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iamanartichoke · 3 years

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[please blacklist spoiler tags: #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, #loki spoilers]

I need to talk about the Avengers.

I just want to express how much I hate that the Avengers aren’t on the hook for all their time travel nonsense bc they were “supposed to” do it and Loki is on the hook bc he wasn’t.

I mean, I am glad that they addressed it right away - that Loki was inadvertantly caught up in the Avengers' time meddling, and that apparently they were doing what they were supposed to and that's why none of them were on trial, but - there are two things going on here that I have issue with. One is, of course, the scapegoating of Loki once a-fucking-gain, but the other is that there's a legitimate problem inherent in framing the Avengers' deeds as The Right Thing So There Are No Consequences, especially because it directly leads to Loki (and only Loki) being scapegoated since, apparently, someone's got to answer for all of this.

Why Were The Avengers Supposed to Undo the Snap??

Of all the possible options they could have gone with (such as reversing time back to just before the Snap happened), going back through time to gather the stones and use them to undo things five years later is, like, one of the worst?? Best case scenario, it implies that the TVA is ridiculously incompetent in managing the sacred timeline and worst case scenario, it implies that the TVA is ridiculously adept in managing the sacred timeline, if their goal is to have it be the worst possible timeline anyone could end up in.

The Avengers may have done an arguably good thing in undoing the Snap - I don't disagree that those people should've lived - but they also royally fucked over a lot of things in the process and left Earth (and presumably many many other worlds) in total post-Snap chaos while fucking off to die be with their families and/or start new lives.

This goes back to the plan itself. One of my many issues with Endgame is that not only is the plan convoluted and, frankly, stupid, but also I have a real problem with the concept of the Avengers just saving the world as they see fit, regardless of whether or not that's actually the best thing to do. (If the Russos hadn't done such a shit job with explaining what the Accords were actually supposed to do, then maybe this could have been addressed somehow - like, okay, together we may have the brains and resources to carry off this plan but does that mean we're the ultimate authority on whether or not we should? Maybe we should check with, like, the UN or something about this? [and it’s entirely possible the UN was mentioned and I have forgotten it bc I’ll be honest, I watched Endgame once and have bitched about it ever since.] I digress.)

The narrative in Endgame and into the MCU beyond plays like the Avengers only care about saving the world when they stand to personally gain from it (they want their friends and family back, they want to feel like they didn't fail, they have unilaterally decided that what they want is the Best Thing for everyone) and once the Good Deed is done and the smoke clears from the battlefield, there's no concern with saving the mess of the world they created.

TFatWS addressed so many of the problems with the post-reverse-Snap, which implies that the MCU (both in-universe and out) is aware that things are fucked up now. People's lives were literally ruined by what the Avengers did. Refugees are displaced. Humans are coming back to a world where they've been dead for five years and their loved ones have moved on and their homes have been sold and their bank accounts have been closed and they have no jobs. And that’s just on Earth. Yet no one (again, both in-universe and out) feels the need to hold the Avengers accountable for any of this.

Plus, what about the people who died as a result of the Snap but not from the Snap directly? What about the planes that fell from the sky when the pilots turned to dust? The cars that crashed and collided when the drivers poofed? Etc. Like, fuck all of those people I guess?

And who, exactly, is "supposed to" clean up the Avengers' mess now that the actual Avengers are either dead, old and living on the moon, or retired? Is it on Sam's shoulders alone (or, rather, Sam and Bucky's)? Is Peter Parker (yknow, the 15 year old Nick Fury went and recruited bc there was no one else) supposed to be fixing things?

The TVA takes responsibility for none of this. They sit back in their nightmare DMV-esque office and claim that all is as it should be but my question remains: please explain to me how the outcome of the post-Snap universe is ultimately satisfactory to anyone besides the Avengers?

There's also the fact that Loki figures out right away that the Avengers were engaging in some time travel shenanigans ("the cologne of two Tony Starks is hard to miss” lmfao Loki you snarky shit). Loki recognizes that there's been an opportunity created of which he can take advantage, but he isn't responsible for creating it. The Avengers messed up and created that opportunity so, even if they were supposed to be doing what they were doing, there are still no consequences for the fact that they made a mistake that allowed Loki to then branch off and create a new timeline.

Let's also say that we accept that the Avengers were supposed to undo the Snap exactly as they did. Okay, sure. BUT:

- Was Steve, then, also supposed to decide to fuck back off to the 1940s and marry Peggy (which created two Steves, right? The one who was married to Peggy all along and the one who was in the ice?? The TVA is just okay with two Steves?)?

- What is the actual point of Stephen Strange having the time stone and using the time stone both to gain the advantage over Darmammushumuuyourmom (I’m sorry, I can’t remember his real name) and to look at all the possible timelines to figure out how to defeat Thanos?

- How is it possible that there are 14 million potential timelines in which the Avengers failed if the TVA’s entire thing is that there can only be one true ring timeline to rule them all? The fact that Stephen can look ahead and determine so many outcomes based on the choices they're making would mean that people do have free will and that their actions aren't automatically dictated by what's “supposed to” happen. They had to make the right choices in order to get to the one timeline in which Thanos failed.

- What’s the point of Stephen having to protect the time stone, anyway, if there are presumably a few others in Casey’s drawer?

- On that note, if there are a lot of infinity stones hanging around in the TVA’s desk drawers, what makes the original six the specific, correct ones that Thanos had to collect in order to pull off the Snap and why is it then those specific six the ones that the Avengers had permission to go back through time to get in order to undo the Snap as the Timekeepers intended?

- And actually, in fact, if there’s only one sacred timeline and anyone who fucks it up without permission gets “reset” (aka made nonexistent, along with their timeline branch) then, again, why does Stephen have to protect the time stone? Either anyone who steals it was supposed to, or their timeline gets eliminated and the theft ceases to matter.

- Less significant but also still kinda significant is how Agents of SHIELD figures into all of this. The TVA knows that Loki killed Coulson but they don't know (or don't care?) that Coulson was brought back to life and proceeded, with his team, to go on and get heavily involved in time travel and going back and forth and bringing people from the past into the present? So the TVA is okay with Daniel Sousa leaving his timeline but not with Loki leaving his?

... I have literally confused myself with all of this, so if anyone followed my train of thought here, congratulations and maybe you can explain it to me lmao.

But here's my ultimate point: the sacred timeline that the TVA is tasked with maintaining is not sensical or linear. It's full of gaps and holes and people taking matters into their own hands to determine both their own fates and the fates of others. As a result, a lot of people suffer kinda needlessly based on the events in said timeline, and apparently it's perfectly fine for all of this nonsense to occur so that everyone else has some element of control -

- but Loki is literally the only one who is told uh, actually, no, you are supposed to live a shitty life and die a pointless death and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it bc it's supposed to happen.

What in the actual fuck kind of logic is that???

Thus, either the TVA (and the Timekeepers) are grossly incompetent, or else they're extremely competent and also really fucking shitty beings who just enjoy the needless suffering of others.

And somehow this is all Loki's fault!!

And then Mobius has the fucking audacity to say, to Loki's face, “you only exist to prop up everyone else and you, Loki Odinsonson Laufeyson mischief god and king of space lol, do not have any inherent worth or value as your own person. You were born to be a scapegoat and you will die a scapegoat and there's no getting around that, if we have anything to say about it.”

To quote Loki, in a very twisted way - yes, it's funny. It's absurd.

Does, uh, does this make sense? At some point I crossed over from meta-writing into straight up ranting and so, well, here we are.

#loki tv series spoilers #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki series: glass half empty #loki series: glass half full #loki pokey artichokey #loki series meta #so. many. tags. ugh #i no longer know what my point was #i'm sorry #so it begins #the rambly nonsensical meta lmao #some of you tell me sometimes that you enjoy my meta and my takes and i just #i love you but srsly who is paying you bc #*waves helplessly at the above word vomit*#loki series negativity #not really negativity so much as criticism (that i think is valid) but yknow fandom #also i recognize all of this as issues that i - if no one else - have a problem with #but i still liked the show????#i am not hating at all #i am just acknowledging that this whole premise is fucked up and i'm not sure if it's supposed to be #or if the writers just don't realize all of the implications in their decisions #to be fair i'm sure that they're working with what they had - ie the original nonsensical endgame events #but is this really the *best* they could do? cause i beg to differ that they were written into this small of a corner #ANYWAY #i gotta go do some actual work now #tag rambles

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the-lincyclopedia · 2 years

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It’s been about a decade since the day I almost killed myself. I don’t remember the exact date, but it was a Saturday in late February or early March of 2012. I was dealing with my first breakup, my mom’s cancer was getting worse again, the aftereffects of the previous year’s eating disorder were catching up with me, I was perpetually overwhelmed by homework, etc., etc. The adults in my life kept scoffing at the notion that being 15 could possibly be hard, and I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t survive if things got any harder. First Boyfriend (whom I had recently broken up with and would shortly thereafter get back together with) talked me out of killing myself that day, but my survival was touch-and-go that entire spring, and honestly probably for the majority of 2012.

Things got better (not perfect, but better) eventually. Therapy helped. So did antidepressants. And my personal life wasn’t always in that level of crisis--I wasn’t always fresh off a breakup, my mom wasn’t always in scary cancer limbo, and the worst of the post-eating-disorder stuff went away eventually, and I got more or less used to the other aftereffects. Ceasing to be in school (which in my case meant graduating college and getting a job) solved a lot of the problems that lasted until then. Things aren’t perfect now, but they’re a hell of a lot better.

I haven’t had a prolonged suicidal period since graduating college (and I was having one every three to six months for all of high school and college, so the fact that I’ve now gone four years without one feels like a whole-ass miracle). I still sometimes wonder if I’m allowed to be alive, but I’m getting better at concluding that the answer is yes. I am not perfect, and I am allowed to be alive. Sometimes I accidentally cause harm, and I am allowed to be alive. There exist times when I do not make the morally optimal choice, and I am allowed to be alive. There exist times when I am unproductive, and I am allowed to be alive. There exist times when my actions do not help others, and I am allowed to be alive.

So here’s to being alive. And I want you to know that you’re allowed to be alive too. <3

#a lin original #tw suicide #eating disoder tw #him and me #2012

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monsieur-guimauve · 3 years

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Theory on how human Vanitas’s ending will turn out or be a result of

Spoilers ahead ! (Theories are of my opinion and not fact)

I love MochiJun’s work and there’s no telling how things will turn out when she writes a chapter. Therefore, I wanted to see what the fandom thinks about how Noe will ‘kill’ human Vanitas, as I personally don’t think it will be as straightforward as how Noe makes it out to be.

Firstly, there was an interview MochiJun did before the release of the VnC anime. One question she was asked was whether she wrote VnC based on her current inspirations, vs. if she had the whole plot thought out already. She responded that when she writes, she has a goal/destination in the storyline in mind, but how she gets there along with other things, seems to be something she does on the go.

This led some others in the fandom to believe that the dreaded scene described in Memoire 1 could be happen anytime in the storyline rather than the end, however, I personally think this could happen close to the end because Noe’s mentioned in Memoire 1 that ‘how at the END of that journey, I would kill him with my own two hands’.

As an Archiviste, it’s fitting that Noe is recording down the memory/understanding of his journey with Vanitas (including of all we gained and lost) through his perspective and how the memories of others have effected him too. The final record of this journey is the manga we know as ‘The Case Study of Vanitas’. (MochiJun you genius magnificent b********) Therefore, human Vanitas’s death towards the end makes more sense.

Now onto why human Vanitas will die because of Noe is one of the following theories:

1) Salvation for human Vanitas may be death, and he asks Noe to kill him.

I thought of this theory (though I don’t think this is very likely) because there have been hints on what salvation means to different characters. In the scene after Vanitas grants death to Catherine (little girl turned curse bearer), Noe freaks out because Vanitas couldn’t save her. Noe learns that his understanding of salvation isn’t possible or the same for others, but has a difficult time coping with it.

Salvation is brought up by Noe again after Laurent helps him and human Vanitas escape the Catacombs. As Vanitas is resting behind him, he wonders if the one who’s always saving others (Vampires) without fail, is the one who wishes to be saved the most, which is human Vanitas himself. (Something along those lines)

And after Chloe is saved from being a curse bearer, Vanitas has an inner monologue about using Blue Moon Luna’s power:’ the more you call on its power, the more you will be re-written yourself’

^We don’t know what it means to be re-written in terms of VnC. Does it mean death in general? That human Vanitas and Mikhail will be ‘reborn’ as vampires? Cease to exist or remember as you were or something worst than death? What kind of salvation does human Vanitas need to ‘remain’ human until the very end? What can Noe do to grant that to human Vanitas is something I suspect to be the cause of the scene where human Vanitas ponders about being re-written.

Also, there is a chance that Noe doesn’t owe human Vanitas in this sort of scenario, but I highly suspect he will as his guilt for not granting Louis his last wish has been glooming over him in this series. (Vanitas and Louis do share some uncanny resemblance too.)

2) Vanitas ‘dies’ in the border between the Human World and Altus

Since Vampires are the result of the Babel incident, only Vampires can cross the border into Altus. Should a human enter without physical contact of a Vampire, they risk getting lost forever between both dimensions, or that no one will know what happens to him.

We are told by Noe as he scolds human Vanitas for the risk he took, but Vanitas says there’s nothing to worry about because Noe grabbed his hand. The story continues into the Bal Masque Arc from there without much thought.

But this is significant because there are additional two instances in the story which relate to this. One is Noe’s recollection on the day he failed to grab human Vanitas’s hand. The second is back to the first Memoire when Noe’s talking about killing human Vanitas, there is a voice over of human Vanitas saying ‘Don’t worry Noe, even if I’m not here, I won’t ‘die’’. This is pretty vague, but we aren’t told exactly if getting lost between borders means actual death for a human, or whatever human Vanitas will become due to the likelihood of being ‘rewritten’ when using the Blue Moon’s power. We also need to remember that Noe, being a moralistic character with defined values, may be a bit bias when he describes intangible things like love, salvation, loss and death to the audience. (Kind of like how the OP theme song Sora to Usturo lyrics reflects the themes of human emotion, but it’s not clear if it’s in Noe’s perspective or Vanitas’)

If we stick to the theory that human Vanitas dies towards the end in relation to getting lost in the border, I suspect this may have to do with something related to Altus or the story is located in Altus around this time. Will Vampires be returned their humanity? Will there be some form of the Babel incident being re-written again? How will that effect human Vanitas, who is an artificial kin of the Blue Moon?

3) Ruthven’s curse on Noe plays a role in Vanitas’ death

I don’t think this will be a direct cause, because Ruthven’s initial intention is to use the curse to make Noe a pawn against his Teacher. Vanitas is a human who is cunning and vague motives in his eyes, but he is young and has extremely limited resources to do anything on his own. Compared to Noe’s teacher, who is probably one of the oldest vampires, he’s seen everything and probably knows and has the power to do anything against anyone, but he chooses not to, but instead, puts a huge curious responsibility on the last surviving member of a clan that’s died out to that job (Noe). That position of choice seems to unnerve other vampires like Ruthven. He has gotten some news of Vanitas’ inconsistent character from Noe, but I think at most Ruthven sees the both of them like minor nuisances, and his target is Noe’s Teacher. If Vanitas dies because of Noe’s curse, it’s likely to be indirect cause.

By this time or around Retrace 59 in Pandora Hearts, we were revealed many details and it was a huge turning point of the storyline. There’s still too much we don’t know about either protagonist's past, their future goals or those of the Vampire Senate. And the relationships between all the characters will be a key focus of the storyline too.

Is there more to human Vanitas’s backstory? What about ‘that night’ human Vanitas killed Luna? What is Ruthven’s goal? What’s the relation between Faustina and Luna Blue Moon? Who’s No. 70? Why is Noe the last survivor? What’s Jeanne’s curse? What do we need to know more about astermite? All of these questions, I’m very very interested in learning more in the near future.

I hope that VnC will be longer than PH, as I enjoy reading things from an earnest perspective of a character like Noe.

#vanitas-no-carte #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas #blue moon #noe archiviste #dominique de sade #vanitas no shuki #les memoires de vanitas #mochizuki jun #mochijun #ramble post #delete later #I need to know what the hell is happening in this series asap #theories #vnc noé #vnc noe #vnc vanitas #*weeps into hands*

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reidscanehand · 3 years

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lil preview of my Spencer Reid x Santa Claus’ Daughter Reader fic! I’m so excited to get to share the entirety of Keep the Christmas Spirit with you on July 25th at 12:30 EST! Hope you like it as much as I do! xx

Spencer Reid is highly aware that people often associate his genius with a certain level of pragmatism that, while not entirely lacking, is also coupled with - what Spencer considers to be - a healthy amount of idealism. He is a magician, after all, which is a science in its own way, really, but he’s also an eternal student fueled by a curiosity about the universe. A universe that never ceased to surprise him. Sometimes he worries that his job is surprising him for the worse, jading his idealism by showing him the worst the universe has to offer, terrors that never seem to cease despite his and the rest of the BAU’s best efforts. Though, sometimes, the universe surprised him with its gentleness when a case would end well.

And then sometimes the universe seemed to feel the need to completely flummox Spencer Reid. And finding out that Santa Claus was not only real, but had a family - a family that had been under the protection and had regular contact with the FBI since it was founded - absolutely flummoxed Spencer Reid.

“Santa Claus?” Spencer asks again for what feels like the millionth time in this meeting. “Like...like, Santa Claus?”

His unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, nods again, for what also feels like the millionth time, but he’s not at all annoyed by Spencer’s disbelief. There’s many reasons the information surrounding the actual figurehead of the Christmas season who just so happens to actually exist is top secret information, but one of them is simply that, even when given The Claus File, most FBI agents tended to think it was just a massive prank. Even now with the deep, emerald green file embossed with the almost sparkly Christmas tree insignia of the Claus Family, Spencer was having completely understandable trouble in believing this.

“More specifically,” Hotch continues, unfazed by Spencer’s incredulity, “his daughter, Y/N Claus. Or, well, she’s taken her mother’s maiden name now, so it’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Let me just...” Spencer stares at the file, similar to every FBI file he’s ever handled in his life except that now it has detailed information and even pictures of a mythology he’d barely believed as a child. “Let me just get this straight: Santa Claus...Father Christmas...St. Nicholas is-”

“He just goes by Nick most of the time,” Hotch interrupts, with a casual air that would suggest he was talking about a friend of a friend instead of the figurehead of one of the biggest holidays in the world. “He doesn’t really...love the pageantry of all the titles. He got his fill of that in the ‘80s.”

Despite his massive intellect, Spencer hardly has the brainspace to take in the idea that the actual Santa Claus, or ‘Nick’, existed, let alone the idea that Hotch had, at the very least, spoken to this man.

“Fine, Nick...is real?” Spencer asks, a little embarrassed at how dumbfounded he sounds.

“Yes,” Hotch nods definitively, making intense eye contact to emphasize the point. “And he’s retiring.”

“Retiring?” Spencer asks, not really processing the question.

“And he needs his daughter to replace him,” Hotch continues. Spencer looks down at the file, suddenly struck by the photo of Y/N Claus. It’s a graduation photo from Elf University (or so the caption says). He’s taken aback by how pretty she is, but his profiling mind is suddenly captivated. He can see how sad she looks behind her eyes. He wonders why, he suddenly wants to know everything about her: what she studied, what music she listens to...could he make her smile? A real smile, though, not the fake one she’s sporting in the photo. Spencer recognizes that he’s been staring at the photo in silence.

“So,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “what’s the problem?”

Hotch is smirking a little bit when he replies, “The problem is, Y/N abandoned the family about five years ago. She calls every so often, but never for more than a few minutes. We’re actually pretty convinced she has burner phones because they tried a track and trace-”

“Why do you need me for this?” Spencer interrupts suddenly, but Hotch nods in understanding.

“We need you to go talk to her,” Hotch explains with a simplicity that suggests he doesn’t recognize the full gravity of asking Spencer to go and talk to a girl that just so happens to be the daughter of a man he had, until this very moment, thought to be fictional.

“Talk to her about what?” Spencer asks, trying to ignore the absurdity of this task.

“Well, Reid,” Hotch leans back in his chair, obviously trying to put the younger agent at ease, “you’re one of our best negotiators. Plus, the two of you have a lot in common and-”

“It’s because I have no holiday plans, isn’t it?” Spencer asks quietly, not wanting to sound bitter, despite the feeling piling up in the back of his throat.

“Well...” Hotch trails off, “that might be...a small part of it. But, I really do think you’re the best suited for it.”

Spencer sighs, looking back down at the file to hide his disgruntled expression. The impulse of his pragmatic side was to immediately turn it down, but his curious mind began to wander: It would be rather exciting to talk to the relative of someone he’d believed was fictional. What a life she must’ve led...and why did she run? And why did she look so sad? And what did her real smile look like? And-

“Reid?” Hotch asks, quietly, interrupting Spencer’s thoughts. “What do you think? Can you do this assignment?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, sounding only slightly resigned. “When do I leave?”

~~~

I hope you liked this and I hope you’ll read the whole thing on July 25th! xx

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x fem! reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #keep the christmas spirit preview #coming July 25 #hope you like it!

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6ad6ro · 3 years

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there's a lot of posts about piracy going around rn. so here's mine:

anti-piracy arguments are almost always classist. you shouldn't need to be rich to be happy. we were all born into capitalism. it's not voluntary. many of us don't have parents or other support networks keeping us afloat. poor people still deserve to have nice things. i could care less about keeping a system running smoothly that keeps most people poor and only few people rich.

if you work a shitty, low-paying job, then a simple monthly streaming service fee is YES actually too much to ask. no i don't care if your fav big company loses "potential" money from people who couldn't afford to buy them to begin with.

if there wasn't such a thing as "poverty"? if people could generally AFFORD to go out and easily get the things they want and need? obviously piracy wouldn’t be much of an issue at all. it's always frustrating to hear anti-piracy arguments from people who ignore how CRAZY expensive cost of living has become. again, usually the biggest anti-piracy peeps are either naive rich kids (who have things paid for), rich ppl who STAY rich by keeping things broken like they are, and the poor people they’ve brainwashed into being submissive hosts to their parasitic behavior.

in a world like this, where people are overworked and tired? with very few tangible goals available in their future? people NEED entertainment to stay sane. it's literally a mental health issue. yes, in a way, you NEED that funny show to inspire yourself to keep going. that game you can't afford otherwise? will help you relax after a hard day. don't let some disney mouthpiece tell you shouldn't download lion king if it'd help calm you down, especially when the people running that company could probably afford to have a private zoo in their backyard.

there's ALSO the big issue of control. as companies move further and further into streaming and cloud technologies? ownership has become a huge issue. greedy companies are finding more and more ways to nickel and dime people over long periods of time rather than get a one-time fee. it makes them more money, they don't have to actually GIVE customers anything (copies of data are free to them). and customers are left with nothing to show for it after-the-fact. this means that even though entertainment is being produced way more than the past? i’d argue people have LESS access to the entertainment they want for how much they’re paying. because it’s all temporary.

drm and limited use is becoming a norm. meaning? it's harder and harder for people to "own" their favorite things even if they COULD afford it. your favorite movie might simply cease to exist in 20 years. your favorite game might become nothing but a fragmented memory.

"piracy" solves this. backups. ownership. it takes control away from companies who abused that power. and puts it back in your hands. when nintendo stopped making their back catalogue available? and went around shutting down all the emulation sites? i was thankfully in the clear. because i download and archived many of my favorite things. in many cases i own cartridges of my favorite games already? but those can break, or in my case, get caught in a flood. but due to piracy, i can still play "mario 64" to pull myself away from suicidal thoughts. and i'm not limited by nintendo randomly deciding to remove it from the switch store and take the cartridges off of store shelves? in order to drive up their yearly profit via copycatting the methods used for the "disney vault" scam (look it up).

i am someone who tends to enjoy things from other countries. but it can be INCREDIBLY restrictive to try to go through "official" channels attempting to pay for them. if i want that old, relatively unpopular 80s japanese prog rock album? i'm just stuck. i HAVE to hope someone is sharing it online. but this often applies to new things as well. "licensing" is generally INCREDIBLY stupid, especially when it comes to other regions. do you REALLY want simple licensing issues to stand between you and your potential new favorite anime? and in many cases, the distributors just don't care enough to make the thing available globally. and no, i don't think this should mean we all just "miss out".

one of the biggest issues we are experiencing online at the moment? is one of censorship. governmental censorship, religious censorship, and maybe worst of all? corporate censorship. i'm not talking about "bring back racist imagery" etc (but that DOES play a part). i'm more talking... rewriting history. edits. removal. for example, it shouldn't be left to some corporation to decide whether or not a sex scene in a movie is deemed "too racy" for today's audience. if somebody creates an amazing album, but then commits some awful unrelated act later, that shouldn't mean that album should be made unavailable. in many cases, old media can even TEACH us what NOT to do. we gain nothing by erasing history. and corporations are never doing it to be moral. they're only following required guidelines in order to maximize profit. “fake showings of morality” to keep up appearances and keep all potential buyers buying. piracy can give you the OPTION of access to unedited works, or things that have been removed from circulation.

piracy can negate corporate control and artificial-scarcity. create opportunities for absorbing other culture's art without having to deal with availability issues in your country. it circumvents corporate and governmental censorship. and helps you archive the art that makes your life worth living.

finally... the "but it's stealing and stealing is wrong" argument is invalidated by the fact that, by ANY moral compass? these companies are STEALING from US. constantly. by a LOT. look at the way any big company is run. the way it leeches off of it's customer base. the offshore tax havens... does THAT seem okay to YOU?! if someone went around stealing all the food and locking it up, would you REALLY consider "breaking in" to get some so that u didn't starve as "stealing"? don't pretend that you don't NEED escapism and entertainment to get by. you know that you do.

the only people that piracy COULD hurt? is small, independent artists. who, if you actually listen to them, would rather you send them money directly? or buy merch. etc. because companies usually take SUCH an awful cut that it’s better to find alternate ways of supporting them. if you use reasonable context with what you decide to download and share? it’s fine! like i might buy a depeche mode vinyl or two? or a shirt. or go to a concert. but i’ll pirate that $1000 rare box set. because i just can’t AFFORD that kind of excess. and my income doesn’t dictate how big of a fan i am of their music. as long as you chip in when you can to your favorite creators? it’s actually fine. if i didn’t pirate, i wouldn’t be into 95% of the artists i’m currently into. i’ve spent so much on media that it’s almost embarrassing... my argument might not be entirely black and white? but i can safely say that piracy’s positives GREATLY outweigh it’s negatives. most research done has shown time and time again that it doesn’t really hurt creators. if anything, it’s the way greedy companies REACT to the idea of file sharing that hurts those creators. it really is an argument of big corporations trying to make sure they keep ALL the money. and it has almost nothing to do with art or artist’s rights. so please keep sharing everything. download away. for the sake of your own sanity, and generations down the line. because corporations don’t care about you. they don’t care about artists. and they don’t care about maintaining easy access to the art. they just want money, regardless of the cost to everyone else’s happiness. and if you can afford to PAY for it regularly? you should consider yourself very lucky. so maybe stop shitting all over poor people who unfairly have less access to what you already have. everybody deserves to be happy.

#long

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witching-hour · 4 years

Text

Love on Hold [Jax Teller x Reader]

(A/N): was feeling angsty after watching a montage of clips from season six of jara — their worst and most heartbreaking season. this is based on the last episode of season 5 and includes season 6 elements which had not taken place yet, so bare with my little au. this rewrite really went from 1379 words to 2777 words

SUMMARY: the reader confronts jax about his questionable actions towards wendy and reveals her plans about leaving charming

TW: usual soa violence, s5 + s6 spoilers, character death

UNSHED tears of disbelief and anger clouded your vision, making you blink them back, looking away from your husband who had blatantly lied to your face. You didn’t want to believe what you knew, but the evidence was laying out in front of you, and you couldn’t just ignore the facts.

You saw how these past few months of overturned leadership has changed him. The gavel corrupts, Bobby once warned you after voicing your concerns about Jax’s new position with SAMCRO. Be prepared for anything, sweetheart. It ain’t goin’ to be easy.

You knew that his warning was not misguided or out of line. You saw what being president had done to JT and Clay. You knew with ‘great power came great responsibility.’ Jax would carry a heavier weight than he did when he was VP. He might have to make calls that may seem questionable as he will be faced with hard decisions that he won’t want to make, but will have to for the sake of his club. And with him as president, it made you the new queen of SAMCRO. He would be away from home more, leaving you to really step up to the plate as the First Lady.

You also had new responsibilities, which could be counted as benefits or drawbacks. You were not the VP’s Old Lady – you were the Prez’s. As Jax carried a heavier weight, you would too.

Jax may have been a bad boy – an outlaw, but he had a heart of gold. And that heart is what made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Your husband had confided in you when he got out of prison about how he wanted out of outlaw and wanted more for his kids than a life of chaos and danger. After the past couple years of shit the club had faced, especially the events of Belfast, you understood where he was coming from because you felt the same way. However, you were wary, mostly seeing it as post prison blues. All Jax knew was outlaw, it was in his DNA. Charming was his home and the Son’s was his family. You knew that Jax wanted to push the club in a different direction, a more legitimate one. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to do so, but you and many of the members believed that Jax would be the one to turn the club around.

You voiced your opinions, but Jax made it clear he wanted to be a better man for you and his sons. Too much blood had been spilt, and the club lost its way. Eventually you were on board. But things went south in your plan to get out of Charming. As you had dreaded but knew deep down it was inevitable. With the club and Gemma, how were you even going to be able to make it to the town’s border?

When Jax informed you of the CIA meddling in a case with the Galindo Cartel and them needing SAMCRO to continue the supplying of guns, or they’d push for the R.I.C.O. case they just finally gotten off their backs, you knew Clay had left one huge unfuckable mess behind to his stepson and future president.

With the CIA pulling the strings, Jax was stuck in between a rock and a hard place. While he wanted better for the club and pull it out from the darkness it’s been submerged in for so long, he would put the whole club and his family in jeopardy if he caused the CIA problems and got R.I.C.O. dangling over their heads again. He was keeping too many secrets from the table between the CIA’s involvement, the letters from his father about Clay’s betrayal, and Piney’s real murderer.

Then Opie was killed

– and Jax lost a piece of himself along with him.

Something in Jax had changed. He grew cold and detached. You tried to pull him from the darkness, but he was turning into a shell of who he once was. Jax was slipping and everyone saw it. The minute Bobby realized he wasn’t getting through to the man he saw as his own, he pulled out of SAMCRO and joined the Nomads; making Chibs VP and Happy the new Sergeant in Arms. Eventually Bobby came back after recruiting some Nomads and helping bring his prez back into his own skin. And for a while the Jackson you knew was back, but then he started slipping again.

He had all the power and not the first clue on how to deal with it.

Meanwhile all this was going on, you had tried to be there for him, but there was only so much you could do. He had found it less and less to come and confide in you. The agreement of full disclosure no longer existed between you and Jax. Your titles as an Old Lady and wife ceased to have meaning. Jax only ever kept you at arm’s length.

With full disclosure thrown out the window and secrets being kept and lies more common than none, who knows what other promises he made he failed to upkeep?

No lies.

No secrets.

No hurting women.

No infidelity.

You could cross at least three off that list.

He sat across from you at the kitchen table, watching as your jaw clenched and eyes glazed over. His eyebrows pinched together in bewilderment at your clear display of emotions; disappointment, anger, disbelief. He watched as you fought to keep the tears at bay. Your irises flickered up to the ceiling, growing wide as you blinked a few times, they finally met his laid-back figure in the wooden chair.

“Wendy showed up at my job earlier today – a complete wreck – frantic, clothes disheveled, hair a mess, anxiety practically seeping out of her pores…She accused me of putting you up to what you did. I didn’t understand what the hell she was talking about at first. I didn’t even know you went to her place last night, so I covered for you, just in case you were stuck with club business last night, and, boy, was I wrong.” The realization dawned on him as you spoke, shame stretching across his sharp features. His eyes closed briefly, and his head tilted up as his jaw clenched, anger simmering on the surface. You just couldn’t tell if it was from you finding out about it or him actually committing the act. Your guess was both.

“She’s been sober – she’s been clean for four years. How could you of all people take that away from her?” You scoffed, not even bothering to let him answer if he even had one. He didn’t. “Hell, Jax, you were the one supporting her when she was laid up in the hospital. When Gemma was telling her to kill herself, you were there defending her. You encouraged her to get clean; even offered her a place to stay.”

He didn’t say a thing, only stared down at the table where his ringed fingers laid in loosely held fists.

“Yes, I was pissed when Wendy threatened for custody over Abel, but, seeing it now, do you fucking blame her? He’s been kidnapped and used as leverage with the goddamn IRA. He and Delilah were in the car when Clay’s hit on me almost earned a payday. And we were all made targets when the Irish tried to fucking blow us up in the Clubhouse; the one place we were supposed to always be safe. If you didn’t see that damn pen, Jackson, we’d be dead – all of us. Our kids, Gemma, Nero, Chibs, Happy, Tig, Bobby, Juice, Quinn, Rat, Chucky....Should I go on?”

Still, he remained silent, only now his eyes bore into yours as silent pleas stretched across the table for this conversation to end before it got worse. He could feel where the end of your confrontation would conclude for your family. His heart fell heavy in his chest and his blood ran cold by the time he came home and noticed you sitting at the table playing with your engagement and wedding rings. He could feel the tension rolling off you in waves and they only got thicker as he made his way deeper into the dimly lit room. When you requested for him to have a seat he began listing as many ways it would go.

Yet as you continued to speak, he stayed quiet. He didn’t have any answers to the questions you were asking. Or at least any that would satisfy you.

“I didn’t want her taking my son, but that didn’t mean it gave you the right to take something she worked so hard on, and might i add, it was something she did for Abel.”

His jaw clenched at the mention of his indiscretion. “I did what I had to in order to protect our family.”

And how he couldn’t have sounded more like Gemma in that moment. Was she the one who twisted his mind up into doing something so horrible? Was it her influence? The club’s?

You loved Gemma. She was your mother-in-law after all. You may have bumped heads in the beginning of your relationship, but the matriarch eventually came around to you being a part of Jax’s life (and Abel’s). However, the last year or so you have seen her in a new light. Well, as new as it gets with Gemma. She could be downright manipulative when she wanted to be, that was a known. Especially with her golden boy Jax. It was a given Gemma would do absolutely anything to protect her family.

Sometimes you found yourself questioning how far she was willing to go – if there was a line she wouldn’t cross, but sometimes you also found yourself agreeing with some of the things she did. Since you were also a mother, you could understand, but it didn’t mean it was right.

You had recently gotten involved in some club business for your husband and your SAMCRO family, which blew back on you and raised suspicion with the authorities causing a case to be built against you. The case had gotten dropped and you took the opportunity to accept the job offer in Colorado that you were presented with long before Jax even got out of Stockton. You had politely declined but was called again around the time Jax voiced his opinions about leaving the club and Charming behind. Gemma had used her knowledge as leverage and threatened you the day before to rat on you when she found out you wanted to leave Charming and take the kids to Colorado – regardless if Jax was to follow you. Either way Mama Gemma was not about to let you take her son and grandchildren away from her.

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, a small sound making its way from the back of your throat. “How can you justify that? Who even are you?!” You jolted from your seat, no longer finding yourself calm enough to stay seated. Jax followed your movements. “What…what happened to we don’t hurt women? What happened to women and children being off limits to the club’s brutality? Did that all slip away when you became president too?”

“What the hell s’that supposed to mean?!”

Hysterical laughs escaped you. Those uncontrollable laughs then turned into sobs. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, attempting to stop the cries, but failed.

“I – I – I can’t – I can’t do this anymore,” you cried. “When I look at you...I don’t know what I see…and that terrifies me.” Your confession rose emotions you couldn’t pinpoint in his body stature or those daring blues that make you melt at one look. You took in a shaky breath, an equally shaky exhale leaving you. “I refuse for us to be the next Clay and Gemma. I’m sorry, but that’s where I draw the line. The longer we’re here, the deeper we sink into the darkness, Jax, and the more we lose of ourselves, and the more we turn into the people we despise the most.”

He shook his head, clearly disagreeing with what you were saying. “We’re not them.”

“You’re right, we’re not.” You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re worse. We pretend that we’re better. But how are we any better than them based on the things we’ve done.”

“Babe-” he went to move toward you, but you only took a step back putting a hand out and in between the two of you.

“No.”

“(Y/N/N)—”

“No!” he stopped dead in his tracks at your shout.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, holding back the amount of tears that could challenge that of a tsunami. “I was offered the position in Colorado again. They’re promoting me too.” you told him. “I took it.”

Jax’s eyes widened at the news, his hands gripping the back of the chair, hunched over the wooden seat. “You made this decision without me? You didn’t think to talk it over with me first?”

“I’m way past asking permission when it comes to my life. Or my children’s lives.”

“You’re takin’ them from me.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of incredulity. Had it really come to this? Had you both really drifted too far this time?

“You said it yourself last year, Jax. JT should have run Gemma over if it meant getting you and Thomas out of Charming and away from the madness of the club.” Using his own words against him. That was something you were known to do and relatively good at. It was scary, but effective to say the less. It would get your point across, didn’t it? “And if that’s what it takes, then so be it. I won’t make the same mistakes.”

“This is not the life we wanted for them. And if I’m the only one feeling that way, then I guess I’ll be the only one to do something about it.” You sniffled, doing your best to avoid his burning gaze. You knew if you even got a glimpse at the broken look on his face you would cave, and you needed to be strong for your kids. “You said you were gonna make it better. You said you were gonna get out of the drugs and guns. You said you were gonna get them out, remember?” You reminded him of the promises he made, but proved to be empty.

You wiped another fallen tear with the sleeve of your shirt. “I know that getting out of all the illegal shit was going to take time. I know that shit wasn’t going to just go away overnight. I know that you’re struggling with being the man you want to be and the man you have to be – not that you would say anything anyway.” you shrugged. “Baby, your slipping and I don’t know how to catch you. Your changing and it’s scaring me.”

“The club shit is getting so much worse and I can’t just sit here twiddling my thumbs pretending that everything’s going to be okay. I just can’t.” You sounded defeated but the stern tone didn’t cease. “I have to do what best for my babies.”

“And what about us?” He pleaded, throwing his arms out before letting them drop to his sides.

“This isn’t about us, Jackson. It’s not just us anymore,” you reminded him. “This is about them.” You told him, watching as the world in his deep blue eyes come crashing down. “I have to put my love for you on hold and theirs have to come first.”

His body was leant up against the cabinets, defeated and poignant. His ringed fingers ran through his already tangled hair from the number of times he pulled on it. One of them ran over his face before both hands met at the center, falling in the praying position.

Your heart was breaking. The end of your marriage was here, but you had to be strong; not for yourself, but for your two babies who were sleeping soundly in their rooms down the hall, oblivious to what was going on between their mommy and daddy. You had to be strong for them and your unborn child of eight weeks. You had to do better in order for them to live better a life. One that was worth living. Your love for Jax would never go away. You will always love him, despite anything he may say or do, nothing could possibly change how you feel about him. And perhaps that was the problem, but your children came first.

Being a mother came before being a wife or Old Lady.

SOA TAG LIST: @cutekittylexie @talicat713 @woahitslucyylu @xx--day-dreamer--xx @sweetpeaflower01 @rebelwrites

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doctorreids · 4 years

Text

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER NINE - this is me trying

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 2k

“i’ve been having a hard time adjusting. i had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting.”

SPENCER

He knew that the first case back would be difficult, to say the least. However, he hadn’t accounted for it being this hard.

He felt as though his brain is completely scrambled - so many theories flying around his head are blocked by the memory of the nights prior and he doesn’t know what to do.

He sat at the roundtable listening to Garcia rant off the details of the case - four young women murdered, all within one month of each other in Baltimore, and each worked in high-paid, male-dominated fields. He knew that it was likely to be a male who was envious of their achievements, a husband scorned by his wife being paid more than him, or a man who believed women did not belong in the workplace. He didn’t say anything, kept his eyes on his file. He was too afraid that if he spoke the tears would fall again.

He was too afraid to look up and see her.

They usually sat beside each other on the plane but this time she tucked herself in beside Emily, he noticed how tense her shoulders were, how she never held anyone’s gaze, how she hadn’t looked at him at all. He knew that it was his fault but he refused to let himself dwell on that guilt. Instead, he turned the wheels in his brain towards the case. He forced out any memory of the prior nights and replaced them with the pictures and words in the case file in front of him.

By the time they'd landed he followed Rossi into the SUV and ignored the concerned looks of the man he came to know as a kind-of father figure as they walked into the local PD. Geographic profiling was the only thing he cared about, everything else faded away.

As he stared at the map before him, nothing seemed to fit. Each crime scene in a different area, no clear comfort zone for the UNSUB, and no clear answer for him. He was frustrated. He felt like he was rusted, like the gears in his brain that ran smoothly were jammed, unmoving, and broken.

He felt utterly useless and helpless.

His mistakes with the geographic profile were proof of that. He had hardly listened to anything that was going on with the case, trying instead to figure it out himself. But when he found himself standing in front of them all, he noticed his mistakes.

The first words she had spoken to him in days were pointing out his mistakes. The irony of the situation made him want to cry. So, he did what she did all those days ago. He left, letting the door swing past him, he ignored the soft call from JJ, and the confused looks from Emily. As soon as he felt the cool air of the small bathroom, he let the tears he had been keeping in fall for the first time.

“and maybe I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m here in your doorway. i just wanted you to know that this is me trying.”

“Spencer.”

It was Derek.

“Kid, I know you’re in there. I-“ his voice broke, “I just want to help you.”

He slid the lock out of the bathroom door and wiped his face before he opened it. He was met with the most concerned look on Derek’s face, mixed with confusion and sadness.

“What happened, kid?”

“We… we broke up.”

“Oh.” There wasn’t much he could say.

“I messed up, I know I did. I just don’t know how to fix it.”

There was a beat of stillness between them, Derek let out a soft sigh.

“Look at me kid.”

He looks up from his scuffed converse.

“I don’t know what happened between you both, I cannot tell you how to fix each individual problem. What I can tell you is that you love each other.”

“So I should let her go, is that what you’re saying?”

“God no, kid,” he recoiled at his absurd assumption, “I’m trying to tell you that you both love each other, you think she hung the stars in the sky. Sometimes people just get lost and need time away from each other to find each other again.”

He continued, “Love is a tricky thing. It’s full of compromises and disagreements, but you have to be able to push through that. I know how much you fear losing her, but so does she. Fight for her.”

“I-i… I don’t know how to. She’s the only person I know inside and out and I can’t figure out how to get her to stay.”

Derek pauses, unsure about his next few words.

“Are you sure you’re not the one running away, Spencer?”

Now it was his turn to be stunned by the absurdity of the question.

“Derek,” his voice was stern, “just tell me how to fix this”

Derek’s eyes soften once again at his desperation.

“There’s nothing that cannot be fixed if you just tell her how you feel, kid” With that, he turned and left him in the bathroom, alone.

His eyes found his own reflection, he examined the deep circles under his eyes, lined with red leading to his tear-stained cheeks. Splashing cold water on his face, he adjusted his tie and jacket. With one deep breath, he walked back out into the precinct.

No one was in the conference room, Hotch had left a note to say there was another victim. Then he noticed it.

The coffee cup sat beside his files, a small smiley face on it. It was from her. For the first time in days, he smiled.

Y/N

“they told me all my cases were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad, i have a lot of regrets about that.”

She was rarely angry, her temper was typically calm and collected. She’d been scorned and hurt enough in the past, by friends and ex-partners, that if you hold onto anger it will only increase the pain you inflict on yourself.

The first case back with Spencer, she decided, was the exception to the rule she made herself.

She came into work as early as she could with the knowledge that Hotch would be in his office, grinding away at the endless mountains of paperwork that lay on each of their desks. She was brief when she told him that her relationship with Spencer ceased to exist. They were finished.

Hotch didn’t even try to hide his disbelief. If she was honest with herself, she could not believe she was uttering out loud that they were over.

The weekend, however, had given her time. Time to think about what had happened. She was conflicted; she wanted to hear him out but she also thought she would be able to predict what he would say. She couldn’t. She had no idea why he could not deal with her anymore, with their relationship. She wracked her brain to try and figure what was plaguing him.

She came up empty each time.

Despite her earnest wishes to fix things, he didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t even speak. He just sat there completely mute. That pissed her off.

She told herself she didn’t know why but, in reality, she did. She wanted him to say anything, didn’t even need to be an apology, all she wanted to hear was him rant off some facts about women in the workplace or the percentage of women who earn more than their husbands. But he didn’t.

It angered her that he just bottled up - that he wouldn’t even just carry on, do his damn job. But this was Spencer and she thought she knew him. The first case back, she thought, proved to her that she didn’t know him at all.

So she was snippy. Snide remarks here and there, pointing out that he had missed some locations on the geographic profile, getting coffee for everyone but him.

She regrets her sharp tongue at times but in some twisted way, her sharp words gave her power over him she didn’t have a few nights prior. The power to hurt him as much as he hurt her. She let the worst get ahead of her, she failed to notice the dejected looks on his face when she passed him by without a word. She tried her best to not profile him, to not profile the cracks in his voice when he spoke or the way the bags around his eyes were darker than usual.

“So, this is the UNSUBs comfort zone, so far we have four victims killed a month apart so there is no sign of escalation other than the violence of the crime.”

The map was wrong. He had messed each victim up and, like before, it pissed her off.

“Your profile is wrong.”

Those were the first words she spoke directly to him. The whole room went silent, waiting for whatever it was bubbling under the surface to erupt. She regretted them as soon as she said them.

“Pardon?” His voice was small, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard it at first.

“Victim four was found where you’ve placed victim two, therefore making your profile wrong. The locations are significant for the UNSUB, they form a pattern.” She pauses. “If you actually engaged with any of us you would know that.”

She knew it was cruel but she was angry. She was hurt. She had loaded her gun and fired.

Hotch’s stern voice cut through the silence.

“Y/L/N. A word.”

She knew she’d fucked up. She just didn’t know how to fix it.

“it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you. you’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town.…i just wanted you to know that this is me trying.”

After that case, Hotch had lectured her about how unprofessional she was. She didn’t need to be told though, she already knew. It had been a few cases since and even though working alongside Spencer had gotten easier, to some degree, being apart from him had gotten even harder.

Going home to an empty apartment to simply play out their shared memories in her mind was like a slow death, thousands of cuts and scars covering her. She could hardly concentrate on anything on the TV without wondering whether Spencer would enjoy it, or catching some old movie they’d watched together.

If she knew one thing about herself is that she found it easier to make people hate her rather than accept their love, it was easier to push people away than to make them understand. So, she twisted in every knife in her back before they were even there in the first place.

She was disappointed in herself. She wasn’t a quitter - she should’ve fought for him but she knew she didn’t have the answers she kept searching for. She still couldn’t quite explain why everything had fallen apart.

The cycle of questions and no answers made her angry. It made her even angrier that he didn’t seem to fight for her either - he’d shown no signs of wanting to talk, even just small talk on the weather. She couldn’t begin to describe how much she missed listening to him talk about anything, especially his ramblings and, for lack of a better term, his knowledge dumps.

She just wanted to feel like herself again, there were too many nights that she got lost in him for her to know herself. Now that she was alone, she was trapped, strapped into a seat of a movie theatre, forced to watch their relationship build, grow, and crumble over and over again.

She questioned why she made him and left him the coffee that day. She tried to tell herself it was her way of saying that she was sorry for being so cruel. If she was being honest, she wanted him to know she was trying. Trying her best to fix what she had broken.

Each day she stepped into the office, he was there and she felt like running. That urge dwindled as the days passed, but it’s a reminder to herself that she’s trying.

Trying to be a better person for herself. For him. For everyone else.

As Hotch told her, “you can only fix this when you have fixed yourself. Until then, you try.”

...

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes @toosassy2handle@toosassy2handle @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @rexorangecouny @myheartbelongsintz @toizerdecker @baddestbau @haylaansmi @hess016 @blameitonthenight21

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #reidxfolklore

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corvidshipping · 3 years

Text

Heartbeat

Summary: On a sleepless night, Possum tells Cliff they think his heartbeat is comforting. He’s not quite sure what they mean Pairing: Cliff Stｅｅlｅ/Heather “Red” Bowers (Possum) Warnings: none Rating: G/T Word count: 2.8k A/N: Editing? Outline? bitch what outline here we go

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. Cliff's heavy steps echoed through the silent halls, his eyes straining to pick up obstacles in his way with only moonlight to guide him. His outdated cameras failed him often even in good conditions, but in dead of night he usually had to make his way nearly blind, worsened by the lack of other senses like touch. He cringed internally as he noticed, through the static in his hearing that was ever-present now, how loud his footsteps were, and he wished it were easier for him to walk softly. He hoped it wouldn't wake anyone up.

As carefully as one could in a metal body, Cliff made his way down from his bedroom to the living room of the manor. A digital clock glowed softly on the mantle, a nightlight that the Chief liked to keep for Dorothy. The lit numbers read 1:47 AM. Cliff sighed out loud at the sight of it, realizing he had been trying and failing to sleep for almost three hours. He had managed it, at one point, briefly, but was haunted by visions of the past melding with the present - watching the accident over and over from an outside view, every time Clara replaced by someone different. Dorothy, Jane, and at one point, for some reason, Rachel Weisz was there. He watched a specter of his daughter, trapped in her youth, falling into the hands of Mr. Nobody. He saw worlds where he had died, and Clara was retrieved, her brain shoved into a cold, metallic prison, unforgiving and unfeeling. He heard his only child screaming, trying to cry, slowly realizing that robotic eyes could spill no tears. That was the worst dream so far, and the one that jolted him awake hours ago, the one that kept occupying his brain with anxieties and guilt.

An odd feeling rose within him, one he had grown unpleasantly familiar with. In his youth - that is, when he was human - he would grow sick with anxiety, a physical feeling that felt heavy in his gut. Now, with no body, he had no physical response to the near-constant dread, but a phantom response followed him, something he thought of as a leaden ball. It almost always was accompanied by a ghostly chill, one he should not feel - the expectation of a feeling that his brain, the only soft and organic part of him left, still remembered. Uselessly, Cliff shook his head, as if he were a dog trying to clear his ears of water. He tried to pretend the motion helped.

In the dark, Cliff ventured to the couch, dropping heavily onto it. He wasn't sure why, truly, he still sat there. Not like it's any more comfortable than anywhere else, he thought bitterly. He supposed it was habit, or maybe just that these joints were stiff, and it was awfully hard to bend enough to get up and down off the floor. Getting up the stairs was enough of an effort as it was, he didn't need to make life harder for himself. He blinked slowly, he needed to get his mind off this. His thoughts were just running in circles now, a car on an empty racetrack, making endless grim laps.

Somewhere to the right of him, the curtains fluttered over a closed window, the glass fogging just a little.

"Hey, Possum." Cliff's voice was quiet, and tinged with a hint of static tonight. He turned his head to the window to see writing forming, as if drawn by an invisible finger.

"It's late." The window read, drips slowly forming in the condensation. Slowly, the writing faded back into fog.

"Yeah, yeah, like you're one to talk. We're both awake right now." The curtain moved again, gently. He wondered if that was their way of laughing.

In the silvery moonlight, a soft voice rang out, barely audible and almost a whisper. "I'm a ghost. It's my job to haunt people late at night."

The resident bump-in-the-night, Heather Bowers - or as she preferred to be called, Red, and as Jane had christened her, Possum - could not be easily described in generally accepted terms. In the 1970s, when she was in her 20s, she was met with a terrible accident in small-town Ohio that she refused to speak about. At the exact moment of this accident, her latent psychic powers apparently activated, causing her body to cease to exist and become a thoughtform - a living consciousness, separate from a body, that exists only in its own thoughts, spread across multiple planes of existence. They now spent most of their time incorporeal, floating through the halls (and sometimes the walls) of Doom Manor, rattling chains and giving ghostly moans - the usual fare for a stereotypical ghost. At times, they could become corporeal - though it consumed quite a lot of energy - and, as a thoughtform, they could enter others' minds as a concept, especially in dreams, where they could form a body for themself and act corporeal in the sleeping person's dreamscape. It was almost comparable to Mr. Nobody, but rather than using these powers to cause harm and distress, they just tended to act as a year-round Halloween prop. The easiest way to describe her, in that case, was simply as a ghost, or poltergeist. Or at least, that was how Chief described it.

The accent pillows that Rita had insisted on earlier in the month shifted next to Cliff. "You weren't in the dreamscape when I came looking for you." Possum and Cliff had met when the former had begun entering his dreams, seeking an escape from the loneliness and boredom of life as an invisible consciousness. Possum was shocked when Cliff was able to see her and pointed her out as an anomaly in the memory he frequently revisited when he slept, and after she explained her situation to him and the Patrol, they had formed a comfortable routine of her entering his dreams frequently. An open invitation stood now between the two of them, Cliff trusting them never to overstep boundaries or snoop in memories that weren't theirs. It was a symbiotic thing, mutually beneficial; they got to re-experience corporeality and interact with the world, and they could influence the world of his mind, quelling anxiety and keeping nightmares at bay. Plus they were able to help him dream of his old body, so he got to experience human senses again.

Cliff made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. "You wouldn't have wanted to see what I was dreaming about anyway." Immediately, he regretted speaking, knowing that those words would make Possum worry. "It wasn't that bad," he quickly added before she could respond. "Just the usual shit."

There was a heavy silence after that, each passing second making Cliff more and more uncomfortable, wondering what he could say to cut the tension.

Finally, Possum responded.

"I'm sorry. I wish I'd been there earlier," they said gently.

"Aw, don't sweat it, Red." He leaned further forward on the couch, his aging metal joints groaning with the effort. "I'm up now, anyway. And so are you."

A hand reached out from the darkness, pale white and translucent, landing on his arm. He couldn't feel her touch, but he could tell from looking that it was gentle, resting on the plates of his forearm delicately, like he was something fragile, precious. Like she was afraid he would break.

When they spoke, Possum's voice was even quieter, lower, as if she hoped he wouldn't hear her. "Can I... will you, um, rest with me?"

"Huh?"

Possum cleared her throat. "You need rest. I uh, I saw once on the Discovery Channel that if you can't sleep, it's better to lay down and close your eyes, even if you don't sleep. Y'know, it helps, um, y'know, you don't strain yourself that way. Your brain, and stuff."

"Oh. Yeah, I'll be okay, pint-size." Cliff leaned back against the couch arm again. "You okay?"

He heard her inhale, a strange sound in the empty darkness. "Can I sleep with you here, tonight?" Before Cliff could respond, she continued. "It's just that the attic is so far away from everyone else, it's so quiet, and the trains keep coming through, and it's cold up there. And no one's been around all day, you know? I haven't been able to talk to anyone, it's been a bad day for corporeality. And, y'know. The attic is just... really cold."

If he could have furrowed his brows, he would have. Instead, he settled for a nonplussed blink. Briefly, he wondered if she might just be afraid of the dark. The thought made him laugh a bit, the bonafide ghost haunting the manor being scared of the dark in the attic she occupies. "Sure, yeah."

Before him, Possum's figure manifested fully. The nickname "pint-size" was not a misnomer - when Cliff stood at full height next to them, the very top of their head barely hit his shoulder. They were a tiny, ghostly apparition, red hair floating as if they were underwater shocking against the pale glowing white of their skin. Right now, this phantom was floating in midair, as if laying on some bed, one hand propping up their chin and the other still on his arm, their legs kicking slowly behind them. Slowly, moving as if in a pool, they rearranged their body's positioning, pulling their legs under them so they were sitting normally on the couch next to him. Cliff saw the couch shift as they became more corporeal, taking up more weight on the cushions as they became more grounded in physical reality. Once they had fully manifested, they slowly leaned over towards him, eyes averting from his.

They laid their head on his shoulder, gently, like they were testing if he would pull away. He didn't, just looking at them. They took a deep, quiet breath, and relaxed, positioning themself so their head was laying on his chest. Once they were in the position they wanted, they stretched out, the tips of their toes stretching to the other arm of the couch. Cliff shifted a bit, leaning back to make them more comfortable. Possum closed their eyes and smiled, and it reminded him a bit of an extremely self-satisfied cat.

Cliff looked down at their head nestled on his metal torso. "There's no way you're comfortable like that," he muttered, trying to be mindful of his volume with how close to his voicebox their ear was. With the way they smiled when he spoke, he could swear they liked the vibrations of his voicebox in his chest.

She opened her eyes to look up at him, black eyes gazing up at him and glittering like the stars reflected in a deep black pool. Their spectral ailment only served to deepen the effect of their eyes, leaving very little white to their sclerae, completing an otherworldly look. "No, I am. I like to listen to your heartbeat."

Was she making fun of him? "I don't have a heartbeat," Cliff said flatly.

They sat up, propping themself on their arms so they were eye-to-eye with him. "No, you do. Sometimes when we sleep and I'm not in the dreamscape, I listen to it, just like this."

"Possum, I don't have any organs. I barely have a brain." He laughed a bit at the end, trying to cover his confusion.

"I'll show you!" Suddenly, she had bolted upright, and swooped down to the ground like an Olympic diver, passing through the floor towards the basement level. Cliff waited a minute in the silence, the dark no longer lit by their odd phantasmic glow. Finally, they flew back up through a different space in the floor closer to the television with the same vigor. They held a stethoscope in their hands, likely borrowed from Chief's hoard, and Cliff wondered in bemusement what the logic of a solid object passing through the floor with them was.

"Here." They clambered back onto the couch, regaining solidity, and leaned against him. They stretched up to his head, and he leaned forward a bit to help them put the earpieces against the auditory inputs on either side of his head. "Listen!" They placed the resonator against his chest.

Cliff heard nothing, but Possum sat staring at him, their index finger placed against their lips in a hushing gesture. After a moment, he was about to call it quits and say they were hearing things, but their stare was so earnest, he couldn't bring himself to. He waited,

and waited,

and Possum shifted the resonator,

and then he heard it.

It wasn't that it had just started. It had been there. But it was a low noise, one he was used to, and when Possum shifted the resonator it only then became loud enough for him to recognize as a sound distinct from his usual background noise.

It wasn't a heartbeat, per se. Not in the organic sense, at least. It was more of a mechanical thrumming, a pulsing, a deep noise that wasn't so much like the beating of a drum as it was like the quiet revving of an engine a few streets over, reduced by distance and acoustics to only its most bassy components. He looked down, and he heard the whirring and whining of the servos in his neck and shoulders through the stethoscope. The placement of the stethoscope was slightly left of center of his chest, where his heart naturally should be.

Possum pulled away the stethoscope, the earpieces falling away from his head. "You hear it, right?"

"That's not my heart," Cliff repeated. "None of my body past my neck was saved. I think that's my nutrient tubes. Or maybe my power system. Or my servos."

"So?"

"... So what?" He blinked at her.

Possum sat upright and spread their arms out to either side of them, palms up, theatrically. "That's exactly what I'm saying!" They said with overdramatic exasperation.

She let herself fall back onto his body, a soft thud echoing inside his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious. "So what? I know it isn't an organ, dummy. It doesn't have to be an organ to be your heart. It's comforting either way. It just reminds me that you're here, right now. It doesn't have to be a literal heart to do that, just as long as it's part of you."

Cliff sat silently, as they shifted back into their preferred positioning. He mulled over their words as they pulled themself as close as possible to his body, snuggling their head into the crevice between his shoulder and chest. Mindlessly, he moved his right arm to the small of their back, like he was supporting them, and his left hand moved to their hair, gently running through the strands, liquid copper over the rust of his fingers.

When he finally moved to respond, he realized they had fallen asleep long ago, letting out small snuffles every once in a while. So instead of giving a retort, he simply pulled them closer to his chest, tighter, like if he held them tightly enough he could feel the warmth of their body or the softness of their skin. He nestled his face in their hair, a nuzzling motion with his nose, and let his eyelids drop closed.

✥﹤ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ﹥✥

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. Between the slats of the half-drawn blinds, dawn light crept through the windows, lighting up the motes of dust that floated in the air and landing in stripes across sleeping forms. Cliff slept, now, on the couch, half sitting, Heather's pale form clutched in his arms and her hair tangled over his left hand's fingers like wild vines. In his chest, a mechanical heart thrummed and pulsed in a gentle rhythm, delivering power to his limbs, his brain. There were no nightmares, now, no dreams of his anxieties, no personified guilt; nor did he dream of the past, the bittersweet memories that, though happy, always left him with an empty feeling when he woke. He didn't dream of Clara's youth, of his last phone call to Kate. He didn't dream of Mr. Nobody, he didn't dream of Chief locking him away in an iron prison. He simply didn't dream. For once, it was quiet within his mind, even without the shared dreamscape.

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. As the manor began to stir and come to life with the others, Cliff was at peace there on the couch in the living room, and so was Heather.

And two hearts beat between them.

#self shipping #self ship fanfic #self ship fic #self ship community #self ship #paper_heart.txt #lucky stars #FUCK it im posting this i dont wanna wait anymore enjoy #good luck wit this if u read it /j #s: human after all

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tinkerd · 3 years

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Interview with Anne Both & David Litchfield first published on www.readingzone.com

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS TEMPLAR PUBLISHING JANUARY 2021

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS is a profound and moving picture book about how a young boy manages his feelings of sadness, not by ignoring them but in giving his sadness the space, care and thought that it needs. We asked author ANNE BOOTH to tell us what inspired the picture book, and illustrator DAVID LITCHFIELD about how he approached the illustrations: Q: What for you are the key ingredients for a great picture book? ANNE: For me, the words have to leave room for the pictures, the pictures have to capture the feeling of the words and extend the story, and both the words and the pictures have to be the best they can be for the demands of that book - be it a funny or a sad book or any other type. DAVID: Oof! that is a BIG question. I'm still trying to work that one out if I'm honest. For me what I personally love about picture books is that you can be transported to the furthest part of someone's imagination but still recognise yourself, and the world, in its pages. It's escapism but also empathy. It's crazy looking animals and creatures but they are experiencing some of the most human emotions of all. There are so many different ingredients that go into these books. But for me I think the ultimate goal is to tell a story that connects with children in the most imaginative way possible. Q: Can you tell us what you wanted to achieve in this book, about how we deal with sadness? ANNE: I hoped it would be good for both children and adults, and that it would help them cope with the type of sadness which stays with us and has to be coped with alongside everyday life. I wanted children to be told that they can build their sadness a shelter as early as possible, as I think that telling children to be 'resilient' (which is a good thing in itself) can sometimes be abusive - it can sometimes really be just saying 'don't tell us you are sad, even though as adults we are doing things which make you sad'. I think children have lots of things to be sad about - big and little things - and learning to build a shelter for their sadness can, paradoxically, help them have permission and space to be happy. DAVID: My hope for the book was to get children - and adults - to talk more about their emotions and how they are feeling. Don't just bundle them up inside. It's important to recognise how you are feeling, recognise that it's there and it exists. And talk it through with someone. A parent or a teacher, or just someone that you trust. The worst thing we can do as human beings is pretend that these feelings are not real and that we should just get over it. Q: Was there one thing that helped inspire the text? ANNE: Yes. I went to a talk at my church, and the speaker quoted this passage from Etty Hillesum; 'Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge - from which new sorrows will be born for others - then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.' (Esther 'Etty' Hillesum (15 Jan 1914 - 30 Nov 1943) I wrote our picture book text in response to Etty Hillesum's words, so I was trying to expand on her idea that we need to give shelter to our sorrow / sadness, as I thought she had such a wise and beautiful vision, which was, amazingly, born out of her immense suffering as a Dutch Jewish woman under the Nazis, and someone who would actually die in the Holocaust. It was written as my creative response to her words, so writing it actually helped me to think and pray about my own sadness, and I felt it would be a good picture book, to help people cope with sadness that just can't be fixed, but which we need not to overwhelm us or turn us to hate or bitterness. I loved the idea that if we give shelter to our sadness we can truly say that 'life is beautiful and so rich'. Q: Was it a difficult text to write, as it is so pared back? ANNE: I think that because it came after the talk, and hearing Etty Hillesum's beautiful words, and after meditating on, and praying in response, to them, I didn't actually want to use many words. I wasn't paring back anything as such, I was just trying to find my best response to her words, and the writing of it came all at once, but I think the writing wouldn't have come that way if I hadn't already experienced and thought a lot about sadness for years, and hadn't deeply connected with Etty Hillesum's words. Q: Why did you decide the main character would be a boy? ANNE: As I was writing from my own point of view, and in response to Etty Hillesum, I suppose I thought the narrator might be a girl, but I was open to any interpretation. I'm not sure if it was the publisher or David who decided the main character would be a boy, but I am very happy with that. I hope it speaks to boys and girls, men and women, and I think that there is actually something good about it being a boy, as from a very young age, little boys are told to 'man up' and are put under particular pressure not to cry or express sadness - all part of toxic masculinity - so hopefully this will play a part in countering that and telling boys and girls that there is nothing to be ashamed about being sad. DAVID: I'm not sure how this was decided. For some reason I just instinctively drew a boy when I was sketching the book out. I think that's a case of me very much seeing myself in the character as I was making the book. Perhaps an argument can be made that some boys need more help in facing their emotions than girls. But to be honest, I think I just instinctively recognised myself in that character and drew him as a boy. Q: David, what drew you to this text, why did you want to illustrate it? DAVID: As soon as I read Anne's manuscript I knew that I 100% wanted to be the illustrator. I received the project over two years ago and I couldn't start straight away due to other project commitments. I was so scared that Templar would not be able to wait for me. But I was so happy and relieved that they decided to wait until I had finished the other books I was working on. The text just really connected with me and it stirred up some very raw emotions in me. I also recognised that it would be unlike any book I had ever drawn before and the challenge of creating it was something that I really wanted to take on. Q: How did you decide how to depict Sadness? DAVID: There have been a few really fantastic books recently that depict sadness and other emotions as an actual character. Some of my favourites are 'When sadness Comes To Call' by Eva Eland, 'Me and My Fear' by Francesca Senna, and 'Ruby's Worry' by Tom Percival. All of these handle these sensitive subjects so beautifully and visualise what an emotion could look like in the real world. I see our book very much as a continuation of these series of books and the themes they follow. They were definitely a big influence on me when I was drawing the book. In terms of the look of our Sadness, I came up with a number of ideas in my sketchbook. One was a very ghostly, scary looking thing. The other was a teardrop and one was a cloud. But then I just thought about what a typical six or seven year old might draw if I asked them to visualise their sadness. All these confusing and conflicting emotions might come together and it felt like a really messy, scruffy scribble would fit the bill perfectly. Also, I remember trying to articulate how I felt when I was young and the words just wouldn't come out. So drawing a confusing, mess of emotions just felt right. It's also a really great character to draw. you really do feel like you are getting some emotions out of your system and onto the paper when you draw Sadness. Q: David, Can you tell us how you create your images and that special luminosity in your pages? DAVID: Everything starts in my sketchbook and I will plan the whole book out with lots of scruffy sketches. But once I start making the final artwork I usually begin by making lots of very messy watercolour washes, letting the different colours naturally mix into each other. I will also take photos of other textures such as the bark of a tree, or concrete or the sky. I will then scan all of this into my computer and experiment with overlaying each of them together until I find a look and feel that I like. These will then generally take the form of a background for a spread. The characters and buildings I will usually draw out in my sketchbook and then scan these into my computer also. Using Photoshop I will position these over the backgrounds and add other textures over them and just see what works. Basically, its a lot of experimenting and seeing what works with all these different types of media and textures. The luminosity is just an extension of what my art teachers have always taught me about shade and light. But I do like to play around with light and the atmosphere that can bring to an image. I think I really appreciated the drama of light from watching too many Steven Spielberg films growing up. Q: Do you have a favourite spread? ANNE: I love them all! I think the last page is so, so beautiful and gives me hope, but that is because of all the pages that came before, so I couldn't choose! I think David has done an amazing job - the book is so beautiful. DAVID: I like a lot of them. I love the penultimate page where the boy and sadness are walking through the blooming garden. I like the spread early on where Sadness is going through all of the different ways it is feeling and all the different actions it is taking. But I think my favourite image is the simple one of Sadness and the boy sitting together on the log. They are not saying or doing anything, they are just together and there for each other. That's one of my favourite illustrations I have ever drawn in fact. I love it. Q: Will you be creating any more picture books about emotions? What are you working on now? ANNE: I would love to write more picture books about emotions. I have an idea I am trying to find words for - it isn't coming as easily as A Shelter for Sadness but I hope it can work. I also have a little picture book story I am working on, and I am revising and rewriting a middle grade novel, and am waiting to be given edits for an adult novel and should be starting a second adult novel, so I have lots to be getting on with! DAVID: I hope so. I think I will always try and convey emotion in my books and hope that the reader can recognise their own emotions in these stories. Q: Where is your favourite place to work? ANNE: I work in bed (where I am typing this) and in a little writing hut my husband built me in our garden. I also write sitting on the sofa or at the table. When the pandemic is over, I am so looking forward to working in a coffee shop again! I do find it very helpful, when I have lots of work to do, to go away for a few days, to somewhere like Gladstone's Library in Wales, or beautiful retreats in England or France or Ireland I have been to. DAVID: My favourite place to work doesn't actually exist yet. I would love to create art in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by nature. Unfortunately I haven't found that place yet, but I have hope that I will one day soon. At the minute, due to lockdown, I'm drawing my books in the corner of my bedroom, which is not ideal as I'm quite messy and it's quite a small space. It can get a bit frustrating. But, every once in a while I can pretend that I'm in that cabin in the woods and everything feels right again. Q: Where are you most likely to be found when you're not at your desk? ANNE: Maybe out with my husband, walking our dog, or reading in bed, or sitting watching something lovely - I really appreciate good TV and films and I love watching them with other people. I love chatting with family and friends and visiting them. For a post-pandemic answer, I want to leave my desk and travel to see friends and family. DAVID: Mainly riding my bike with my two sons, or walking our dog Maggie, or listening to music very loudly on my headphones. Thank you Anne and David for joining us on ReadingZone!

See original post here: https://readingzone.com/index.php?zone=sz&page=interview&authorid=623a7c5192eb0909e0d251c44bae33c1

#illustration #a shelter for sadness #books for kids

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seapandora · 4 years

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Bellicose ｜One-Shot

Tony x Reader

A/N: This belongs to the same universe as Tranquility, but we´re hitting it hard this time. Families fight, at least mine does. Words can hurt, actions even more so. I´m not saying grab your tissues, but you know… keep´em close… GIF-cred to owner.

Warnings: fighting (a lot), swearing, angst

Words: 1378

Tags: @creativenamedotexe-not-found

It was always the same with Tony… He was always off fighting aliens or bad guys because that was his job. Y/N was an avenger as well. It was her job too. But as per usual her father had made sure she had a small job to do in New York. This time it was to track a former Hydra-member and make sure Nicks men got to her.

She had done that before breakfast. It wasn’t even hard and the jet hadn´t left the compound when she was done. She was still told to stay back by her dad. He just wouldn’t let her get experience in the field. That had all turned into a shouting match and here Y/N was sitting in her room shooting at the wall with her blasters. What else could she do? Friday wouldn’t let her leave the compound and she couldn’t call Bucky or Steve. They were somewhere in Greenland and didn’t have any phones.

Morgan and Pepper were in Atlanta for some sort of business meeting. Y/N hadn´t bothered to ask Pepper to explain it all. She had been too upset with her father for that. Y/N was alone. Natasha and Bruce were on vacation. Clint was with his family. Thor was, god knows where and Peter was of course in school, and if that wasn’t the worst, he was on a school trip, to Europe.

Fucking hell, no. This wasn’t going to cut it. Y/N had to get out there. There were a million bad guys that had to be taken care of, a few in the vicinity of the compound… That was her key, wasn’t it? Y/N would have to trick Friday into believing she was just going out on town and nothing more. But how would she get her suit out? She had the microchips, just like her dad, but it would take too long for the suit to reach her if it was all the way at the compound and she was mid-city. That wouldn’t work.

Y/N´s only option was to hack into her own system and access the suit that she had in the safe-house. The safe-house that was an apartment in Queens. That would work. Of course, it would, Y/N thought to herself. If anyone could hack her own system, it was her. She got her laptop started at her desk. It took her some time to get into the system but she managed. Luckily she knew all of her own passwords, so that wasn’t a problem.

She hated hacking her own system, it was so unnecessary, but she couldn’t access it unless she was in the safe-house, which meant she had to override it now. Get it all set. She had her chip-codes remembered and she typed them in quickly. Coding had been hard for her to learn, and it was still hard, but at least she knew her own system. She had created it. She closed her laptop once she was done and took a deep breath before she stood up and packed her backpack.

“Friday, can you please call my dad,” She asked out into her room. A small panel on the side of her door lit up. “Of course Y/N, would you like to have a visual?” The AI asked and Y/N shook her head as she told the AI to just do an audio-call. “Y/N, what is it? If the compound isn´t on fire, I don’t want to hear it,” Tony said and Y/N could hear the fury in his voice. Fuck, this was bad. “I… I wanted to say that you were right, and Y/F/N, asked if we could go for smoothies in town tonight. I wanted to check with you first,” She answered and bit her lip as she put on her backpack.

Tony wouldn’t keep her from her friend, she didn’t have many, to begin with, and he wanted her to have some sort of normality in her life. He realized he hadn't given you much of one as a kid. “That’s fine, but you've to be home by 10 pm. No later or I´m coming for your ass and I´ll put you on suit probation, are we clear?” He said through gritted teeth. “We´re clear dad, home before 10. And… thank you, I know I disappointed you today,” Y/N said and sighed softly. She wasn’t one o apologize, just like her dad. She took after her more than anyone wished.

The call was killed and Y/N let out a breath of relief. “Friday, can you give me the keys to the Audi?” Y/N asked and smiled as the AI complied. The keys would be by the garage, unlocked for her. She pulled her backpack on a little tighter and hurried down to the garage where she got the keys to the Audi. It was one of the fastest cars her father owned, but it was also one of the less conspicuous.

Her ride to the city was short and once she had parked the car she pulled off her backpack and picked up her phone. Hacking into the police-database wasn’t hard, it wasn’t legal either but hey, she would be helping, wouldn’t she?

The first thing to come up was an armed robbery, reported in just seconds earlier. The cops wouldn’t be on sight for another few minutes. Y/N could get there much quicker. She put her phone down and took a deep breath before she called for her suit through her nervous system. Her blasters and arms around first. She hadn't taken the time to finesse the details so the speed they came at her was a little too quick for her liking, but hell. People could be in trouble, and bad guys needed to be caught.

She got her helmet last and she caught it in her hand before putting it on. Friday didn’t have access to her system unless Y/N cleared it, or in the worst-case scenario if Tony cleared it. That had never been needed though. And she wouldn’t need it tonight. She tried her blasters one at the time before she took off and flew to where the report of the robbery had come from.

“Hello there,” She said as she landed in the store in front of the robbers. Armed was pushing it. They had bats and one of them had an ax, but they were quite a lot of them. Y/N could count 8 while her suit had detected 6 more hidden by shelves or walls. “Who the hell are you?” One of the larger robbers asked. “That’s not how it goes loser, but I´m Obi-Wan Kenobi, duh,” Y/N answered. Sass was her go-to defense mechanism.

The fight was on. Y/N held her own for quite a while, but even someone in a suit made of titanium can be beaten down. And that hadn´t been her plan, but there she was now, beaten to the floor when she heard the familiar whoosh of her father's suit. Shit, yeah, there goes that chance to go to university. “Y/N get up! I can´t have you lying in the middle of a fight.” Her father said over the comms and Y/N groaned but shot the robbers over her with her blasters before she got up as she was told. She used her blasters to get some air and get away from the bad guys.

She was in bad shape. “Friday, get her out of here,” Tony said but Friday couldn´t access Y/N´s systems. Y/N was refusing. “I can fight dad, I´m not five anymore,” She said and shot at one of the guys coming towards her father. “Jesus Christ Y/N, stop being bellicose and do as I fucking say,” he said and shot two guys coming at him.

Y/N was mad, mad enough to make a rash and bad decision. She landed her suit and got her helmet off. That was the one thing she shouldn’t have done. Her father had stopped paying attention to having her back and one of the rubbers had snuck up on her and now took the chance when it presented itself. Y/N was hit in the back of the head but she could only feel pain and then it was dark.

The world ceased to exist.

#tony stark #Tony Stark fanfiction #tony x daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony x reader #tony stark x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fanfic angst #avengers fanfiction #Avengers #marvel fanfiction #seapandoraswritings

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kayteewritessteve · 4 years

Text

Beautifully Unfinished - 5/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 4,580 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Lots of angst. But if you’ve read my stories before, then you know how this will end.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

First Careers.

You quickly make your way down the busy sidewalk, trying to make up for the few extra minutes it took to get out of work. You’d been working for Avengers Publishing House for 3 weeks now, and were loving it so far. Though it was a lot of work and you didn’t really have much free time anymore. You barely got to see your best friends lately, you all just starting on your career paths and slowly figuring out your own lives and new jobs.

Bucky had just passed his bar exam, and had started at a prestigious law firm about 2 weeks ago. You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you kept each other informed on your day to day lives via text. He was enjoying the new job, but made it very clear that it was a learning curve and very draining work. Going from school life, to the working force was a shell shock for sure. Yes, you had all the book knowledge, but none of the real word experience, so new jobs were a lot to take in at first. You all figured they would be, but not to this extent. But he was happy, and thriving in his career choice, so that’s what truly mattered.

Steve had gotten a paid intern position at the MoMA, it was a once in a lifetime experience and he was over the moon for being chosen for the spot. But he had busted his ass to get it and you couldn’t have been prouder of him or his accomplishments. This was a huge stepping stone for him and his career, and from here more doors would be opened for him, and he’d have many more exciting and fulfilling opportunities in the future. He’d been there for 3 weeks now, having started damn near directly after leaving school.

And you, we’ll you’d been offered a Junior Editors position with Avengers, a very well known and reputable publishing house in Manhattan. It was the first stop on the climb to your dream job, and you were overjoyed with the opportunity to join their team. You’d always loved reading, and at a young age you’d figured out that being a publisher was right up your alley. And now that you had your foot in the door, you’d been entirely right on that thought. But it was a lot of work, late hours and spending your weekends at home and making your way through the stack of manuscripts you’d been given on a deadline.

So you had barely seen the guys over the last few weeks, you’d have the odd small coffee meets on rushed lunch breaks. Or the odd night you’d get together for your traditional weekly BFMMN™ (Best Friend Movie and Munchie Night.) But lately it was less of a tradition, and definitely not weekly. And when you did manage to come together, you’d all usually be out of it and exhausted, so the conversation was non-existent or minimal, at best. You all just being happy in the presence of your best friends, even in utter silence. It was better than nothing.

But today, you were all meeting for dinner, going out to finally celebrate your new jobs and your introductions to the working force. And in Classic You form, you’d lost track of time and were now running late. As per usual.

The restaurants sign finally comes into view and you pick up the pace a little, maneuvering through the swarms of people that always seemed to crowd the city sidewalks. But especially directly after working hours, all the people moving to and from their jobs, their homes and various businesses along the streets. Going to meet friends, to grab coffee or just take a leisurely stroll.

You weren’t taking a leisurely stroll currently though, you were damn near throwing elbows to get to the restaurant in a timely manner. You weren’t super late, by any means, but late was late, and awarded you less time with your best friends. Which wasn’t okay, at all. Not lately at least, not with how little you’d seen either of them the last few weeks.

You’d planned this dinner with them a few weeks ago, to make sure you all were free and clear, and wouldn’t miss it for anything else. You’d made the guys swear to set reminders in their phones so no one forgot or made other conflicting plans tonight. Come hell or high water, you were having dinner with your friends, and then the three of you were returning to your place after, for a few drinks and a movie. There was no getting out of it this time, you needed a fun, relaxing night with your guys, desperately.

You reach the entrance to the restaurant and quickly pull open the door, finding a beautiful young woman standing behind a podium. She asks for the reservation name, and you give her yours as you’d set it up. She smiles, informing you that only one other person has arrived so far and then leads you to the back where the table is.

As your eyes scan the room quickly, they land on a glorious head of blonde hair and a large involuntary smile takes over your face. Stevie, you should have guessed he’d be here first, he was always on time, or in most cases, early.

You also shouldn’t have been so worried about being a few minutes late, as Bucky always showed up last. You were positive that the guy treated being fashionably late like it was a dang character trait. He took it seriously, and never showed up on time, not even remotely.

He ran on his own clock and you’d actually lied to him a few times over the years, giving him incorrect early start times for important things, so that he’d end up late for the fake start time, but right on time for the real one. He’d always chuckle the second he arrived and saw the smug and satisfied expressions on yours and Steve's faces at him accidentally, yet strategically, arriving on time. Though you couldn’t pull that trick too often, or it would cease to work, so you had to pick your battles, and only use it in important or dire situations.

You make your way towards the table, and Steve, admiring the unfairly beautiful angle, even if it was the back of his head. But that wasn’t a shock, the guy was gorgeous and looked outstanding from all sides. It was wholly unfair and a rather large piss off, if you were honest, the guy didn’t have a bad angle anywhere. All hard lines, muscles and taut tanned skin. Then his perfect blonde hair and mesmerizing deep blue eyes, he was the walking embodiment of perfection in your eyes, and probably in many other people's eyes as well.

As you get closer to the table, you notice he is hunched forward a little and looking down, and it doesn’t take a rocket doctor to guess that he probably has his illusive sketchbook out. You have always known, from early on, that Steve loved to draw. He took his sketchbook everywhere with him and pulled it out whenever he was waiting, or no one was watching. But you’d only ever seen a few of his sketches, he was very secretive about his artwork. He didn’t like to show it off and the odd time he did, he was always humble yet embarrassed by it. Saying that it either wasn’t finished yet, or wasn’t that good.

You’d praise the artwork every time though, and not because you were his best friend, but because it was genuinely always amazing. He had a real talent, if he could just get over his insecurities and actually show his work off to the world, he’d see just how honest your praises really were.

But he’d always shrink away at the mention of showing people, saying he didn’t draw for recognition, but instead just for him. It was his stress relief and he only drew whatever caught his eye or inspired him that day. Like little snapshots of his life that were just for his eyes, and his eyes only.

You gave up trying to persuade him to share his art with the world, hell, to even just share it with you and Buck. And instead you’d just leave the topic entirely alone, it wasn’t your place to demand anything from him, especially if it made him uncomfortable. Or felt like you were pulling teeth. So you’d dropped the whole art thing completely, and instead just left it up to him to decide what, and when, he shared it with you. And each time he’d show you a little something, you lapped it up with eager enjoyment and locked away the mental snapshot forever. Taking any little morsel he offered and loving it as brightly as you could.

The fact he even showed you anything, spoke volumes to you. Made you feel so immensely special to be one of the select few who got to actually set eyes on his artwork.

“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” You asked abruptly as you reached the table, pointedly not looking at his sketchbook out of respect for his art privacy. You quickly took your jacket off, hanging it on the back of your chair before taking the seat across from him.

Steve calmly, but promptly, shut the book and glanced up at you, no matter how many times you tried to startle him, it never worked. The guy had eyes on the back of his head, you swear. He smiled at you, before tucking the book and pencils away in his messenger bag. “Just the things around me. Ya know, the usual,” he shrugged.

You just nodded, averting your eyes to the menu in front of you, as you picked it up and glanced over the options. “Sorry I’m late, got tied up at work,” you pause, glancing around the table playfully before locking eyes with Steve and smirking. “But I see the Jerk is keeping up his personally appointed job of making me always feel on time,” you chuckled, and Steve did as well.

“Well, you know him, he always has to arrive last so we can all fully appreciate his outfit choice,” he grins and shakes his head, picking up his own menu also.

You both fall into a silence, it’s not exactly awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either. You and Steve have sort of drifted since he started dating Hailey, not so much physically but more mentally. You still hang out as a group, but no longer just the two of you. And you still talk, but no longer as deeply, it’s mainly surface stuff now. Your jobs, your families, your day to day lives.

He doesn’t talk about Hailey with you often, if at all, he keeps pretty mum about her actually. Barely even saying her name in your presence unless he absolutely has to. No lie, you're thankful for that, but also not at the same time, especially since their third date they’ve been damn near inseparable. Spending almost all their free time together, but he still makes the effort to join in on the group stuff. And luckily for you, he’s never once brought Hailey along, he’s never even asked, not once. He seems to understand and respect that your group time is just for your little circle of 3.

But it’s not that she wouldn’t be welcome to join, every once and awhile. You’d suck up your stupid jealous bullshit here and there, if you had to. She made Steve happy, from the small things you’d heard, and could perceive in your childhood best friend. So having her around the odd time, you could deal with, you weren’t a complete asshole. But yet you liked that he never brought her around, for the sake of your heart, but not that he did it for that reason. God no, he still had no clue of your feelings, and to this day, you’d still never voiced them aloud.

You guessed he never invited her more for the sake that you and Bucky were his friends, his best friends, and sometimes he just needed time away from Hailey. Time to just be a party of one, with people who truly knew him. He had his separate friends that he shared with Hailey, and she had her own friends that were entirely her own. It was a mutual thing for them, their own ways to escape and get the time they needed away from each other, so that the relationship didn’t feel smothering or overbearing. Little spaces here and there are so important, and needed to keep a relationship healthy and thriving. To keep it from turning toxic and becoming too codependent, because that was never a good thing.

Plus you figured he kept her separated because the three of you had so much history, that Hailey may have felt left out or like an outsider to, as she wasn’t around for most of your friendship. Nor was she present for many of the big, and memorable moments that you all reminisced about or brought up often.

Whatever his true reasonings were, you were just secretly thankful for them. And for the fact you had your guys entirely to yourself, whenever you got together. Yes, it was selfish, but most humans hate change, and with certain things, you weren’t any different. You were entirely human, after all.

“Works going okay?”

“Hmm?” You hum, lifting your eyes to find Steve studying you now, his focus no longer on his menu. How long was he staring at you? You have no clue. Are you positive that your slightly disheartened thoughts were clear as day on your face, and that he probably saw them all? Oh 100%, judging by the concerned look on his face currently. You clearly really needed to work on your poker face, it had obviously deteriorated in the last few weeks, what with your lack of needing to use it. “Oh, yeah,” you plaster on your signature fake smile. “Work is going great. How about you? How’s the prestigious MoMA treating you?”

His eyes light up, like they always do when he is excited about something. “It’s amazing, Y/N. Everyone has been so helpful and very knowledgeable. I’ve learned more in the last 4 weeks than I did in my entire time at school.” He chuckles, “or at least it feels like I have.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Steve. I’m so happy you are enjoying it so much,” you smile fondly at him. This one a real smile for once. “No one deserves this experience as much as you, as you busted your ass in school.” You grin cheekily at him, “and I’d know, I was the one who had to drag you out of the library weekly, to force you to eat a real meal.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” He laughs at that, “did I ever properly thank you for single handedly keeping me alive back then?”

You place a finger on your chin as you hum, in feigned deep thought then shake your head. “Not that I can remember. But I take praise and apologizes in the form of baked goods, if you forgot.”

He smirks and shakes his head, “oh, I didn’t forget. Not for a damn second, not when a dozen cookies saved my ass more than a few times with you, throughout the years.”

“That they did,” you laugh, nodding in agreement to his words. “How’s Hailey?” The words slip from your mouth unfiltered and you want to kick yourself. Yet, you are curious how things are with them, you just should have waited till Bucky was here to act as a buffer. Because your conflicting thoughts on the topic of Steve's relationship caused you to do and say the dumbest things when she was occasionally brought up.

You were happy that he was, you truly wanted the best for him. But you still carried this ridiculous torch for him, and it hurt a little every time she was brought up. You were selfishly jealous of her, or maybe less of her, and more of the man she got to call her own. The one man you always wanted that privilege with, but would never get. You knew that, but just couldn’t fully come to terms with it. Maybe one day you would, maybe one day she could be brought up and you wouldn’t cringe internally and feel your heart crack a little more each time.

“Ah, good. She’s good,” he nods, focusing back on his menu. “What looks good here?”

You take a silent deep breath in, your abrupt question luckily not sullying the mood. “I was thinking the Cordon Bleu Chicken Burger sounds fantastic,” you hum, glancing over the options, “but then the Teriyaki Chicken Rice Bowl looks amazing as well.” You groan, “ugh, why can I never just pick one? Why do I always get stuck between two choices, and then literally have to decide when the waitress appears and asks what I want?”

Steve chuckles, “and then you instantly regret your choice the second the waitress walks away.”

You are just about to refute that, but a new voice joins the mix. “But then once the food arrives, she goes on and on about how good of a choice she made. And how great the food is.”

You snap your eyes over and see a grinning Bucky walking towards your table. He takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of his chair before taking a seat in the spot beside Steve.

“Okay, I��m not that bad,” you defend and playfully roll your eyes at the guys chuckling and shaking their head in disagreement of your words.

“Oh, you totally are,” Bucky reaffirms for good measure.

Which causes you to laugh, “okay, fine, maybe I am. But just a little.”

“Try a lot,” Steve corrects and you sigh deeply, jokingly. Which causes you all to laugh before exchanging your fond hello’s, and asking Bucky the basic life update questions, before you all focus on the menu to make your selections before the waitress appears.

Once the food is ordered, you having once again left the choice to the last minute and then just threw your pick at the waitress like always, the three of you fall into a comfortable and familiar conversation. Taking about the ‘good old days’ and the more in-depth topics.

The food arrives and you all enjoy it, immensely. And once again, you are completely happy with your choice, like the guys mentioned, and your momentary panic for possibly ordering the wrong thing, also like they mentioned, flies out the window. Like every other time, which is so Classically You—as Bucky had pointed out directly after you’d all finished eating. Causing Steve to laugh and you to glare fondly at the large brunette.

Dinner goes well but just as the three of you are paying your separate bills, Steve’s phone rings and he pulls it from his bag, apologizing for forgetting to put it on silent. As was the Rule for group night, that being put in place back in high school when Bucky’s phone had gone off damn near the entire night and he’d ended up essentially ignoring you and Steve to reply to all his ‘fans’ as you’d dubbed them. So you’d implemented a silent phone policy, which basically meant no phones allowed on BFMMN™.

He steps away for a moment, saying it’s Hailey and promising to be quick. You sigh quietly to yourself and stand with Bucky, waiting for Steve to return.

“Hopefully everything’s okay,” you comment softly, slightly irked for the interruption to group night, but also a little worried as Hailey is usually super respectful of your group time. She normally never bothers Steve while he is with you, another thing you are really thankful for. You’re happy he found someone who isn’t overly intrusive or overbearing, she is good for him, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s the truth.

“I’m sure it is, she probably just can’t find the TV remote again,” Bucky shakes his head and his words cause you to furrow your brows and glance up at him.

“What?” You ask confused. Why would she call for something like that? “What do you mean?”

Bucky purses his lips, looking like he just realized he said too much. But why would he feel like that? “Ah, it’s nothing, really. She does it all the time,” he shrugs it off.

What the hell? “Does what all the time? Loses the TV remote?”

“No,” he sighs, scratching the side of his head, it’s a nervous tick of his, he does it whenever he is trying to find the right words. Which only intrigues you more. “Constantly calls him for silly little pointless things. I think she does it to ‘check in’ on him. Make sure he is where he says he is. I’ve mentioned my thoughts about it to Steve, but he just waves them off and says she is just forgetful.”

“Wait, wait,” you put up a hand as if to pause the conversation. “What are you going on about? She doesn’t call all the time. She’s never called him on group nights in the past.”

Bucky gives you a weird assessing look, “yes, she has. Every time, and multiple times per night. But Steve is usually really good with shutting his phone off before he joins us, so that it doesn’t go off constantly while we are all together.” He grins and in Classic Bucky form, he tries to fix the strange awkward atmosphere with humour. “I think you scared the Jesus out of him—or into him, whichever, when you snapped at me that one time for my phone going off all night. Since that night, he’s made it his life’s mission to never be on the receiving end of your cranky outbursts about phone etiquette during group time,” he chuckles. Then jokingly cringes, “You’re scary as hell when you're mad.”

“I had no idea,” you say quietly. Here you’d just finished praising the woman in your mind for her ‘respect’ for group night. When really, that clearly isn’t the case. How did you never know about this?

“I think that was kind of the point.”

“Why does she check in on him so much?” You ask curiously.

“I don’t know. I suspect it might have something to do with you, though.”

“Me?” You quickly ask, “what the hell? Why?”

“She has always had this weird fixation on you, for some reason she thinks there is something more between Steve and you.”

Leave it to Bucky to always give you the real tea, he may not come out and say it right away, but if it ever comes up and you ask him about it, he never lies or avoids the truth. He always tells you how he sees it, how it is, and you’ve always adored that about him. There’s no sugarcoating, and no bullshit, it’s just his own honest opinions on things.

“But we are just friends?” You asked confused, though it’s less a question and more a statement. “What could she possibly be worried about? There are no feelings like that between us.” Which is partially true, from Steve’s side at least. However it’s a complete and blatant lie from yours, but no one knows that—for sure—aside from you. Bucky raises a disbelieving brow at you, but doesn’t comment on your words.

“She seems to think otherwise.” He shakes his head, “But don’t worry too much about it, it’s always been this way and her insecurities are her own. Ya know, since both you and Steve have always been so adamant that you’re just friends.” He pauses, giving you a little side eye before continuing, once again making you aware that he probably does know of your true feelings for Steve. “She’ll either come to realize that, eventually, or she won’t, but that’s on her. Not you. And at the end of the day, it’s between her and Steve, they have to work it out themselves. Don’t stress too much about the things you can’t control.”

You nod, feeling a little guilty for possibly causing an issue in Steve’s relationship. But also slightly irked at the fact you’re just finding out about this now. And at the new realization that she doesn’t come around because she most likely doesn’t like you, when you’ve never done a damn thing to her. Or to warrant her disliking you that much. How fucking rude is that? You may not exactly like her either, but at least you’d suck it up and be civil, you do respect her and Steve’s relationship, and would never interfere with it. Ever. In any form.

Yet, she doesn’t seem to hold those same sentiments, as it turns out, and she tries to interfere with your friend time often. Go figure, you’d have never known that, if it weren’t for Steve forgetting to turn his phone off this time. Before you can think any further on this all, Steve returns looking for a split second like he is exhausted.

But the second his drained eyes meet yours, a light flickers in them and he smiles at you. It almost looks fake at first to your knowledgeable eyes, but you shake your head and ignore that thought as he approaches you both.

“Sorry about that, Hailey just had a quick question.”

Bucky scoffs quietly and you elbow him, giving him a warning look to zip it. “All good, Steve,” you smile at him. Deciding to not pull on this proverbial string for once, because you may not like where it ends up, and you fear that bringing this up to him will only stand to put more of a riff between you two.

“Should we head out?” You ask, glancing between the two guys, receiving nods then the three of you exit the restaurant and head towards your apartment.

Throughout the night, you keep your mouth shut on the topic of Hailey, Steve is never really forthcoming with you about her, and you’re realizing that it’s probably because of her insecurities about you. About your friendship with him, and you can’t be sure of this, but you're willing to bet that anytime you’re brought up, she probably has something to say about it. Or maybe he doesn’t bring you up at all, he’s never been dumb by any means, and he is probably aware of her feelings towards you. And maybe because he filters you out of his conversations with her, he just unconsciously does the same in reverse. Filtering out her from his conversations with you.

Shit, but who honestly knows? You’re so sick of overthinking every little thing in your friendship with Steve, solely because you refuse to ask him about it. You refuse to bring any of it up. But also mainly because you refuse to add anymore stress onto him. Especially this sort of unnecessary and pointless stress.

The last thing you want to do, is to drive him away, or push him away, because he can’t handle the questions and issues from both sides. Do you deserve more answers? Of course. Are you going to press Steve for them? Fuck no. So instead, you’ll just harass Bucky about it later, privately. But Steve will never know any of it, he’ll never know that you know about any of this.

Cause he’s the one that you can't lose. But he’s the one that you can't win.

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

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188 notes · View notes

howtoeuthanize · 3 years

Text

Doc, how will I recognise when it’s time?

We have heard from countless pet proprietors that the death in their pet turned into worse than the dying in their own dad and mom. This may sound blasphemous to a few, however to others it’s the bloodless reality. Making the selection to euthanize a puppy can sense howtoeuthanize gut-wrenching, murderous, and immoral. Families feel like they're letting their puppy down or that they are the purpose of their friend’s demise. They forget about that euthanasia is a gift, some thing that, when used accurately and well timed, prevents similarly bodily suffering for the pet and emotional suffering of the own family. While surrounded by using their loved ones in a quiet, comfy vicinity, they could bypass with dignity, Making the real decision is the hardest a part of the experience and the most customarily requested query is, “Doc, how will I understand while it’s time?” Let us shed a few mild on this difficult discussion.

As veterinarians, our job is to assist the own family in the selection-making. There isn't always one ideal second in time wherein to make that remaining desire (until the puppy is truly struggling, something we are seeking to prevent in the first area). Rather, there is a subjective time period in which euthanasia is the precise decision to make. This time period might be hours, days, weeks, or maybe months. Before this subjective time period veterinarians will refuse to euthanize a pet due to the fact a terrific excellent of existence nevertheless exists. After this period, but, we may additionally push for euthanasia because of obvious sustained struggling. During this large subjective time but, it's miles genuinely depending on the own family to make whatever choice is satisfactory for them. Some proprietors want time to come to phrases with the decline of their pet while others want to prevent any pointless struggling in any respect.

Everyone is unique and entitled to their very own thoughts. After all, pet proprietors recognize their puppy better than everyone, even the vet!

Pain and Anxiety

Pain is one of the maximum critical topics that we discuss in veterinary hospice care. Many professionals accept as true with that carnivorous animals, consisting of cats and dogs, do now not “conceal” their ache, rather pain certainly doesn’t bother them the equal manner it bothers human beings. Animals do not have an emotional attachment to their pain like we do. Humans react to the analysis of most cancers tons in a different way than Fluffy does! Fluffy doesn’t realize she has a terminal infection, it bothers us greater than it bothers her. This is hugely unique than prey animals like rabbits or guinea pigs, who must conceal their ache to save you carnivorous assaults. If you’re interested in getting to know extra about ache and suffering in pets, grab Temple Grandin’s e book “Animals in Translation” and study chapter five.

When discussing the decision to euthanize, we need to be just as involved approximately tension in our pet as we're about pain. Frankly, anxiety is worse than ache in animals. Think about the ultimate time your dog went to the vet. How turned into his behavior? Was he anxious inside the exam room? Did he provide you with that appearance that said “that is terrible!”? Now assume back to when he closing harm himself, possibly scraping his paw or straining a muscle after strolling too difficult. My canine hardly ever appears as distraught whilst she’s in pain as she does whilst she is hectic. It’s the identical for animals which are death. For instance, many quit-stage arthritis dog patients start panting, pacing, whining, and/or crying, but a lot of these signs and symptoms are due to anxiety, commonly bobbing up secondarily from the ache. This is akin to being stung with the aid of a bee but now not seeing the bee itself; you may be more anxious at the lack of awareness of the starting place of the pain (and therefore approximately the unknown length or potential augmentation by greater bees) in preference to strictly the pain by myself. Due to hormonal fluctuations and other elements, those symptoms of tension typically seem worse at night. The body is telling the carnivorous canine that he's now not on the top of the food chain; he has been demoted and if he lies down, he turns into someone else’s dinner. Anti-tension medicinal drugs can sometimes work but for pets which can be at this stage, the cease is generally near.

Waiting Too Long

An thrilling trend is that the greater instances households experience the lack of a puppy, the sooner they make the selection to euthanize. Owners experiencing the decline or terminal contamination of a pet for the primary time will typically wait until the very quit to make that tough selection. They are afraid of doing it too quickly and giving up with out a good fight. Afterwards, however, maximum of these owners remorse ready too long. They replicate returned at the past days, weeks, or months, and feel guilty for putting their pet through the ones severa journeys to the vet or uncomfortable clinical strategies that did not improve their puppy’s best of lifestyles. The next time they witness the decline of a pet, they're much more likely to make the choice at the beginning of the decline rather than the quit.

What about a natural death?

Yes, there are the ones pets that peacefully doze off and skip obviously on their own, however simply as in people, this form of peaceful death is uncommon. Many owners fear their puppy “passing alone” whilst others do not. Occasionally we're requested to help families through the herbal death process with their pet. For unique reasons, those families are towards euthanasia. We provide an explanation for the whole lot we probably can, from how a natural loss of life may additionally look, how lengthy it may take, what their puppy may revel in, and so on. Inevitably, nearly all of those households remorse doing this. Most of them remark afterwards “I desire I would no longer have executed that, I desire she didn’t should go through.” A herbal death can be difficult to watch, particularly for non-medically oriented humans. Most people can watch a human family member in ache plenty extra without problems than they can their puppy. To an extent, we are able to communicate different humans thru physical pain or pain, however there is no comforting a pet this is struggling. Families take this guilt difficultly and we do our very exceptional to no longer best simply propose euthanasia whilst suitable, but put together families for a “worst-case” state of affairs have to they chose to wait. (Of course dying is not anything to be scared of and if your pet does appear to skip on his or her personal, it is clearly not a awful thing; it takes place in nature frequently!)

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gmetzcom · 3 years

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The Three Greatest Lessons I learned in COM 2206

As a college student it is easy to slip into drive. What I mean by that Is that it’s easy to slip into go-mode with the goal of turning something in, not learning or absorbing the actual content. Throughout COM 2206 I have never once found myself guilty of allowing my brain to glid through those cracks. This course clicked with me on a personal level in the manner of subconsciously adapting my ways of communicating and understanding others. While I could name far more than three lessons from this course that will stick with me though life, the greatest are easy to choose. Conflict management styles, verbal communication styles, and expectancy violations. These three lessons have and will aid me through life as we are taught at a Younge age how to string together words to mean something; But are we taught how our words in harmony with the circumstances may take what we said and give it a whole new meaning? Are we taught how to handle the words strewn together by others in a healthy way? Or are we taught how to set boundaries for ourselves in the manner of what is expected from others? The answer is simple. No, not until we take COM 2206, and that is only if we are lucky enough to as it is not a requirement for some students.

Is it truly fair to play dirty? Most people would argue that the answer is no. So, if you wouldn’t find it fair to cheat in a game of cards, why find it fair to cheat when communicating with others? Conflict is inevitable, and because of that we have to learn how to manage conflict in a healthy manner. Or in other words in a fair manner. In chapter 11 of INTERPLAY by Ronald B. Adler, Lawrence B. Rosenfeld, and Russell F. Proctor we find that conflict can be solved in many ways. Some ways are fair, some are not, and others are only kind of fair. It just depends on what side of the conflict you are on. Starting from the bottom at avoidance, we see a lose-lose situation. “Although avoiding important issues can keep the peace temporarily, it typically leads to unsatisfying relationships” (Afifi et al., 2009; Wang et al., 2012). Accommodation is slightly better, but not by much being a lose-win situation. This happens “when we entirely give in to others rather than asserting our own point of view”. While the middle ground is usually the sweet spot, that is not the case when it comes to compromise as it is a lose-win win-lose situation. It “gives both people at least some of what they want, although both sacrifice part of their goals”, and while this isn’t the worst thing to ever happen there is usually a better way (Jandt, 2017). Competition is a “my way or the highway” type of deal, meaning win-lose. It “involves high concern for self and low concern for others”. Last but not least we have the win-win situation, collaboration. Collaboration is the opposite of my way or your way, it is our way with “a high degree of concern for both self and others”.

Now that we have a full understanding of what conflict management styles are and how to use them, I want to explain how I learned them as well as what lesson they have given me. During our third writing assignment in COM 2206 the class was asked to imagine themselves in a given conflict with a friend. In this conflict we were asked to identify the conflict management strategy that the character we were to imagine ourselves as used. We were later asked to identify what conflict management strategy could have been used in the situation to give a better, healthier, and fairer outcome to the conflict. Like I said earlier, conflict is inevitable. Considering this I believe that the conflict management strategies that we use most often have a lot to do with our childhood and what conflicts we encountered and how the counterpart handled the conflict as well. Growing up in an extremely unhealthy toxic household lead me to have unhealthy conflict management strategies that stuck with me into adult hood. However, having been educated on the different conflict management styles and strategies I have become much more aware of the way I handle conflict. I have also started thinking back on conflicts and identifying how I could have handled them in a healthier manner. Because of this I would say this is one of the greatest life lessons I have ever learned.

During our third writing assignment in COM 2206 we were also asked to identify an expectancy violation. This is another great lesson I have learned through this course. However, let us understand what exactly an expectancy violation is before we go into that. An expectancy violation is “an instance when others don’t behave as we assume they should” (Cohen, 2010; Hall et al., 2011). I would argue that a relationship would cease to exist without expectations, but with that being said everybody makes mistakes. While there are more expectancy violations than I can count of both hands some are more common than others. For example, maintaining confidence is a huge expectation in a friendship. If you tell your best friend, you’re pregnant and discuss ways to surprise your husband it is expected that that person will not tell your husband. Another great example is lending a helping hand. This is the expectancy violation that was broken in the writing assignment we discussed earlier. The expectancy concerned my friend and I making plans to move all of my stuff from my old apartment to my new one. The violation happened when she never showed up.

Considering my childhood and the unhealthy environment I grew up in, I think it is safe to assume that I have a hard time expecting things of others. let alone holding them responsible for violating those expectancies. The lesson I learned from expectancy violations is what exactly is “normal” to expect from others. While conflict management styles help me address when these expectancies are violated, it is important to set boundaries in any relationship. By expecting things of others, I am able to no longer allow myself to be for lack of better words a “pushover”.

Verbal communication is one of the most touched on topics throughout COM 2206 so of course it would be appropriate that it taught me a lesson that will stick with me through my days. Starting off with verbal communication, I truly took in what exactly this meant for the first time in week 7 of this course. During our two cents discussion we were asked to tell of a time that somebody else’s actions lead to a negative consequence for the writer. We were then asked to create an “I” statement in response to the persons actions. The example that I provided was when I experienced my first winter and was on the way to clean the snow off of my car in order to go to a job interview. My partner stopped me in my tracks and offered to do it for me while I finished getting ready which I could not have been more thankful for. When I walked out the door to leave for my interview, I found that she had forgotten the commitment that she made, and I was out of luck. The "I" statement that I could have used to discuss this issue with my partner would have been " I did not appreciate you telling me you would clean off the driveway only to find you did not do it the following morning, it caused me to be late to my interview and leave a bad first impression.". In the breakdown of my "I " statement "I did not appreciate" Shows my feeling, "you telling me you would clean off the driveway only to find you did not do it the following morning" Shows the behavior I observed, and "caused me to be late to my interview and leave a bad first impression" is the possible consequence. Verbal communication also entails “you” and “we” statements that are fit for specific scenarios just as “I” statements are.

Through life I have struggled with causing miscommunications. Especially in the workplace, as I am known for promoting up into management rolls incredibly fast. The lesson verbal communication has taught me revolves around how to speak to others. By knowing what words to use in situations to convey certain messages is crucial for somebody in the work field. If somebody said this to me, I would say “well duh”, but I would never have been able to logically explain what is appropriate for what situations. Now, with verbal communications skills I am able to place responsibility on myself when needed, on others when appropriate, and on a team as a whole.

The three lessons COM 2206 has taught me will help me succeed happily through life as those questions I asked at the beginning of this paper are no longer questions. Like I said, we are taught at a Younge age how to string together words to mean something and later in life COM 2206 teaches us the rest. It teaches us how our words in different scenarios can mean something entirely different. It teaches us how to handle the words others say to us healthily. And it teaches us how to set boundaries for ourselves so that we know what is expected from others. This is taught through Conflict management styles, verbal communication styles, and expectancy violations.

Work Citations:

Adler, Ronald B, et.al. Interplay. The Process of Interpersonal Communication.Oxford NY. 2018.

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

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Alight Pt. 3 (Loki x Reader)

"That," he wiped his bleeding cheek, "was a big mistake."

He was gonna retaliate right then and there, the life leaving his eyes and rage consuming him. You prepared. He'd already gotten in a few licks leaving you pretty weakened. Arms were throbbing from blocking blows and your head burned in white hot pain. You're no match for Dickhead. But at this point if you died fighting him, so be it. It'd be better than living the rest of your life here.

As he lunged, he suddenly froze in place, and then your blood ran cold. His face disappeared - then reappeared in an instant.

Your heart beat so fast that your entire body was rendered paralyzed. Hallucinating - definitely hallucinating.

But it happens again; his face glitches from its brooding, bloodied features to a blank sheet of skin and back again.

He chuckles. His voice darkens robotically as his face goes in and out, like a TV with bad reception. "Looks like you damaged my screen."

The ground wobbles beneath your feet, but there's nothing around to steady yourself except for your own head - and it could explode at any second.

"What? Now you're scared?" He takes a small step forward, you take the same step back. "You should've been scared this entire time. You're not back home on Earth."

... What? How?

"Don't act surprised. But it's not an act, is it? You really thought you were smart. Humans are so laughable sometimes. Steadfast? Sure. But you're all so easily broken. That, and your inherent ignorance was the dead giveaway to your origins."

His dark, artificial eyes repeatedly go in and out and return to yours each time. He clears his throat and places his arms at ease. "Allow me to explain a bit about myself, since you were gracious enough to oblige me in a similar nature," he smiles, gesturing to his injured human cheek.

Your skin itches all over. Your mind is sending distress signals everywhere it can. Which, clearly, isn't far.

"I am a Chronomonitor. We are created and assigned whenever and wherever a reality is altered. I would normally explain the development process of how we're created, but I'd bet you don't know the first thing about quantum technology. Just like I'd bet you don't know the first thing about gamma radiation," he smirks.

Fuck ... what all do they know?

"But that's besides the point. I was created when the reality of Earth in the year 2012 was tampered with by undercover parties. I will cease to exist when my job is complete, which is to eliminate the threat and restore reality as it is. Until then, you're stuck with me indefinitely."

Wonderful, you bitterly think to yourself.

He dares to take another step closer, and despite yourself, you dare not to take one back.

"See how much easier things can be, if you're a good little human?"

A voice interrups through his radio, shouting urgently in their verbal codes. He tilts his head to listen and in an irritated rush he responds with an affirmation.

Now completely faceless, without concealment, he turns to leave. But not without a final word. "I feel like we've gotten to know each other a little better. No more secrets now. Right, Doe six one eight? Or, rather, little L/N."

He had the nerve to whisper your last name.

When the cell door shuts behind Mr. Chronomonitor, you start crumbling. Your legs nearly give way as you stumble back, back, until you hit the concrete wall and slide down, your throat constricting. They tracked you. They tracked the breadcrumbs, and you just gave them a freshly baked loaf with your name written on it.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think straight. All you could do was cry.

All you wanted was Loki.

Loki would know what to do.

Loki would know what to say.

Loki would protect you. He wouldn't let these forces get anywhere near you. He didn't! That's why your steadfast, laughable, ignorant fucking self is here in this space pit. Because he died protecting you from the true forces of the universe, and their crimes.

You wished that wasn't your last memory of him. That's why you've forced yourself not to think of him during this imprisonment. But things always come full circle. You should've known better. Loki always compared your feelings to a body of water, and said that the levee reserving the riverflow was made of fire. The flames will always succumb to the water at some point. Goddammit, you miss him. In the most selfish way possible.

He was one the few people in your life who accepted you unconditionally; he loved even the worst parts of you. Looking back, you took that for granted. A little voice keeps nagging you about it as time goes on, and in all honesty, you're starting to believe you deserve to stay here indefinitely.

You miss him. The hot, fiery tears leaving streaks down your swollen cheeks are the testament to it. You miss the real Loki. A far cry from who's out here in the timelines running amok.

It's the broken, vengeful, brainwashed monster that Thanos created in 2012 that's left. You think back to that distant, original little spark of hope; that maybe the real Loki is still alive and lost in there somewhere. Maybe you could find him, bring him to the light.

But that was then. Now, the chances of ever finding Loki are slim to none, and your chances of staying prisoner here are rising.

Oh for Heaven's sake. It was just getting good!

The melee had to end right when the mysterious neighbor had done what he couldn't do (what he truly wished to do if he hadn't a main objective) and that was provoke that oaf of a guard to the breaking point. But he remembers there's been no provoking whatsoever. Only silence.

And then a beating ensued, and even Loki had to turn away. He's not a sadist. He's more of a curious panther that's been reduced to a pathetic house cat.

Indeed while the voice of the Other continues to berate him for his childish approaches, and in a similar nature, Loki has chosen to ignore it. Temporarily, of course. It's not his fault that the daft creature cannot function under anything but its own direct orders. Loki enjoys chaos. And in this place, he doesn't even have to be the perpetrator.

Although useful in that he now knows a great deal more about these bots and their facility, this sort of chaos isn't exactly what he had in mind. Unlike the Other, as well as the Titan, hurting people fruitlessly doesn't interest Loki.

"Knock, knock," a voice sarcastically sounds outside the cell door.

Loki's ears perk and the hair on his neck dares to stand on end, but he doesn't allow it. He leans against the gray concrete comfortably, awaiting his visitor.

"Time for my interrogation already?" he chirps. The Chronomonitor - information accredited to his neighbor - opens the heavy door, bringing in shadowy dim light from the hallway. It appears as the same burly man with educated eyes and sturdy limbs, and a faint scar on its cheek. Loki cannot the smirk on his face as he eyes the robot, relishing in the secret knowledge he has. He distantly wonders how he'll use it to his advantage later.

"Afraid not," it shakes its head. "That's why I'm here. Mobius has chosen to delegate more time to another case over the next few days, so you're off without questioning today."

"What a shame. I was looking particularly forward to my session this afternoon," Loki feigns disappointment. He then inquires, "What could possibly interrupt such a cured routine?"

The robot ponders Loki, but in the moment, does not deem him disingenuous.

A mistake.

As if it's divulging a secret, the robot lowers its tone. "It's the person right next to you, as a matter of fact. She's been an absolute pain ever since she was apprehended a month ago. Mobius is even sicker of it than I am," it nearly growls, before recollecting. "But now he's finally ready to do something about it."

The way the bot's teeth shined in sticky enjoyment struck a nerve in Loki.

He tilts his head, playing along. "What do you think that something will be?"

"That's to be determined. Oh, and you didn't hear any of this," the bot threatens.

"Of course," Loki assures. Even though he heard every word of it.

The bot nods. It then scans the cell, as Loki crosses his arms and slides his tongue over the grooves of his cheek. The robot's eyes land on the uneaten breakfast tray next to the bed.

"Better eat. The cooks never cook that good."

"Merely saving it for later," he responds, voice clipped.

Awkwardly, the bot turns to leave. "Won't be another meal for a good few hours."

"Four hours. To be exact."

The bot looks back at Loki with bewilderment. Loki notes how easily angered they can become, if outwitted. Without another word it waves an arm dismissively and locks the door tightly behind.

It's just at the surface. But how did his neighbor do it so effortlessly?

A girl, he remembered. The robot referred to a girl.

He lay his head against the hard pillow of the wall, still propped against it. Outside his ever-racing mind, the world around him became quiet. Impossibly quiet; quiet enough to hear. Maybe enough to hear a pin drop, or a mouse scatter across the floor.

Definitely enough, he learned, to hear soft, barely audible cries through the thick walls of his cell. His eyes widened.

Female cries, he notes.

Loki's curiosity is getting the best of him. But he decides he'll deal with whatever repercussions there are.

Just for kicks, he creates a duplicate illusion of himself, leaving it on the bed. Then, cloaked in invisibility, he enters the cell next door.

The cells are similar - dark, unkind concrete. A bed. A sink. A toilet. A mirror, and something his own cell lacks: a door with a small window with a view, of another door. Loki's not surprised.

The prisoner is what surprises him.

A woman, indeed. Scrubbing at her face over the white sink, washing it in red. She pushed her hair back as it kept falling in her face, sticking to her blood. Wearing the TVA prison suit identical to his, her exposed arms were marked by violence. She turns off the sink and looks at herself in the mirror. If Loki were visible, they would've locked eyes right then and there.

She looked innocent, even babyish in the face. Something felt familiar about her. Strongly, strangely familiar, but he couldn't place how. It bothered him. The dark bruises littering her skin bothered him more; they pinched and scratched at his nerve endings.

He can't look away. In fact, he contemplates making his presence known to her, but hesitates as she moves to the cot.

Loki breathes.

Upon having a face to match with the body, he wonders. He's always been a good judge of character; what could that face have possibly done to be treated differently than he? He hadn't been assaulted by any guards or agents, even when he'd provoked them. Make no mistake, he's treated with less than respect, but not to the point of beatings at least. So what is it about this normal, non-threatening woman?

Still unable to look away from her, she lays on the cot, facing the wall - away from Loki. From this perspective she seems almost like a child. He sees her deep breathing and hears her silent whimpers; he watches her until she eventually falls asleep.

Resigning himself back to his own cell, he too lays on his cot. It's so boring here. Even with new guests, they fall asleep just as the story begins to barely unfold. A pity.

Who is that woman?

There's two sides to the coin that is Loki's thought process. It would be a lie to say he wasn't glad that the quiet one finally cried herself to sleep. But when has it being a lie ever stopped him from saying something?

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