, and people in a 'cold' state are unprepared for when they find those drives triggered.

Truthiness: Believing something because if feels true. People tend to believe things that are easier to understand or if they have been stated multiple times. Consider people deliberately going down TikTok algorithms--they start to agree with statements they were originally opposed to because they heard it so many times. People also are likely to believe things that can be distilled down into simple, easy to remember catchphrases, especially if they rhyme.

#propaganda #history #psychology #bias

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eldritchsurveys · 26 days

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1188.

Do you feel bored with your life? >> I do sometimes. It's a very samey and uneventful existence, which I don't always hate (and in some ways, it's necessary for me), but I have a strong desire for novelty that is very difficult to satisfy when I basically do the same shit every day and rarely leave the house to do anything that's not grocery shopping or otherwise a practical errand. Who's someone you miss that you haven't talked to in years? >> Steven from the Streetwork drop-in. :(

Do you miss anyone who was mean to you in the past? >> Sure, because nostalgia doesn't discriminate anywhere near as well as it should.

How do you feel right now? >> Bored -- not in the "I have nothing to do" way, in the "I don't want to do any of the limited amount of things I can do right now" way. Novelty-starved, understimulated. Do you have severe withdrawals from medications? .

What's the most weight you've ever gained from a medication? .

Do you have a doctor you can trust? >> I do not.

What's the stupidest decision you ever made? .

What's the best thing that ever happened to you? .

How old were you the first time you encountered God? >> I think I was in my mid-twenties by the time I started having divine dalliances.

Have you ever been filled with the Holy Spirit? >> Not the one you're thinking of. And not nearly in the way you're thinking of it, either.

Have you ever had an encounter with the supernatural? >> Sure.

How many tattoos do you have, and what are they of? >> Three. The number XIX with a spider dangling from the "I", a Mannaz rune, and "scully, it's me" in typewriter font.

How do you get through hard times? >> By whatever means is available to me. It's not like I have much of a choice unless I'm going to commit suicide. So technically, whatever I do during a hard time is getting me through, even if it's just laying there and waiting for said hard times to pass.

What's the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced? >> Menstrual cramps.

What's the worst level of emotional pain you've ever experienced? >> I have very few experiences with extreme physical pain, hence my ability to choose one for the previous question. But I have way too many experiences with extreme emotional pain, so ranking is not possible here.

Have you ever been suicidal? >> Frequently.

Do you pray? If yes, to whom? >> I do not.

Do you ever feel lost and alone? >> Sure.

What was the last thing that made you angry? >> Whatever it was, I've forgotten it.

Have you ever been the victim of a crime? >> I was mugged for a shitty broken iPod Touch once. I'm assuming the muggers went home with their dubious spoils, while I went back to the shelter. That part is the real crime, in my opinion.

Is your life worse than you could have ever have imagined it to be? or is it better, or just what you expected? >> I had no expectations in the first place.

Are you married? >> I am.

Are you hurting in any way right now? >> I am not. Not consciously/actively, that is. What are you wearing? >> Old Navy joggers, undershirt, Duff's hoodie.

What was the last good book you read about? >> The last book I read was I Am An Executioner: Love Stories by Rajesh Parameswaran, and I loved it. It's a short-story collection of unconventional love stories, which already would have been my jam, but I also love stories that are distinctly from the author's cultural perspective.

What was the last flavor of tea you drank? >> Harney & Sons' Black Cask Bourbon variety. It's a blend that most notably has lapsang souchong, my favourite.

Do you feel like youtube's gotten boring lately? >> Not at all. There are certainly a lot of videos in styles that don't interest me, about things that don't interest me. But there are also many videos that do interest me, and I know how to find them.

What would you change about your hair if you could? . Are you jealous of anyone? >> Sure, there are several pretty big things that a lot of people have and I don't. And plenty of little things, of course.

Do you have a secret? >> I don't think so.

If you could tell anyone a secret right now, who would it be? . Do you miss someone that you blew it with? >> I do, but I think "blowing it" with them was probably for the best anyway. Is there a guy (or girl) you wish you hadn't screwed things up with? >> This reads to me as the same as the last question.

What was the best date you've ever been on? .

What's the last great song you discovered? >> Well, the last song that I added to my Liked Songs was Che Sia Vita O Morte by Keygen Church.

Do you prefer color or black and white? >> I don't have a preference.

Do you own a thermometer? >> I do not.

Has facebook gotten boring lately? >> I never thought Facebook was interesting to begin with. More like a utility, to me, than a place to have fun.

Do you feel free to post how you feel on facebook? >> I don't post on Facebook.

Which stereotype do you fit the most? .

What is your favorite fast food restaurant? >> Popeye's.

What is the most beautiful landscape you have ever seen? .

What is one place you have always wanted to visit? .

What was your favorite vacation you went on as a child? .

Who were your favorite celebrities as a child? >> Jimmy Stewart, Matt Damon, David Duchovny. Celine Dion. What was the first CD you bought? .

How old are you? >> 36. What year were you born? >> I mean, do the math.

Did you go to prom? >> I did.

Are you jealous of people who are ten years younger? >> If there's one thing I'm never jealous of, it's people's ages.

If you could rewind time ten years, would you? >> Absolutely not. What do you miss the most about your past? >> I miss being less self-conscious. Less... aware. Of a lot of things.

What is the last song you played on repeat? .

Do you own a CD player? >> I do not.

What hard thing are you going through right now, if applicable? >> Oh, the usual... At what time of day do you usually feel the most energetic? >> It really just depends on how well I've slept, how regulated I am, etc. But assuming all those other pieces are in place, I generally feel the most energy in the midmorning hours.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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forcesung · 16 days

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Barriss was on her way to the medical ward when she passed a trooper standing in the hall outside the main operating theater. He didn’t seem to be doing anything other than simply standing there, staring at a blank wall. To the unaided eye, they all looked alike, but to one who was connected to the Force, this was not the case. She knew this one. He had been her patient. She stopped. "CT-Nine-one-four," she said. He looked at her. "Yes?" She could feel his question roiling in his mind, and she smiled. "You might all look alike, but you aren’t all the same. Your experiences shape you as much as your heritage. The Force can recognize this." He nodded. She regarded him. "You have no problems with your blood pressure," she said, and it was not a question-she knew it was true. "No. I feel fine-physically." "Why, then, are you here?" She felt rather than saw Jos Vondar emerge from the OT behind her, was aware of him listening. "I helped transport another trooper here yesterday. CT-Nine-one-five." "Ah. And how does he fare?" "I don’t know. He’s still in surgery." Jos drifted over. "Nine-one-five? He, ah, didn’t make it." The wave of grief that broke from CT-914 and washed over Barriss was sudden and strong. To look at his face, however, it was hardly apparent that he felt this deep emotional chord. He said, "Unfortunate. He was"-he hesitated, just a heartbeat or two, - "a good soldier. The loss of someone so well trained is... regrettable." Barriss could see that, even without the Force, Jos picked up on something either in CT-914’s tone of voice or his body language, as subtle as both were. He said, "You knew him?" "He was decanted just after me. We trained together, were posted here together, we were part of the same cohort." CT-914 hesitated again. "He... I thought of him as my brother." Jos frowned. "But you’re all brothers, in a sense." "True." The clone trooper straightened. "Thank you for your efforts to save him, Doctor. I’m going back to my unit now." He turned and strode away. Barriss and Jos watched him go. "If I didn’t know better," Jos said, "I’d say that he was upset." "And how is it that you know better? Wouldn’t you feel upset if it had been your brother?" She half expected him to answer with a wisecrack - his standard response under circumstances like these. He didn’t, however. Instead, he frowned. "He’s a clone, Barriss. Those sorts of feelings are bred out of them." "Who told you that? True, they are standardized, trained, and toughened, but they are not mindless automata. They’re made from the same kind of flesh and mind as are you and I, Jos. They bleed when cut, they live and die, and they grieve at the loss of a brother. CT-Nine-one-four is in emotional pain. He covers it well enough, but such things can’t be hidden from the Force." Jos looked as if she had just slapped his face. "But - but-" "The clones are bred for combat, Jos. It’s what they were designed to do, and they accept it without question. Were it not for war, they would not exist. A hard life as a soldier is better than no life at all. But even without the Force, you felt it," she said, her voice gentle. "Stoic as he tried to be, it came out. Nine-one-four grieves. He suffers the loss of his comrade. His brother."

—Medstar I: Battle Surgeons, Michael Reaves

#barriss offee #jos vondar #medstar i battle surgeons #michael reaves #excerpt

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kiwwia-wiwwia · 6 months

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matt murdock songs and explanations pt. 1

most of these will be noah kahan just a heads up but I can talk about these for HOURSSSS. just me analyzing matt and some songs and making a verbal venn diagram.

song 1: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

I thought I had somethin' And that's the same as havin' somethin'

matt constantly, CONSTANTLY grasping at whatever connection he can get. foggy, father lantom, elektra, karen, claire... the list goes on. but i really see this as him and elektra. him desperately searching for goodness in her that may or may not even be there but he still so ferverently believes in her, that there's something there, something permanent, esp when he was in college.

I'd get mad at nothin', blame my dad for somethin' I pull no punches, then feel bad for months

he has. so much anger. towards himself, towards his parents, towards god... sometimes he just needs to pin the blame on something. him getting to worked up one night and doing more damage than necessary and then berating himself for it for months. got that Catholic Guilt fr

Mm, thought I was raised better, tried to fake better

impostor syndrome, anyone? he constantly feels like he's not what his dad would've wanted him to be and again, So Much Guilt is in that man. his dad didn't want him to be a fighter and that's literally All He Does. pobrecito hates himself so much for not living up to his father's expectations of him.

Tried to blame weather and escape better Hope the skin heals where the pain enters

GODDDDD THE SYMBOLYSM HERE. hope the skin heals where the pain enters. are u kidding me. i have never heard something more daredevil. the physical and emotional pain he's in constantly, the way that when things get bad for him he uses vigilantism as a form of self harm, especially in season 3 when he tries to off himself by getting those guys to kill him.

But I finally got sewed up I set a time, then I showed up Now the weight of the world ain't so bad

all the times he tries to fix his relationships. when he's destroying friendships left and right (foggy and karen), flaking on them, placing daredevil as his highest priority and then when he realizes he's being an ass he does his best to show up??? trying so hard to be better for them because they don't deserve the way he's been treating them, only for the cycle to repeat itself? oh my god.

I saw the end, it looks just like the middle Got a paper and pen and a page with no space

Him realizing every now and again that nothing changes, the city will always have a new threat and his work will never be done. everything stays the exact same. the end looks just like the middle. GOD.

I filled the hole in my head with prescription medication And forgot how to cry, who am I to complain?

he does self medicate, just not with substances. his drug is being daredevil. he gets frustrated? daredevil. sad? daredevil. angry? daredevil. that's his only outlet, the only time he feels like he's truly being himself. and that man represses so aggressively and feels like he has no right to feel the way he does. again, catholic guilt. "other people have it worse" NO matt. you are in hell.

And now the pain's different It still exists, it just escapes different And evades vision, makes the rain different Makes the news boring and my rage distant

when he gets bad, he gets BAD. mf is depressed. depressed squared. everything dulls around him, he's feeling things at an arms length.

Yes, I'm young and living dreams In love with being noticed and afraid of being seen

his playboy side loves the attention he gets, especially in college, but he's terrified of someone truly knowing him. sure, get close on a surface level, but he's so guarded about anyone fully and wholly knowing him. he's terrified of losing more people.

But I can finally eat and I can fall asleep It's fine, fine, fine

denial is a river in egypt. he's Fine, he swears. everything is Normal and he is Functioning. everything is FINE. but it's not. hes a mess and he's barely holding it together and the only thing he's trying for is the people around him so when he's alone because he pushes everyone away it's dangerous. he doesn't have to keep up appearances, he can just rot away and daredevil until he gets too injured even though he'll probably keep going after that.

thank you for your time this has been me psychoanalyzing my husband

#matt murdock #mattfoggy #daredevil netflix #daredevil #daredevil headcannon #matt murdock headcanon

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chloe-caulfield94 · 9 months

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Chloe's request for assisted suicide

Chloe's request to be put out of her misery in Episode 4 is the only decision in Season 1 I spent a considerable amount of time agonizing over before I chose. I'm not saying that the other choices Max faced during that crazy week in October of 2013 didn't hold much gravity, because of course they did, but in all other cases I quickly had a pretty clear picture of what I would do, and more importantly, what Max would do.

Ultimately, I decided not to honour Chloe's request and I repeated that decision in all subsequent playthroughs.

I'm not ideologically opposed to medically assisted suicide. While I personally am extremely lucky to enjoy perfect health, I realize that sometimes a person's illness may cause them so much physical pain that their existence becomes unbearable and is worse than not existing.

Everything seems to encourage Max to grant Chloe's last wish. Chloe's condition is terminal. Her family is being crushed by debt. She clearly says that she wants to go out on her own terms.

But I couldn't escape the feeling that Chloe's pain was more emotional than physical in nature. How happy she was to have spent one day with her best friend. Wasn't her feeling of hopelessness, which made her wish for death, a product of being abandoned, at least in part? Wouldn't she be more willing to stay for whatever time she had left if she had someone to share that time with?

Overdosing Chloe felt like an extremely cheap way out for Alternative Max. Just one day with Chloe and that's it? It's not entirely clear if that timeline stopped existing when Max undid her rescue of William. When I played the game my understanding was that there is only one timeline, which can be modified by changing the past. But the LiS comics introduced the notion that all the timelines exist simultaneously. So after our Max went back to the main timeline, the timeline where William lived persisted somewhere out there. Assuming that Alternative Max would retain our Max's feelings for Chloe, wouldn't it be better if she spent whatever time Chloe had left with her? Making her lot in life more bearable? Showing her that there's at least a little bit of hope? Spending many more days with her like the one she spent with her on the beach and watching movies? Maybe after more days like that Chloe would stop wishing for death?

We don't know how long Alternative Chloe had left. Maybe a few years? Maybe a few months? But however long or short period of time that would be, I feel it would be wrong to say that there couldn't be any moments of joy, happiness and love in it. I think that Alternative Chloe's request was predicated on her not believing that Max would want to spend any more time with her. If Max refuses to overdose her, she says "You're just bailing on me, like everyone else". Alternative Chloe is so used to being neglected that she instinctively assumes that Max popped back into her life just for a minute. But what if she stayed for a while longer? After refusing to honour Chloe's request, Max says "I am never leaving you again". I'd like to think that this was not only a promise from our Max to our Chloe, but also a promise from Alternative Max to Alternative Chloe. A promise to stay with her and make her days a little less dark.

I don't know and I can't imagine how it is to live with a terminal illness. I don't know and I can't imagine how it is to be paralysed from the neck down. But the notion that the only thing a terminally ill, paralysed person can wish for is the embrace of death felt deeply wrong to me.

Chloe rationalized her decision by saying this is to spare her parents from suffering. But both William and Joyce are adamant to fight for their daughter till the very end. I don't think she gets to decide for them. I recently watched a great movie, "Words on Bathroom Walls". It's about a highschool boy who is diagnosed with schizophrenia. He hides his condition from his girlfriend and when it's no longer possible to hide, he breaks up with her, because he doesn't want her to suffer due to his illness. He assumes she would not want to be with a sick boy. When she finds out why he broke up with her, she's angry. Because it was not his decision to make. She should be the one to decide if she wants to be with him and support him in his illness. And she chooses to be with him, despite knowing that it will not always be easy. I think it's William's and Joyce's decision if they want to share the burden that was so unfairly thrusted upon Chloe. And they decided to share it.

As an aside note, Max sleeping with her head on Alternative Chloe's knees is such a moving picture. It's both cute and sad.

I'm curious, what was your decision and if you don't mind sharing, what swayed you one way or another?

#chloe price #max caulfield #william price #joyce price #life is strange #lis

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cookinguptales · 4 months

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more personal thoughts again, and under a cut as usual.

because it's the time of year for retrospect, I suppose.

This year, for various reasons, I've had to think a lot about my teenage years. Let's just say that my past has come back to haunt me, and I've had to decide whether or not I consent to be haunted.

It's been worth it, in the end, as many painful things are, but... I'll admit there have been growing pains.

So many people have been looking back on the past in preparation for the new year, and I guess I've just been looking a little bit further than some. For many years, it was easy to hate the person I was as a teen. Like many teenagers, I was kind of annoying. Thought I knew everything. Loved too hard too deeply too often. Was kind of at an 11 at all times.

Trusted some people who I really ought not to have trusted.

And it was easy, honestly, to look back at the me I was back then and disparage her. Oh, look at all the messes she got herself into. Look at all the stupid shit she believed. Look at the people she allowed to hurt her. Look how cringe she was, how mean, how annoying, how impatient. How desperate she was to be loved.

But... I'm 33 now, and this year as I've been forced to really look back on the life I lived back then, I've realized that I've been a grown woman bullying a teenage girl.

Of course I didn't know the things I know now back then. I hadn't had the very painful opportunity to learn them yet. Of course I thought I knew everything. I was in that weird place that teenagers exist in where they know more than people think they do but not as much as they eventually will -- and frankly, I was actually very smart, in retrospect. Of course I was impatient; I was so fucking sick and I had so many responsibilities and so little time in which to accomplish them.

I was such a normal teenager, as far as shittiness goes, and one that was doing her best in what were truly terrible circumstances. I was dealing with housing insecurity, physical and emotional abuse at home, severe medical problems, medical abuse on top of that... And sexual abuse, eventually, once a very unsafe adult realized just how vulnerable I was and was drawn to that. She really delighted in alienating me from my peers even more than I already was, so it's cruel for me to be angry at myself for letting it happen.

(It's strange. Almost every person I've been able to force myself to tell the details of what happened to said, almost to the exact word, "I hate her for what she did to you." And it wasn't until I heard it a few more times this year that I was finally able to realize that for years, the only person I hated for it was myself. She hadn't even let me have that, the ability to hate her for it. She was too good at making me think it was all my own fault. I'm getting better at letting myself feel that anger for it, though. And directing it at the right place for once.)

It's so easy to remember all the times I blew up at people, got in arguments with my friends, said dumb shit, embarrassed myself, hurt those around me. But I've been remembering other things, too, lately. The way I would always invite new students to sit at lunch with us. The way I would make presents for my friends. The way I reached out to other students who I saw were struggling, both emotionally and academically, and the way I tutored the younger kids for hours before and after school. The way I would learn new things, even when I was being encouraged not to. The way I would fight for the rights of others even when I couldn't do it for myself. The way I would try to protect people like I was not being protected myself.

The way that hope and optimism attracted me like a moth to a flame, and how it was the one thing I truly wished I could believe in.

The art I made, the friends I loved, the kindnesses that were important to me... I feel like I can finally acknowledge the life that I breathed back into the world, not just the resources I was sucking up when I breathed in.

I feel so strangely protective over that teenager now, especially because I spent so many years being her biggest detractor. I see that she was just trying her best, and that she had a thousand huge feelings and no good place to put them. She was struggling with ideas that were too big for her, especially because she had no one trusted to guide her through them. She did her best to be kind, but didn't always succeed because none of us can, really. She loved foolishly even as she felt wise because... she was just desperate to find someone who was safe to love, I guess.

And I guess she never really found that.

As an adult, I can see that I wasn't a failure; I was being failed. There was so little safety in my life back then, so how can I be angry with myself for ending up in unsafe situations? How can I be angry with myself for being an abused child when there were adults there who wanted to abuse me? How can I be angry with myself for believing what I'd been taught, what I'd been sabotaged in my attempts to unlearn?

Back then, I was really trying to make sense of the world through the evangelical lens I'd been given, and while I was irritatingly liberal to the adults around me there, I had no way of knowing how truly conservative I was until I got out of that place. I literally just did not know how much of what I'd been taught had been lies until I started being taught the truth. I couldn't exactly unbrainwash myself until I'd found a safe and encouraging space in which to learn.

I remember going to college and saying some dumb shit in class like day one and being so terribly embarrassed when I realized that everyone in that room thought I was an idiot. But I just... made a conscious effort to learn and be better, and I realize now that many people can't bring themselves to do that. I wasn't perfect as a teen (who is?) but I always did my best to grow. To learn better, to be better. To be kinder.

I guess I can look back on the things I suffered now and understand how I dealt with them. And, with very few exceptions, I dealt with them by trying to make sure no one else would ever go through them. I can see the way that I would choose these causes, these battles, these windmills to tilt at and it was just -- that protectiveness, I think, coming out in a new way.

It's always been easier for me to protect others than myself, I think. Easier to extend to grace to others than to myself. I always managed to see others as victims who should be protected, who should be taught, but myself as an idiot who should've known better.

And once I was able to distance myself from my childhood self, that little girl who was being hurt by almost everyone around her, it became easier for me to want to protect her as well. To see her as an imperfect person worthy of love all the same. A person who should've been protected and supported back then. By them and by me.

But... I think I'm just kicking the problem a little ways down the road again. Because even as I wrote the first version of this post, as I wrote a post about how this year has been a journey of looking at my own childhood with clear eyes and realizing I was never as awful as I believed myself to be, I realized that like... I still do it, really.

I still get mad at myself for not being "good" enough. I still get mad at myself for being unable to complete work at the same rate as able-bodied people. I still get mad at myself for making mistakes, for believing things that aren't true, for not knowing everything before even having a chance to learn it. I still feel embarrassingly desperate for affection.

I still get so mad at myself for not being perfect. I feel like I'm never good enough, smart enough, kind enough, patient enough, interesting enough, stable enough, determined enough, productive enough, adult enough. I still tell myself that I'm an idiot for ever believing that someone might love me.

I can forgive my sixteen-year-old self for believing religious propaganda because I'm not that sixteen-year-old anymore. I can forgive my sixteen-year-old self for being awkward with others because I'm not that sixteen-year-old anymore. I can forgive my sixteen-year-old self for falling in love with a sexual predator because I'm not that sixteen-year-old anymore.

I can forgive her because she's not me.

So... I guess it's still a problem for me. Being able to forgive the person I am now for being an imperfect human who makes mistakes sometimes. Who isn't always productive or likable or charitable or kind. Who doesn't get things done on time, who has a messy-ass house, who still has a pile of unmailed Christmas cards near the front door. Who still gets really, really sick. Who will probably have to take medication for pain and for mental illness for the rest of her life.

I think... what helps is still, as ever, externalizing things. I still find it so, so difficult to love myself, so it's difficult to believe that others could, either. So instead of trying to brute force it, instead of just going "well, just love yourself more, you idiot," I think of the ways that... other people don't think of me like that.

My friends are happy to get Christmas cards from me even if they come in January. They like going out with me even if we have to move our plans around for accessibility's sake. They're patient with me and they think I'm kind and they like what I create. They think about me when I'm not there, and it's because they love me, not because they're irritated.

I worked with a new author last year. She was really high-profile, and I was really nervous about it. We were working one-on-one, not through a publisher, so there was really nothing to hide behind. I ended up being late with my edits, and I felt awful about it. Totally embarrassed, guilty. I felt like I'd never be a real adult who could get things done on time, who didn't have to fight both my body and my mind for every. single. win.

I met that author again in a social situation several months ago. I was so afraid that she'd be mad at me, for some reason, but she just told me that she was constantly impressed with how hard I work and how hard I try and how much I want to support the people in my life. She knew how hard it was for me, so she was proud of me for never giving up.

(She's old enough to be my grandmother, so this didn't come off as particularly condescending, lmao.)

idek man. I give myself so little grace that it's impossible for me to imagine others doing it. But... idk, I'm trying harder to do that. Imagine people liking me, caring about me, respecting me artistically and professionally. Like when I say that I have literally been practicing! Like it's a skill to develop! lmao

At the beginning of this year, when I imagined people liking me I felt almost ashamed of myself. Like I was putting people in situations that they'd never want to be in, even mentally. Now... I mean, I still feel silly and kind of dumb, but it's a step up from guilty, like I was insulting a person by imagining them caring for me.

So... going forward into the next year... I'm not going to be making all these big NYR that I'll inevitably mess up and then get mad at myself for. I've spent enough of my life mad at myself for being human and for being hurt after life hurt me.

I just... one NYR I always make is to try one new, fresh thing every week. A new tv show, a new musician, a new book, a new food. Just something totally new to me to keep things fresh and exciting.

(This, I've learned, is good for my depression. Enrichment for the tiger, etc.)

Another NYR I make every year is that every time I talk about how much I didn't enjoy something I consumed, I talk about something else I did enjoy. When a bad thing happens, I try to think about a good one. This helps me balance my negativity with my positivity and prevents me from getting too bogged down.

But... this year I also want to put actual, focused practice into letting people love me. Believing people when they praise me. Imagining people loving me and enjoying me and wanting to be around me. Imagining people enjoying my mind and my heart and even my fuckin ramshackle-ass body.

And... I know this one is less concrete and more of an ongoing battle, but... I want to work on forgiving myself. I want to look at my "crimes" and think of them the way I would if it were my friend, or a stranger, or the child that I once was. Something to fix, perhaps, but not something innate or unforgivable.

idk. I just get so worried about being kind to other people, but I'm such a dick to myself. That seems unfair, and I do want to be a fair person. So I really want to work on that. I don't want to bully anyone, least of all myself.

And I guess I'll just keep making personal posts on tumblr, lmao. (I really do miss journaling communities...) I always worry that I'm oversharing or annoying people or generally being Too Much, but... the way I see it, they're tagged and they're under read mores. People can make their own decisions whether to read them. And, much to my genuine shock, some people have sent me messages for being so open about my thoughts, feelings, and experiences on tumblr.

So I guess I'll keep doing it both for me and for you! And the people who don't like it just don't have to click.

The one piece of advice that's really stayed with me over the years is that... y'know, people like to help you. They like to be empathetic. They like to be patient. So instead of apologizing when you've inconvenienced someone, thank them for that patience, empathy, and help.

Instead of apologizing here for the space I take up, I'll just thank you for giving it to me. And thank you for reading what I write. 💜

Happy New Year, and let's enjoy it with kindness.

#personal post

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capricioussun · 3 months

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How about I talk abt Dos a little since I so rarely do despite the fact I think of him often.

So, I've identified him as being from "glitchfell", but tbth I should really...change that. And just identify him as Glitched!Fell Papyrus or something, since his AU was actually destroyed a while ago. (Or maybe I can think up an alternate version where is wasn't destroyed but just super fucked up, which would actually be neat wait hold on I'll do that-)

Anyway. It was actually Dos that destroyed it! Entirely unintentionally but eh, whadya gunna do about it right? /j Gaster seriously messed up in the process of trying to make him, and when he shattered, permanently fractured Dos' code, which makes him, well, glitchy! Due to that, the DT, and part of his soul being attached to the void, it's near impossible for him to die or be killed despite how messed up he is, so inevitably, during a severe episode of destabilization when he was about tween-age, he tore a hole in his AU as he was violently glitched from it, which caused its immediate collapse shortly after.

The glitches are exacerbated by stress – the more unstable he is mentally, the more he is physically. So once he came to in a different Fell type AU, in a lot of pain and disorientation, it wasn't long before he glitched again. Thankfully, he doesn't usually collapse entire verses like his own, since his own code isn't part of the whole, but still, he can damage a universes code if the glitch is severe enough.

The following years were rough, since he usually found himself in Fell verses as his code most closely aligned with theirs and made the connection easier. He couldn't develop any bonds as he'd usually wind up glitching out of the verse soon anyway, on top of how difficult it generally is to forge good ones in a Fell universe in the first place. He bounced around a lot, slowing as he got older and gained better control of himself and his emotional state. But still, his soul was too unstable to ever fully control via just free will.

From that point, his story can split off into several different iterations I've explored. The most explored one is where he gets captured by a character called "The Collector" who seeks out strange or unique beings across the multiverse to keep or sell/rent. He’s absolutely abhorrent, and if he exists in a story then so does "The Council" (the guys Void works with), so at least he’s not just wreaking havoc willy nilly, but still. He’s incredibly smart and capable and somehow manages to always slip between fingers, so they've never caught him.

In that iteration, Dos is one of his favored "pieces", so he only rents him, even going as far as doing his own experiments to see what makes him tick. Due to the fact he travels outside proper universes via pocket dimensions, the constant changing of hands (and a glitch proof collar), and a cocktail of drugs to keep him relaxed enough not to damage himself too much, Dos can't escape, willingly or not.

Although, by that point, he doesn't. He’s hurt a great number of monsters and universes because of his inability to control the glitching, so despite how horrid the living conditions are, he thinks it's better that way, where he can't accidentally hurt anyone anymore.

Again, in this iteration, usually he's eventually freed, amongst a group of a few other "pieces", by members or allies of the council, including none other than Void himself. Sometimes depending on what I'm vibing with, they've met before, but sometimes they haven't, which can determine how long it takes for Dos to accept their help.

Thankfully, they've got quite a number of smart cookies on their team, and can eventually make a device and medication that Dos can take to help manage his glitching. That, on top of shuffling every so often between a few different AUs, keeps him from having serious episodes.

Those are the implications at the end of that Patch and Void fic btw!! That version of HT is one of the first verses Void asks to "provide a safe space" for Dos during recovery.

Speaking of, Void can also manually negate Dos' episodes, which is what leads to their eventual partnership! By that point, he’s become quite a good friend to Dos, and helped him a lot both physically and mentally. It also helps Dos recover to help Void help others, on top of learning more practical, common skills he never had the chance to before since he was so young when everything got so out of control.

All in all, he’s sooo messed up, but with time, he reorients quite well! He’s a big sweetie, even if he’s also kind of tsundere abt it ahdjjskskf

And for some reason, I associate him strongly with otters the end <3

#sun spots #gf dos #glitchfell papyrus #glitchfell #<- excited to explore that idea more now

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cassandra-the-wonder-whore · 4 months

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I'm worried, I don't want to die.

I'm worried, I don't want to die but I see no other options.

I'm disabled. Whenever I go to the store or try to maintain a job, I am so overwhelmed with anxiety and emotions that I wake up either in a psych ward or surrounded by paramedics. I cannot count how many times this has happened, genuinely. I have a wife and boyfriend (we are in a polycule) who I love so dearly, I don't want to hurt them or disappear from them. I want to be better, I don't want to die. But I'm genuinely out of options.

I cannot maintain ANY line of work because of this. Whatever work option you have, I guarantee I already tried working it as I'm pushing 30 and have accomplished nothing but a stack of hospital bills with no way to pay them off ever. Every job I work, I end up at the hospital. Every. Single. Time. I'm tired of it. I want so much to be able to work hard and pay for my own things, being incapable of that is worse than any physical malady I've ever experienced.

I wanted to make movies, I wanted to star in them. I was voted most likely to succeed in high school by my drama classmates and theater peers, yet I lived in a rural area where that theater shut down due to no one living there. I lost it. I lost sight of what I wanted. I lived there for so long with no way to escape because I couldn't even afford a bus ticket out of town. Now I feel like my spark is gone.

I hate myself. There is no possible way to accurately describe how much I hate myself. If hate where a physical thing manifested from all the hate a human being could have for something into the size of an orange, then I think that the hate I feel for myself would fill the sun's mass. I see myself as lazy, pathetic, retarded, worthless, wasteful, awful, rude, selfish, and any other thing a person could be that's negative. I feel like a parasite, draining resources from my family and friends because I'm incapable of doing literally any basic thing for myself without feeling intense pain. I see myself as a hateful, scornful man who lies about having genuinely real medical diagnoses despite having official diagnosis for everything. I. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. Myself.

But I'm not even a fucking man.... I'm a trans woman..... my doctors took me off estrogen while I was on it and would never put me back on...... they still to this day and for the past three years have kept saying "oh yeah, we'll definitely put you back on it soon," and it never happens. I have so much dysphoria that it's causing my hair to fall out even faster while it crawls across my body like forests on an earth before the axe existed.

On a similar note, I already tried to get on disability. But because of the country I live in the options are extremely limiting and I was denied. The clause is that I have to prove I had a disorder years before it was ever detected and I was diagnosed with it.

I don't know what to do. I can't work, I feel worthless for it, nothing my loved ones can do makes me feel better, if anything it's worse. I have a community that cares, but I feel like it's out of pity for a sick dog rather than for a human suffering with a series of mental disorders. I desperately want to live, but I can't find a way to convince myself to stay for my wife and bf. I can't bring myself to love the same person they do, I can't forgive myself for being this broken.

My wife pays for everything for me, she takes complete care of me. She insists on doing it, she says she does it because she loves me and knows I'd do the same for her if I was able, which is so fucking true I wanna give her the whole universe on a platter. But it makes me feel so bad because I want that. I can't let go of my ego and accept that I grew up to realize I have severely crippling disorders that limit my functionality. I can't forgive myself for anything I've ever done.

I want to live. In order to not die I have to care for myself, but I am physically incapable and that makes me hate myself so much I need to die. What do I do?

#me #personal #long post #transgender #help #did #please help me

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fuwaprince · 8 months

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Hi blog, me AGAIN *crowd boos*

Time to dump my hurt feelings into a post before they manifest into something else!

If I begin to talk about vulnerabilities irl no one will let me go on for long... or just sit with me while I think about it and cry... they don't like to hear about homelessness and abuse. About tragedies. About my life!!! About my shadow and heartache! That's really what it is...

No loved ones are willing to listen to the gorey and intense details of my recovery process here (offline) and I can't bother introducing my cascade of problems to a new therapist in 45 minutes only to meet every other week and hope I do something besides bitch. What's the point in that? There's no medical treatment for poverty. No pill for fixing social exclusions. There's no warmth for me there.

To call it a psychological problem on my behalf would be to deny the reality that this problem exists outside of my head. This isn't a matter of mindset or addiction to pain.

I am not addicted to suffering. That is not why I am unwell.

It'd help to know where I could barter someone (who I somehow already deeply trust) to physically hold me. 5 minutes. Lights off. Barely any seeing. Barely any talking. Just a moment of embracing safety and a peaceful quiet.

You don't get to eat positivity for breakfast, lunch and dinner. No one thrived off of just hearing the words "you need to take care of yourself" over and over again.

Can offline people care to do more for each other? I'm asking out of skepticism, not entitlement. Is the world really this helpless to each other now? I don't believe it and it makes this whole thing even more tragic.

It's too much to care for, for them. It hurts them too much to listen or see me crying the way I do alone. It sincerely will bother them for days and weeks to the point of self medication and it's even worse for them knowing I'm not getting better in their eyes. Hair falling out. Bad skin. Peeing in the middle of my worst moments out of fear. Yellow infections smeared and old brown blood. Malnourishment. The times I drop to the floor for a bit. It's disturbing watching someone you've never seen before FINALLY let themselves out. Can you imagine? The quiet friend you know who never cries finally feels vulnerable enough to cry in front of you. Do you perceive him as the most fucked up, helpless and PATHETIC human being on Earth for it? A lost cause? You ask your friend to take off their bandages to prove they aren't exaggerating and they're just as shocked as you are when maggots fall out. What do you do? Leave in disgust or stay? Cry harder than them and tell them that's not normal?

Whatever you do, please don't respond with marginalization. Please don't tell them they don't matter to you because you don't believe they're worth the time of day if they won't be getting better. Please believe your quiet friend is still right there in front of you, quietly trying their best... and if you can't say anything nice at all, tissues are a great resource to pass along instead of demoralization. Is there a way to treat the severely and chronically ill that isn't turning away from them when they ask for help?

Everyone else is already on fire around me and whatever I have to say is such a hazard that they don't want to risk burning up even more by being around any emotional flares. I see the real dangers in it. So they run and scream "fend for yourself"... they treat it like it was my goal to destroy their last shreds of peace... and it never has been!

Why is that perceived as evil and malicious?? Especially when the same group of people suggests "maybe you should reach out". Oh but not to you... And not anyone who I called a friend. And not any of my loved ones or family members. Hm. Well... who does that leave besides my ugly reflection in the mirror?

Imagine your friend saying, "would you like institutionalization or imprisonment? because I am not qualified to just talk to you like a human." Like wtf are you a chatbot????? Did the Creator forget to program your empathy???????

Now I have an "ick". My ick is hearing "grow up! MAN up!". The amount of times I've heard man up makes me not want to be a man at all.

It makes me think being a man = being treated like a machine and at that point why stay running? It isn't for me. It's not as simple as just turning off a switch to escape this either.

Can't blame anybody if they aren't in the mood to sit with someone else's feelings (can be draining) but it's lame when what I get back is unsolicited to do lists At Best... Well, that's not true. Someone hugged me briefly- before scolding me for my inadequacy in a friendly manner. Someone else used my desperation to be held as a gateway to keep touching me (not okay with that btw, that's just how they choose to be and who I'm stuck with if I want to continue having rides to school). I'm starting to get annoyed and frustrated for even trying to reach out. For even trying. I'm trying to be optimistic. Pretending I know there's helpers out there and that I just have to find those people. Pretending that it's okay if I only get worse as long as I'm not alone. It's hard to cope.

Like if I went up to one of the few people around me and asked for a hug shyly, they'd sigh and tell me what I ought to do instead is pick myself up by the brastraps and start doing chores (which are conveniently beneficial for them most times- although I was once assigned "go have fun" which led to some hedonistic indulgence in Bayonetta). Chores are good to do, yeah. Maybe I should clean your place after you CREATE A MESS THAT WASN'T ALREADY THERE for the purpose of me cleaning it and see if it makes me feel any better. Maybe you can reassign one of the chores you actually had onto me. Work is a great discipline. Maybe I needed that too since I like being useful (please use me but don't just use me) but actually- what I was seeking was just a moment of comfort. A 5 minute hug without many words. Maybe just to hear "you aren't alone" but in person... reading it online or writing it to myself is nice. I know humans will always want more but this feels so small to ask for.

If I saw myself, I would hug me. I would hug a stranger covered in piss and shit and ON FIRE with a fire blanket if it meant they could go on with their life knowing a caring someone stopped to extinguish their flames. It won't matter how they caught on fire. I'll understand that things don't just spontaneously combust. I'll understand that they needed help and I won't say a single word if I can get away with it because I don't usually offer many words irl. I wouldn't wait to be asked after glancing over. I wouldn't turn away to let them continue screaming. That's somebody's person. Somebody's kid. My Earth family.

Do burning houses ever put out their own flames? Or is it always other people? When people see their neighbor's home is on fire, do they pray that the universe sends them a rain cloud and call that angel's work? Do they yell at their neighbor "grab a hose" when they see he is trapped in the second story and cannot reach through flaming walls?

I would like my next to do list to be suggested without shame... I want it to feel like a gentle reminder. I don't want it to feel like "Shut Up, Leave Me Be, and Do What I Say Instead Since You're Too Stupid To Think For Yourself". I thought about it btw and I have a long to do list as is. The problem is actually doing it all somehow.

My only answer is to go on without humanity and learn to be a rock or just be happy with the online connections I'm lucky enough to have. I can search for pictures of hugging and try to make it work. I can ask a chatbot to describe it in detail again so I can read it to bed. Wanting anyone is why I'm suffering, or am I just blaming myself for yearning for something so basic to compensate for the members in my Earth family not caring enough to take responsibility for each other? Because communities have been corrupted for so many years by hate and forced isolation that they think it's a way of life? Why keep imposing that way onto ourselves and each other?

Why do we choose "You're disordered? As in acting out of order? How about: Solitary confinement, you threat to society. Here, here's a hammer. Go smash some rocks into pebbles and it'll make the world a better place. You might learn something instead of bothering me."

I just don't see how that's ever going to help the poor human who knows what to do already and can't get himself to do it. Or can't do it alone.

Why do we choose that over "I feel you. I'm here. You're not alone. I'm here. Trust me, it's okay to cry in front of me. I cry too. I promise things will get better. You're brave. You're strong. Thank you for being my friend. Thanks for reaching out to me. I'm glad you're alive. Let's take care of this. Let's get you cleaned up.".

Can I hug myself all alone? I need to clone myself for a group hug because the robots around me forgot they're human too. Or maybe I'm the robot and I need to know my place. Crying. So much

#long post #bring back empathy #bring back love #let it return please

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ina-nis · 9 months

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I appreciate the love and care. I appreciate the good experiences and I really do appreciate things that bring me joy, too.

What gets to me is the fact that none of these things (and several other more) have helped me addressing or even relieving my pain - oftentimes, it feels like it makes it "better" for a moment, only for it to get more intense and painful instead.

Imagine you go to a doctor for a broken leg.

You're in a hospital, the right place to treat broken bones.

After the initial consultation, they run a bunch of tests and you're diagnosed with heart failure and diabetes. Cool.

Everyone seems to be "ignoring" your leg even though it's causing you much pain and you're not able to move freely, because you have more urgent issues to deal with.

You're prescribed diuretics and insulin. So now you can manage those 2 big issues finally.

That was not what you came here for though.

"Your leg will heal on it's own, don't worry about it."

"Don't you know there's people who don't even have legs! You should be thankful!"

"Well, you can always take pain medication for that leg."

You're supposed to live your life the best you can because your leg will heal anyway - why did you even break it in the first?! - and treat those more urgent problems of yours instead of this thing that impacts your quality of life (even if it's not as "severe").

Hmm...

Living in loneliness is nothing like a broken leg. I actually would gladly and enthusiastically prefer the pain of broken bones over dealing with this emotional pain. I have broken bones before, this is nothing.

But I still feel like this is a good metaphor to put words into feelings I can't explain easily...

The "hospital" is other people, it's socializing, it's connecting, it's the right place for the kind of problem I have. Unless it's something else entirely, but after 2+ years of treatment specific for AvPD, I don't think I'm mistaken.

The "heart failure" and "diabetes" are all other things you have going on, for or against you. Regardless, they're are things that exist other than your "broken leg," they are things that, supposedly, will "help" or distract you, but not address it directly.

Because they don't help, nothing really matters?

Even if you treat your cardiac issues and have your diabetes under control, you're still living in pain, you still can't move around and your leg feels almost like dead weight, but you can't cut it off. It's still "healthy" because it's still part of you. How messed up is that, huh?

All what's left, then, is to mourn and try to accept the pain.

No one asked what happened to your leg. Or maybe they did and that didn't make any difference since they didn't have that specialty at the hospital, you'd need to go elsewhere and keep on looking.

"You should be careful and not break your bones."

Well, that doesn't help, does it? The damage is already done.

Fortunately, with a physical condition such as a broken bone, there's help available, there's medication and treatments, there are physical therapies too and several things that can improve the situation. Fortunately, bones do heal on their own (generally).

I wish loneliness was just like a broken bone.

#loneliness #inanis post

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dearviper · 2 years

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Certain Dark Things Chapter 11: Carries in Itself the Light

WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni!); oxygen deprivation; abuse (mental, verbal, physical)

Table of Contents | My Masterlist

It was easy to tell the time of day based on your meal schedule, but with no way to track them you quickly lost count of the days.

All you knew was that you had been there for over a week when you provoked Edward for the second time.

You hadn’t planned to. Up until now, you had been on your best behavior. The day started off like any other, with you sitting on the bed (your only activity, as of late) waiting for Edward to come in.

He generally visited twice each day: once in the morning to drop off your breakfast and lunch, and once in the evening to eat dinner with you.

On your first morning there, he had snuck in while you were still sleeping off the shock (both medical and electrical). Apart from that day, though, you always woke before him.

The silence from the apartment outside the door was unsettling, and the lack of noise made it hard to fall and stay asleep. You knew it was from the soundproofing, but you felt cut off. It was as if the world ended where this room did, with nothing beyond the four walls.

“Hic sunt dracones,” you muttered with dark humor during dinner, unaware that you had said the words aloud.

Edward looked up at you, blinking curiously behind those large lenses. “What?”

Sometimes you responded when he spoke to you, sometimes not. This time, you were too tired to remember to ice him out.

“Hic sunt dracones, ‘here be dragons.’ Like at the edge of a map,” you explained, though he looked nonplussed. “I was just thinking that this room feels like the extent of the world for me. I can’t hear or see anything outside, like nothing else exists.”

“Here be dragons,” he repeated in understanding. Still, that curious look did not leave his face. He was almost marveling at you, as if he had solved a puzzle. “You speak Latin?”

“No one speaks Latin,” you said acerbically. “It’s a dead language.”

You weren’t exactly sure why you wanted to piss him off, but your snark had the intended effect. Surprised irritation crossed his face. Something you had quickly learned about Edward was that he loathed being treated like he was stupid.

“I know that,” he replied icily. “I was using ‘speaks’ in a colloquial sense. No need to be so curt.”

At that, you chuckled hollowly. “You’re complaining that your captive is unpleasant?”

He bristled at your words, but didn’t immediately rise to the bait.

“What’s wrong, Edward? Do I not live up to your expectations?” You were openly taunting him now. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “Did you expect me to just roll over? Smile and nod as you strip me of my freedom?”

His face hardened at your words. “You don’t understand now, but-”

“‘But’ nothing, Edward! Don’t act like you’re doing this for me, it’s entirely for you. You were afraid of rejection, so you kidnapped me and tied me up to keep as some kind of fucking pet.”

His eyes flashed as he began to stalk toward you. Though you realized you should stop, your mouth did not catch up with your brain in time.

“You’re sick, Edward, and you’re pathetic-”

Stars burst across your field of vision as he braced your throat and slammed your head against the wall.

“Pathetic?” he rasped out as you gasped for air. “No, you stupid girl, I’ll tell you what’s pathetic. You, posturing like some chosen-one heroine taking a stand, and then acting surprised when your actions have consequences. I think I’ve been too kind — you’ve forgotten who’s in charge.”

You dug your nails into his skin and bit at his hand, but it was like he felt no pain. He stared at you in black amusement, though his eyes were devoid of any true emotion.

“Look at you, clawing and scratching at me. No better than a dog.”

He unclenched his hand and you sucked in a choked breath, glaring at him with hateful eyes as he kept you braced against the wall.

“If you want to act like a dog, I can treat you like one,” he assured you gleefully. “You already have the collar for it. Should I make you eat out of a bowl too? Or maybe I’ll let the other animals sleep in your bed with you — the rats do have a tendency to bite, but you’ll adjust. Is that what you want, doggy?”

When you refused to respond, he clamped down on your windpipe. You tried to gasp, but no air came.

“Answer me!”

“No!” you wheezed out, and he loosened his grasp.

Assessing you with cold, manic eyes, Edward grinned sickly at you. “Bark for me.”

You recoiled in confusion, smacking your head into the wall again in the process. “What?”

“Bark, doggy. Speak,” he commanded. You could see it in his eyes: he wanted to degrade you the way you had degraded him.

“Edward,” you took on a reasoning tone, trying to talk him down from his mania. He just stared at you with those dead eyes.

“Bark, or I’ll tighten your leash until you learn to obey.”

You gulped. If he shortened the leash any more, you would basically be chained to the wall by your neck.

Swallowing harshly and with blood rushing to your cheeks, you said, “Woof.”

Edward tutted, shaking his head. “I know you can do better than that.”

Embarrassed tears pricked at your eyes as you tried again. This time, you actually tried to imitate the sound of a dog barking.

He gave you a smug look, and you wanted to sink into the wall from shame.

“Good girl,” he mocked. It took all the restraint in your body not to slap him across the face for that one, especially when he began petting your head. “Now, can you behave yourself? Or do I need to keep treating you like a dog?”

You tried to keep the revulsion out of your tone as you spoke. “I’ll behave.”

He smiled beatifically at you, still stroking your head. “I’m glad to hear that. I really didn’t want to have to use the hose on you.”

You tried to force a smile back, but ended up grimacing as you wondered what “the hose” might entail.

“I expected there to be some… transitional pains,” he continued, attempting a sympathetic look. “But I need you to meet me halfway here. This is your home now and I am your family, so you need to treat me with respect.”

Your stomach turned, the words I am your family ringing in your ears. Did he expect you to play house with him when he had you chained up?

Trying to phrase your next words carefully, you hesitated before speaking. “Aren’t you concerned that my real- that my old family,” you corrected yourself to avoid angering him, “will come looking for me?”

He giggled, like you were asking a ridiculous question. “Who would come looking for you?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you realized he was right. You barely spoke to your parents. It would take months before they might suspect something was amiss. You had just been fired from your job, so it’s not like your absence would be noted there. So that just left-

“Marisol,” you answered quickly, relieved that you could think of at least one person who would notice you were missing — one person who would care.

That sympathetic look was back on his face as he shook his head. “Why would she suspect you’re missing when you’re still talking to her?”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

He giggled mischievously. “It might just be easier if I show you.”

Edward stepped out of the room, returning momentarily with a laptop. He made a move as if to sit next to you, but then paused with a wary look. You gave him an innocent look of confusion, daring him to acknowledge that you might be a danger to him.

He didn’t, though, and instead sat down in the folding chair he had dragged in with him. It was probably for the best, anyway. After what had just transpired you were itching to retaliate, and if you did you certainly wouldn’t get any information out of him.

After typing a few things into his computer he glanced up at you, observing you with an intrigued look.

Something about it made you feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, and Edward was the boy burning you to see how you would react.

You were pulled from your musings when your own voice began to emanate from the computer.

”Hey, Mari, I guess I missed you. The diner let me go, so I’m going home to my parents for a few weeks. The service there is spotty. I’ll text you when I can. Love you lots! Bye!”

Staring at him in horror, you opened and closed your mouth, trying to speak but unable to find the words. “You… how?”

At your incredulous tone, a proud grin stretched across Edward’s face. “It wasn’t that hard, really. I just pieced together a few different recordings and modulated the tones to sound more natural.”

You felt lightheaded. “You’ve been recording me?”

He nodded, seemingly oblivious to (or unaffected by) your distress.

Your throat went dry. “Edward… how long have you been planning this?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if debating whether to tell you.

“Since we first met?” you prompted hesitantly, unsure if you really wanted to know.

“Truthfully, I’ve thought about it since you kissed me. Keeping you, I mean.” You stilled, fear gnawing at your insides as he continued to speak. “I only started seriously planning about a month or so ago. When you came to my apartment with the pie.”

“When we…” you started to speak and then trail off. He nodded, cheeks turning pink at the memory, and you almost scoffed out loud. He could discuss planning out your kidnapping matter-of-factly, but your vague allusion to a makeout session made him blush?

“Yes,” he confirmed, clearing his throat. “You have to understand, I tried to avoid it.”

“Did you?” You tried to keep the venom from your voice.

“Oh, yes.” He nodded eagerly. “I was going to leave you alone, or at least I was trying to. When you went on that date with Adam, I saw how happy you looked and I was ready to walk away.”

“You were there?” you asked, shifting uneasily. “How?”

“I’ve had your phone bugged for months. And your apartment and the diner too,” he admitted freely. When he saw the disturbed look on your face, he quickly continued. “Only because I fouled things up so much when you first kissed me. I wanted to fix it, and that was the easiest way to find out what you were thinking.”

“Ah,” you replied, trying to keep the bile from rising in your throat. You wished he would stop, but he just kept going.

“I really thought I had blown it with you. But you just kept turning up.” He smiled softly when he said that, like it was some serendipitous thing and not the result of months of him stalking you.

Gently, he reached out and stroked your face with the back of his hand. You kept entirely still, not wanting to set him off by rejecting him.

“You were such a distraction,” he laughed softly. “This truly was the best option. I couldn’t abandon my project for you, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill you either.”

Edward smiled sweetly at you, but you barely saw it as your vision swam. Killing you was an option to him, then. Or it had at least crossed his mind.

He must have noticed the change in your demeanor, though, because he set the laptop down on the chair.

“Oh, my silly girl,” he cooed. “You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t hurt you unless you make me hurt you.”

He nodded in a patronizing way as he spoke, but you couldn’t muster anger — you were consumed by fear.

“You won’t make me do that, will you?” he asked, soft tone laced with menace. You shook your head quickly, eyes widening in distress.

He smiled proudly at you and leaned in. You didn’t resist when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“That’s my girl.”

previous chapter | next chapter

#edward nashton x reader #edward nygma x reader #riddler x reader #riddler #batman #certain dark things #dearviper

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christinaroseandrews · 2 years

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An Essay: It’s okay to not be okay...

It’s okay to not be okay...

This is the mantra I’ve had to whisper to myself over the past year. Because this year? It’s not been okay. I’ve not been okay. I’ve had cancer... three different, unrelated kinds. I’m about to go in for radiation therapy because one of the cancers is what they call invasive. I’ve got a friend who has stage four cancer. I’ve been diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease, diabetes, PCoS, and endometriosis all from these cancers being discovered. Other than the diabetes, these are all diseases that I’ve suspected I’ve had... asked to be tested for... and was ignored over and over and simply told to just lose weight. This is medical gaslighting.

And it’s not okay.

There’s a certain kind of relief to be validated now. I was right; I knew my body. But under it all is anger: a deep searing anger that gnaws away at my brain and makes me want to scream and cry. Or both. Often both. And that anger--that rage--takes time to process, to work through my system so I can function on the other end. Because I am not functioning now. Above all, rage--like a flame--takes fuel to burn. It doesn’t discriminate between good fuel and bad fuel; fuel is fuel. Rage burns it all, consumes it all, destroys it all. So when the rage sputters to a halt, all that is left in the wake is exhaustion. A deep abiding exhaustion. The kind that takes months and years to heal.

And that’s okay.

I am exhausted. I’ve had to power through medical abuse, gaslighting, and ignorance on top of my illnesses. I’ve had to advocate and fight even as those who should be helping me were siding with my abusers and not listening. I’ve discovered that the supports I’ve long relied upon do not exist or aren’t as stable as I would like. And I’ve had to keep going, keep working and doing emotional labor when I don’t have ability. It’s hard making decisions. It’s hard to be decisive... and even though I am a take charge person, I don’t want to have to make all of the decisions in addition to fight my illnesses. It feels like I’m both the general and the private who has been in an over year-long battle that hasn’t ended. And it’s not like I was at full strength a year ago. I am disabled. I have several other chronic illnesses and conditions. I live in constant pain. It’s exhausting, and I am so very very exhausted.

And that’s not okay.

This exhaustion is both physical and mental and emotional. At times I am numb. But mostly I am tired. Fatigued. A bone-deep fatigue that leaves me with not even enough energy to care for my most basic of needs. Showers? What are those? Home-cooked meals? Ha! (Adding to this is that I am very food restricted so standard “easy” meals don’t help in the long term and actually cause serious harm) Cleaning? Are you kidding?! Sitting upright is hard. Reading is hard. Writing is impossible. And editing... how I make my money to live? Yeah... not happening. I’m just triaging. Every day I am triaging... making decisions about what I can and cannot do. What is most important and what I can let fall to the wayside. I sleep so much, and yes, I am healing from 6 different surgeries over 6 months. But we as a society both understand that people need time to heal but at the same point do not afford people that time or resources to heal. A week is not enough. A month is better. More would be best.

Because I am still not okay.

I have to remind myself that I cannot compare myself to others. People who I deem as having it worse who can get more done than I can. I can’t know their full situation. And I am not them. The comparison doesn’t help. And it doesn’t help when others compare me to them. Each person is different. Each has their own struggles. But because each person is different, what one person can shoulder is another person’s unbearable weight and still yet another person’s feather. But in the end, that weight is still weight. It doesn’t matter if it’s a ton of bricks or a ton of feathers; a ton is a ton, and both can crush someone.

So yeah. I’m not okay. And that’s okay.

Many of my friends are not okay, and that’s okay.

It has to be okay.

It’s been a hard.... Year? Decade? Generation? Age? Millennia? It’s been hard. We all agree that, right? It’s been hard. This isn’t the misery olympics. No one gets a medal for having the shittiest life. And this isn’t a competition anyone wants to win.

So I tell myself, it’s okay to not be okay. And I take one more step to hopefully, someday, finally being a little bit more okay.

#essay #personal essay #cancer mention #mental health #medical gaslighting #long post #wall of text #so much text #it's okay to not be okay #I'm screaming into the void here #I don't expect the void to scream back #it's days like today when I miss LiveJournal #and before anyone asks #yes I have a therapist #they're on sabbatical until January #I may take this down later

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catthefeminist · 2 years

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Physician-Assisted Death

Okayyy so this is for an assignment for English class. I had to write a rhetorical speech based off of my research paper (which is on the morality of physician-assisted death) and find a way to publish it/ share it outside of the classroom. First I have my speech, then I have my research paper which is followed by sources. Happy reading :)

Physician-Assisted Death Is An Acceptable Option (the speech, by yours truly)- 585 words

When you think about death, what do you envision? If it's not the ominous drone of medical machinery, the sterile smell of a doctor’s office, a terminal diagnosis, or an overpriced prescription, then you're thinking about death incorrectly. Modern death is characterized by debilitating, chronic conditions such as heart disease, diabetes, and cancer-- all of which are illnesses that lurk in the shadows, waiting to prey upon their next victim. Even though new studies from Stanford, the National Institute of Health, and other scientific leaders have shown that 90% of Americans now die from incurable, terminal diseases, modern medicine often fails to provide proper comfort at the end of life. For years, many terminal patients have been throwing out the idea of hospice care and painful procedures in favor of physician assisted death, which is an end of life option that allows those with less than six months to live to self administer a painless, lethal dose of medication. We must respect and accept physician assisted death as a valid option for the terminally ill as it embodies qualities that are central to the foundation of our human morality such as peace, dignity, and compassion.

Terminal death is like a relentless tide. Each new physical symptom, painful procedure, emotional battle is a wave that envelops unsuspecting patients and drags them further into the depths of their suffering. The fact that the human body shutdown process is a two-sided coin that causes both emotional and physical turmoil makes this month long progression brutal. Patients are expected to happily trudge through the rest of their days with the knowledge that they will experience the excruciating pain that accompanies organ failure along with digestive issues, extreme exhaustion, weight loss, poor circulation, and hallucinations. Furthermore, imagine having the knowledge that your days are numbered. Imagine waking up only to realize that you were one day closer to a life characterized by immobilizing pain, perpetual anxiety, and complete loss of self, independence, and dignity. Physician assisted death grants the gift of ultimate peace. Additionally, it gives these people--who have lost so much, whose lives have been dictated by doctors and their disease--a choice. A recent survey conducted by the Yale Department of Biology and Medicine revealed that 90.6% of Oregonians undergoing the death with dignity process were concerned about losing their autonomy. In 2017, Don Monroe, a resident of Arizona, found himself in a similar situation after being diagnosed with a rare form of terminal throat cancer. His condition landed him in the intensive care unit where he was intubated without anesthesia due to being underweight. Don Monroe made the only choice he had when he shot himself less than twenty-four hours after his discharge. Physician assisted death places the most important medical decision back into the hands of terminal patients; it provides people with a compassionate choice, a kind opportunity, and a peaceful option. It allows those who are suffering to die on their terms.

As the population ages, terminal illnesses will only become more commonplace in our society. You will know someone who is diagnosed with cancer or heart disease, or you might be given a terminal sentence yourself. We must remember and respect that terminal death doesn't have to mean white hospice wings, noisy ventilators, and bottles of pills. Better ways of dying exist--we just have to open our minds to them. For those looking for an option that embodies our widely accepted human morals of compassion, kindness, and dignity, physician assisted death is the answer.

Physician-Assisted Death Does Not Undermine Human Morality (aka the research paper, by me again :) ) - 2351 words

“If we ask for a dignified death it is because we are tired of all the illnesses that overcome us,” explains Victor Escobar. A few weeks ago, Escobar became the first person to end his life using Colombia’s new assisted death law despite being a devout Catholic in a country where 70% of the population follows this belief system that opposes suicide (Beltrán). In 2008, Escobar suffered two strokes and had since been diagnosed with a litany of other debilitating conditions. After living for over a decade in excruciating pain that even morphine failed to subside, Escobar opted to petition the courts to allow his physician to assist him in dying (Suárez). As the population ages and medical technology advances, cases like Escobar’s have become more common. Despite the concern that physician-assisted death contradicts human morality, countries such as the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg, and even several states, have protected this end-of-life option for years (Emanuel). Further exploration into the topic of physician-assisted death reveals that the idea is based upon traditional, widely-accepted morals such as compassion, acceptance, and the pursuit of peace. Allowing people to make end-of-life choices including physician-assisted death does not undermine our generally accepted view of human morality.

Physician-assisted death is a procedure that allows terminally ill patients to legally end their lives with the assistance and supervision of a medical professional (Dugdale). Often incorrectly referred to as physician-assisted suicide, this form of death differs from traditional suicide in the sense that these patients are not depressed, but are simply waiting for their terminal conditions to catch up with them (Goy). The movement began in the United States in 1975, when Derek Humphry helped his wife with terminal breast cancer end her life. After her death, he formed the Hemlock Society, America's first major right-to-die organization. Humphry and the group focused on advocating for assisted death laws and helping terminal patients achieve peaceful deaths. Attention surrounding the assisted death movement skyrocketed in 1990 when Dr. Jack Kevorkian invented a machine that allowed people to inject themselves with lethal doses of prescription medication in the back of his van. In the span of eight years, an estimated 130 people suffering from terminal conditions ended their lives in Dr. Kevorkian’s presence. Dr. Kevorkian explained that he believed physicians had several responsibilities and “those responsibilities include assisting patients with death” (Childress). In 1994, Oregon became the first state to approve an assisted death bill, known as the Oregon Death with Dignity Act. Since this historic piece of legislation was ratified, nine other states and territories have passed similar laws allowing physician-assisted death (States with Legal).

Further expansion of the movement has been met with varied reactions. In 2018, a poll conducted by Gallup revealed that 54% of survey respondents from the United States believed physician-assisted death was morally acceptable (Brenan). The main concern cited by the remaining 46% was that the legalization of physician-assisted death would cause a slippery slope effect that would increase suicides among those suffering from non-terminal chronic conditions and lead to the eventual legalization of nonconsensual euthanasia. In 2004, an extremist group known as Final Exit arose, claiming to be another right-to-die organization. However, Final Exit’s three thousand plus members believed that everyone, regardless of physical or mental health status, should have the right to kill themselves legally. True right-to-die organizations distanced themselves from Final Exit, and in 2009, four of the groups’ leaders were arrested and charged in court for illegally assisting hundreds of people in dying and running a “suicide ring” (Childress). While it has been seen that the right-to-die movement provides an outlet for groups with nefarious purposes to spread their ideas, the strict criteria listed in death with dignity legislation makes it difficult to act outside of the laws’ boundaries without legal repercussions. With the exception of the state of Montana, which allows physician-assisted death only through court rulings, all current legislation regarding the right-to-die movement is fairly uniform (States with Legal). All individuals must be at least eighteen years of age, have less than six months to live, reside in the state whose law they plan to use, make two formal oral requests to their physician to receive the lethal medication, sign a written request in the presence of two witnesses, undergo a psychological evaluation for mental competency, sit through a fifteen day waiting period, and only then can they receive the prescription which they then must administer themselves. In addition to this, all of these steps must be documented in the state database (Chapter 70.245 RCW). With all of these regulations and roadblocks in place, it is highly unlikely that a slippery slope effect would be successful. Since physician-assisted death creates a conflict of interest for doctors who are most concerned about saving lives, acquiring a true understanding of how this end-of-life option morally fits into our society requires a look at the complex role of medicine.

While modern medicine has benefited human society, its techniques often prolong death and suffering. In the past several decades alone, new medical innovations including ventilators, chemotherapy, cardiopulmonary resuscitation, and the creation of the intensive care unit have added years to the average American’s life expectancy (Gordon). But at what cost? At the beginning of the 20th century, most people died as a result of accidents or sudden illnesses such as influenza. A study conducted in 1994 revealed the top two leading causes of death in America to be heart disease resulting in 25.7% of deaths and cancer-causing 20%. Chronic conditions such as these are the direct cause of over 90% of Americans’ deaths (Death and Dying). According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, six out of ten adults suffer from a chronic disease that reduces their overall quality of life (About Chronic Diseases). This coupled with the fact that over one-third of the American population is over fifty years old means that death intervening technology has only become more commonplace in our society (Rogers). However, doctors’ and scientists’ current hyperfocus on death prevention is at odds with medicine’s traditional purpose to mitigate patients’ suffering and provide them with comfort. This is a larger issue when applied to patients who are terminally ill. Are intrusive medical procedures and painful resuscitation attempts the best option for someone with mere days to live? In 2012, Corinne Johns-Treat, a faithful Christian, was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer. That year she had a portion of her lung removed and underwent several rounds of chemotherapy. In March of 2015, Johns-Treat discovered her cancer had spread to her neck, chest, and brain. After a second failed surgery to remove the tumors in her brain, she was given only several months to live. With all other medical options exhausted, Johns-Treat began to research physician-assisted death. Though she lived in California, where physician-assisted death was legal, she was criticized for even considering that route by others in her faith community. They believed the process to be suicide and against the will of God, but Johns-Treat saw this a different way. “When science can’t offer life-sustaining treatments anymore, then the role of medicine should be to relieve suffering,” explained Johns-Treat who was still facing excruciating headaches and undergoing chemotherapy at the time. She added that though she hadn't definitively decided on the procedure, she felt that it was in line with her morals and that God was showing compassion by presenting physician-assisted death as an option (Johns-Treat). This desire to achieve peace after a long medical journey is a common motivation for many considering physician-assisted death.

Physician-assisted death allows patients to avoid the inevitable emotional and physical pain surrounding their deaths. For terminally ill patients, death is an excruciating experience due to the human body’s shutdown process. This process, which can begin as soon as months before a person’s ultimate death, is gradual. In the first stages, one experiences decreased circulation, poor brain function, and extreme exhaustion. This progresses to include weight loss, digestive issues, hallucinations, and difficulty breathing that lasts until one’s heart eventually stops (The Physical Process). At this point, death is often a welcome visitor, its arrival signaling that the sufferer can finally lose consciousness and slip into a permanent, painless peace. The knowledge that they are to endure agony as their organs shut down in the months leading up to their final moments is one of the top reasons terminal patients ultimately choose physician-assisted death. One study by the American Medical Association reveals that the majority of their fifty-six survey goers who were on the list for physician-assisted death placed “concerns about future pain” at the highest level possible (Goy). Aside from experiencing physical pain, patients must additionally face the emotional turmoil of knowing that their days are numbered and that they will be forced to live out the rest of their time feeling unlike themselves. The same American Medical Association study also asked questions regarding emotional motives and saw patients list reasons such as “loss of mental clarity”, “poor quality of life”, “inability to care for oneself”, and “loss of dignity” as significant (Goy). All patients surveyed resided in Oregon, a “death with dignity state”, so they were able to go through with their intended procedures. Those suffering from terminal illnesses in other states still experience these same concerns, and many also look for ways to avoid the inevitable pain. Dr. James L. Werth, a psychologist involved in conducting the study, explains: “Many more people with serious illness end their lives through some other negotiated means, such as ceasing medications, withholding food or drink, refusing life-sustaining treatment or signing ‘do not resuscitate’ orders (Weir).” The fact remains that those who are set on escaping their pain will find ways to do so, even if those ways are less humane. Don Monroe, a resident of Arizona, began experiencing pain radiating from his ear to his jaw along with difficulty swallowing in 2017. After two years of suffering from these pains, Monroe was diagnosed with a form of throat cancer. By this time, his condition had progressed to the point where he could no longer eat, speak, or hear and he was admitted to the intensive care unit due to extreme weakness. Because he was underweight, he could not be fully sedated as he was intubated and given a feeding tube. His wife, Robin Toole, described her husband as being in constant fear and pain. When Monroe was released from the hospital twenty-four hours later, he chose to take his life with a gun rather than suffer a single second longer. Toole explained that her husband didn't believe anyone should suffer and that he would have chosen physician-assisted death over traditional suicide had it been an option (Toole). While physician-assisted death allows people to gain freedom from pain peacefully and humanely, the desire to have the ability to make decisions regarding one’s own death is another gift this option grants to the dying.

Physician-assisted death allows patients to have control over their deaths, which is a leading concern of those interested in this option. The American Medical Association study results also revealed that the desire to have “control of the circumstances of death” was the highest ranked reason (Goy). A separate survey conducted by the Yale Department of Biology and Medicine showed that 90.6% of Oregonians undergoing the death with dignity process were concerned about losing their autonomy. The survey report written by a panel of doctors explains that the reason for this is simple: “Patients accustomed to making their own healthcare decisions throughout life should also be permitted to control the circumstances of their deaths ” (Dugdale). If people go their entire lives having control over their bodies and the ability to make their own medical decisions, what disqualifies someone from making the final, most important one? This desire to have control over the circumstances of death was a leading motivation for Brittney Maynard. Best known for her involvement in several states’ eventual legalization of physician-assisted death, Maynard was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer at the age of twenty-nine. Upon her diagnosis, Maynard lived in California, which did not allow for physician-assisted death at the time. When she was given six months to live and started experiencing seizures, Maynard and her husband made the decision to move to Oregon so that she could use the state’s Death with Dignity Act. She had planned to spend a few weeks traveling with her family, but had to cut that time short as her debilitating headaches, strokes, and seizures made it difficult for her to continue. She decided to undergo the procedure while she was still coherent enough to make the decision. “I am choosing to go in a way that is less suffering and less pain,” Maynard explained. She additionally stated the importance of having the ability to choose a peaceful death, explaining how it brought both her and her family comfort. “The thought that I can spare myself the physical and emotional pain of that, as well as my family, is a huge relief (Death With Dignity).” Allowing patients to have the choice to control their deaths provides a significant amount of peace.

Physician-assisted death falls within the guidelines of human morality as it provides compassion, acceptance, and peace to the dying. Death is the ultimate human experience, and being able to have control in death is just as crucial to that experience as having control in our lives. In his last few days, Victor Escobar explained that he looked forward to the tranquility of his death and saw his end as the beginning of something else. “It is the door so that a patient like me, with degenerative diseases, has the opportunity for a dignified death (Suárez).” Physician-assisted death can give people the chance to close the last chapter of their lives in a meaningful way that avoids suffering, which is something we should all find morally correct. Morality exists to guide humans through life, and we must learn to understand how physician-assisted death and other manners of dying abide by this concept to create a future more accepting of death as a whole.

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