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danimadethis · 2 years

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Chatter

There’s non-stop chatter in the realms where I engage my attention. They are all offering variations on the same theme: The Scam is Structural. Capitalism is Evil, My body, My Choice, Climate Change is Real, We’re All Gonna Die…. you get the idea.

It’s noisy. In my opinion, it’s also all correct. But addressing all that change while simultaneously existing in this reality, right now, is crazy-making. Pushing back against those forces that aim to gaslight me and tell me that everything around me makes sense except for my own quiet voice is nothing short of exhausting. I’m trying to get back to a state of flow in my work because it’s the only way the noise gets muted, the only place I find relief.

I’m worried about what my work looks like to the world, and most importantly, to my people. I wake up every day with this cycle planned in my head — arise at 5am, meditate, walk for 30 minutes, make a healthy breakfast for myself and the family, get everyone to school, do yoga, sit at my desk, and begin. Work at writing, work at art, work towards the formation of the book I will author. And then stop again at 3, collect the family, clean the house, cook a meal, drink tea or a cocktail, read or watch a show, go to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat.

This sounds like a perfect life to me. I don’t do it all in a day most days but sometimes I get close, and often the order changes. I don’t take for granted that my life affords me this privilege. Because that’s what it is. I can choose work that exchanges my labor for money, or I can work on the work that makes me whole and that makes me sure that I am here for a reason. I get to choose and THAT is the greatest of luxuries to me. I own my time. I don’t have to sell it to live in this world. I can go as slow or as fast as I like. I can choose when to say yes to a project. I can protect my energy and my values. Now, I do trade nice cars and fancy clothes for this privilege but I do it with pleasure if it means I can meet a friend for coffee on Tuesday or work on a painting for 4 hours without the sacrifice of a good night’s rest.

I have to push back everyday to achieve these small personal goals. The Noise wants me to feel diminished for these values. The Noise tells me I’m not contributing to the world by living this way, that I don’t have sufficient work ethic or ambition. I worry greatly that this is the perception my own family secretly harbors. I literally only make things that eventually disintegrate or become shit. I feed people and I paint and write things. That’s it.

But shit and dust nourish the soil that grows our food. It’s a circle of creation and destruction that keeps us all alive and able to experience whatever we seek on this planet. When I reframe it this way, it’s easy to see this as absolutely valuable work. We don’t live in a time where this value gets monetized however, because ya boy Capitalism is a hungry ghost and it can only survive on the vapor of invented currency.

For those of us who endeavor to live quietly, to spend our time cultivating our gardens and loving our people well, we can’t do that job and also do the thing that Capitalism is asking us to do which is to sell that message and sell it daily if we hope to be compensated for said message. For that reason, I’m not clear what my path forward is yet in order to get these ideas into the world.

My conundrum is this: I want more people to hear what I have to say. My ego hopes these ideas are useful and that my words could stir those same or new impulses to the surface in someone else. I’ve been helped and influenced by other people’s ideas. This is my Pay it Forward.

But if my work is to write the words and paint the paint, how do I also sell the words and sell the paint and still have the time to live the life that fosters the words in the first place? I’m asking because I don’t have the answer. I don’t know how do it all. I really believe in the saying that you can have it all, just not all at once. But Capitalism insists otherwise. You CAN have it all, all at once, you just need to do the work, then rest from the work by promoting and selling the work, then rest from the success of promoting and selling the work by making more work. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I know this is the formula that most successful creatives under Capitalism live by. If my ego truly believes there’s usefulness to anything I have to say, then this is a formula I need to accept and metabolize. So then why am I so resistant to this formula? Is it because of all the content that is being over generated by creatives now, so much so that even the good stuff is no longer authentic? I listen to too many podcasts by too many people that I really respect, and even they don’t sound convinced that this is the way forward. I don’t see where I have a place in this current system with what I have to say. I don’t know how to show up for it and not lose myself.

Maybe this is just the after-shocks of quarantine talking. Maybe I’m still just processing what the pandemic did to my relationship to effort and output.

Before we had to go inside, I was on a trajectory with so much momentum. I was working towards more teaching and cooking opportunities. It took a lot of time, and enormous energy, for me to step into that fear and welcome strangers into my home so that we could cook together. Intellectually, I knew the work was important so I pushed that dread to the side to do the work of cultivating community enriching others. But my deep down truth is that I’m so incredibly sensitive to outside stimulus. I wasn’t good at protecting myself from the energy vampires that would suck me dry some days. And I had this little problem of three other folks under my roof. If I opened my house up to strangers, I wasn’t allowing my family their autonomy either. So when I got instructed to go home and stay home, I let that house of cards fall. I let all of it fall away.

Once I got permission to go inside — like go really inside — I discovered that I don’t feel a sense of accomplishment in the way the world wants me to. I felt more satisfied from the inner world we created during that time at home than I have ever felt in my life, ever. I felt so creative that I made a series of one hundred paintings. I spent delightfully mundane hours with my family. We got good at games and sourdough. I got to make what I wanted to see exist. It was the most satisfying and fruitful time of my life (when I wasn’t consumed by the existential dread of it all).

Now that the world is returning to Capitalist norms, we are all expected to fall in line again. Get that money, hunny! Live your best life! Cash is king!

I’m just not feeling it, man. I need to pay my bills like everyone else, but if money is just a construct like every other one we’ve agreed to as a society then what even is bills? I guess you can call me a futurist this way? I’m already living in a post-modern reality in my brain but I wake up everyday in a past times hologram. I took the blue pill and now I can’t unsee what is really happening.

So. What are we supposed to do with the world as it is in this moment if we also accept the other ideas that are percolating? If indeed The Scam is Structural how do we work around it? I know that if you made it this far you are maybe somewhere inside of yourself asking the same questions and wondering what the hell to do with all of the irreconcilable realities that we are being faced with today. The checkbook isn’t balancing. The old ways are still here but are disappearing like Marty McFly if we don’t choose a different future.

We were asleep before March 2020. Then we woke up for awhile. Capitalism is trying to tell us we’ve been awake long enough and that we need to head back to bed. It wants to lull us back into compliance and submission. I feel awake still but I can feel the tug of weariness at the corners of my eyes. I don’t have anything to offer except observation. I can’t change a system on my own so I lay low for now and tend my garden and do my work. Maybe the only way forward is to all agree to do the work that we will never get paid for and keep showing up for it until it’s the only work left to do.

#capitalist system #capitalism #scams #new #reality #newideas #blogger #female writers #health #wealth #wealthy #scamming #chatter #mom #momblogger

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flashflashhundredyarddash · 3 years

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okay my idea for a batman v superman movie rewrite i just spent a shower’s worth of time thinking about, indirectly inspired by @asilentguardian posts about his rewatch. also note i havent seen bvs probably since it came out and barely remember ANYTHING about it let’s go

so idc about plot someone else can worry about it lets focus on the THEMES. the big, overall message we explore in this movie is the parent/child relationship and how that affects people, particularly superheroes. the specific theme we want the movie to convey is that the reason superheroes fight and can provide hope for people is because of the loved ones in their life.

so we start with that scene of batfleck in metropolis as its being destroyed. he’s driving through downtown and we see that he keeps trying to call someone but it keeps going to voicemail. “this is dick grayson, i can’t answer the phone right now-” bruce hangs up, tries again, gets voicemail again, etc. finally he’s forced to abandon his car and trek through the wreckage on foot. so he’s running towards the center of the destruction, a big plume cloud engulfs him, he’s looking around, BAM rans smack into a preteen. it’s jason. jason tells him dick told him to find bruce, but dick stayed back to help. when they reach where dick is (a library or museum??) bruce and jason get there just in time to watch dick drop off a kid, run back into the building, and watch the building fall on top of dick. boom, end scene.

now we’re back in the present, bruce has clearly lost it. very aggressive/willing to torture people, but hasn’t killed. alfred tells him off about it, says he’s going too far, tells bruce he still has another son, in case bruce has forgotten. as soon as alfred leaves we get a scene of bruce destroying some shit.

idk wtf clark was doing in this movie so let’s give him more or keep his scenes with his mom where he bonds with his mom and talks about his dad or whatever idk. clark’s whole thing with his parents ties in nicely with the theme so we don’t really need to change anything apart from just digging into those more. maybe dealing with his decision to kill zod to juxtapose with bruce’s struggle to keep himself from killing? clark is able to kill zod to protect his family bcus zod was a threat that would not be able to be contained with clark’s resources, but clark is not the type of man who would keep killing for the sake of killing. it was a stressful moment in his life but clark knows not to go over the edge. bruce’s struggle is that he knows if he kill a criminal, he won’t be able to stop.

lex luthor. i kind of liked that they made an Artistic Choice for lex luthor bcus i get it. the general version of lex luthor is like. evil billionaire which doesn’t give him a lot of depth so we’ve got to do something with him for this movie. so what we do with lex’s backstory is that we keep the abusive father angle, so what lex would do, at night, is that he would pray for god/anyone to save him or grant him powers so he can save himself. i THINK there are some continuities where lex and clark went to high school together so we do that. as an adult, lex figures out who clark is and he gets upset specifically at clark because since clark has super awesome hearing, he would have been able to hear lex begging for help as a kid, but clark never did anything. personal grudge there.

so we’re ramping up to the actual fight. i don’t remember what lex’s plan was so we can keep it or rewrite however we wish. bruce is ramping up to kill supes bcus supes killed his kid, supes is ramping up to try and stop batman bcus batman is acting fucking nuts. lex is drinking champagne on a yacht, i guess.

bruce is going back and forth on whether to kill superman, alfred gives him another talk. bruce stares at his little batch of kryptonite. he’s about to lock it up, turn away from his quest when boom, flashback.

this was from right before the metropolis fight. bruce is about to enter the room for his board meeting, but dick stops to talk. jason is chilling nearby playing minecraft on his phone you’ve seen kids. dick and bruce scene where we get the pure essence of bruce and dick’s relationship. they’ve clearly been fighting for a while and their relationship is tense but they both want to work on it and they both clearly love each other a lot. dick says he’s gonna take jason to go bond with him, then beat, dick clearly thinking of something, then dick gives bruce a hug and calls him dad.

closeup on bruce’s reaction, clearly shocked and overwhelmed. choked up but trying to hide it, he says bye to dick, gives jason a hair ruffle. goes into his meeting.

present time. can see in bruce’s eyes he’s fucking IN IT now. LET’S GO KILL SUPERMAN MOTHERFUCKERS.

we’ll keep the martha scene i like it its fine it works. maybe for the villain we have lex, like, merge with zod or something?? something fucked up. redesign the appearance too make him actually look cool idc. wonder woman comes in and kicks ass like always.

okay so bvs ends and clark is dead AWW. i don’t remember the end of bvs so here we go. quick scene, bruce gets home, clearly exhausted, and we see jason in his room reading or working on smthng. bruce walks in and sits down with him and they start talking, jason is clearly happy about it. shot of a picture of bruce, dick, jason, and alfred on jason’s desk.

clark’s funeral scene. martha and lois grieve together. martha expresses how wrong it is to bury a child. maybe lois and bruce have a convo? maybe lois is pregnant fuck it let’s go all in. she makes a joke about setting up playdates and bruce is like i am Incapable of providing any emotion support you need in this moment because i am So Bad at human emotions and lois is like oh i know i just enjoy watching you squirm. then the scene with bruce and diana where they set up the justice league movie. bruce is like yeah killing people is wrong bcus kids are the future, i guess. diana is like yeah rock on, man. shot of the dirt rising off of clark’s grave. boom end movie.

#batman #batman vs superman #superman #bruce wayne #clark kent #the burd squawks

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sleepingcrisis · 3 years

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I love them but after Reki, Cherry and Tadashi feel like the most infantilized characters in Sk8 fanon. Cherry's anxiety gets written like he's just a baby when it can make him kind of high strung and mean in canon, and Tadashi is written like a perfect nice guy when his own issues were part of why he misunderstood Adam too. He's either a battered wife or a saint instead of someone who also has issues, not just Adam.

Yeah usually I'm of the mindset that people can hc whatever they want but the infantilization of people with mental illnesses is honestly disgusting.

I see it more often if Cherry and Reki but I have seen Tadashi be taken from someone who is of the belief that his opinion doesn't matter and that what he says isn't relevant and instead give him the decision making capabilities of a child and it is annoying.

Seeing Reki and Cherry be reduced down to people who cannot function due to their anxiety is annoying. Cherry needing Joe to take care of him at every waking moment is honestly exhausting to read. Reki needing to be coddled constantly by everyone around him is also a headache to read. Both characters are very largely independent. Reki appeared to be quite alone before Langa showed up and Cherry most likely wouldn't allow himself to be coddled. If he could have walked after getting hit by Adam I'm sure he would have and flipped Adam off before walking to the hospital since he would probably rather have that then Joe carry him to the car and Shadow take him to the hospital 😂

It is crazy how I see Cherry and Reki having to be coddled by others in fics when I would take their characters in the opposite direction. I am of the belief that both of them are self destructive to the point where they won't accept help (especially Cherry) until they are talked into it or it is forced upon him.

Cherry appears to have attachment issues. When I headcanon a Canon compliant Cherry I can see him able to explain all his mental illnesses down to a tee and explain where they stem from and as such believes he is capable of navigating things on his own. He built Carla so he is able to function on his own and he probably sees his over reliance on Joe’s company as a burden. When he is sent to the hospital his anxiety probably overrode his rational thinking and that is how he ended up at Sia La Luce. I think he is beginning to make progress after this though and finds himself able to properly rely on Joe without it feeling like he is being a burden and leave Carla behind for Shadow to use.

This is just a very quick explanation of how I see Cherry’s development. I could go into this because we all know how much I adore Cherry.

Then there is Reki.

Reki was alone before Langa shows up, and he is the oldest of his siblings. I didn't touch much on Cherry’s communication issues but Reki definitely has communication issues too. He wasnt able to communicate with Langa how he felt until he was overwhelmed and then after their fight he avoided him.

Instead of either character being coddled it is clear to me that both of them would rather be on their own then "burden" people with their problems.

Now let's talk about Tadashi.

I adore Tadashi.

The end 😎

I'm kidding.

Tadashi, as I have viewed him, is a victim of abuse. He worked at a young age and the only relationship we see him form is with Ainosuke who would also go on to become his boss. It is clear to me that something happened between his childhood and adulthood that resulted in him feeling/believing his opinions and what he has to say doesn't matter.

Regardless, Tadashi isn't perfect. None of the characters are! When I read fics that happen post ep 12 they often write him as being able to navigate not only his own issues but also Adam’s and to that I say: bullshit.

This guy does not know what he is doing with himself nevermind Adam.

I dont like Tadashi being used as a tool to progress Adam’s mental health. Not when they both clearly have some shit going on.

As for the "battered wife" comment. I dont read fics where Tadashi is being abused. They aren't fun for me to read because they are most often written by people who don't consider Adam’s mental health either. I think it is extremely out of character for Adam to ever hurt Tadashi if I'm being honest (especially post ep 12). Yes, Adam has a twisted vision of what love is but I just can't see him physically harming Tadashi.

This was all very quickly written out. I could delve deeper into any one of these characters, but this is getting long... so don't infantilize people with mental illnesses please lmao. (I dont think anything is Canon confirmed although it feels like it is very clearly implied through them, especially Cherry and Reki).

#sk8 the infinity #ask #anon ask #not really discourse #but kinda #sk8 discourse

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koreaunderground · 3 years

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2021-02-20: Dianna Ortiz, American Nun Tortured in Guatemala, Dies at 62

[nytimes.com][1]

[1]: <https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/20/us/dianna-ortiz-dead.html>

# Dianna Ortiz, American Nun Tortured in Guatemala, Dies at 62

Katharine Q. Seelye

* * *

She became a champion of survivors of torture and helped compel the release of documents showing U.S. complicity in decades of human rights abuses in Guatemala.

![Sister Dianna Ortiz in 1996. After being raped and tortured in Guatemala, she helped focus attention on the 200,000 people who were killed or disappeared during that country’s 36-year civil war.][2]

[2]: <https://static01.nyt.com/images/2021/02/19/obituaries/00ortiz1/00ortiz1-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale>

Dianna Ortiz, an American Roman Catholic nun whose rape and torture in Guatemala in 1989 helped lead to the release of documents showing American involvement in human rights abuses in that country, died on Friday in hospice care in Washington. She was 62.

The cause was cancer, said Marie Dennis, a longtime friend.

While serving as a missionary and teaching Indigenous children in the western highlands of Guatemala, Sister Ortiz was abducted, gang-raped and tortured by a Guatemalan security force. Her story became even more explosive when she said that someone she believed to be an American had acted in concert with her abductors.

Only after years of extensive therapy at the [Marjorie Kovler Center][3] in Chicago for survivors of torture did Sister Ortiz start to recover, at which point she began to hunt down information about her case. She went on to become a global champion for people subjected to torture, and her case would help compel the release of classified documents showing decades of U.S. complicity in human rights abuses in Guatemala during its 36-year civil war, in which 200,000 civilians were killed.

[3]: <https://www.heartlandalliance.org/program/marjorie-kovler-center/> ()

It was never clear why she and many other Americans were targeted. She was told at one point that hers was a case of mistaken identity, an assertion she didn’t believe. Her attack came during a particularly lawless period; ravaged by war, Guatemala was being run by a series of right-wing military dictatorships, some of them violent toward Indigenous people and suspicious of anyone helping them.

Sister Ortiz’s 24-hour ordeal, initially labeled a hoax by American and Guatemalan officials, included multiple gang rapes. Her back was pockmarked with more than 100 cigarette burns. At one point she was suspended by her wrists over an open pit packed with the bodies of men, women and children, some of them decapitated, some of them still alive. At another point she was forced to stab to death a woman who was also being held captive. Her abductors took pictures and videotaped the act to use against her.

The torture stopped, she said, only after a man who appeared to be an American — and appeared to be in charge — saw what was happening and ordered her release, saying her abduction had become news in the outside world. He took her to his car and said he would give her safe haven at the American Embassy. He also advised her to forgive her torturers. Fearing he was going to kill her, she jumped out.

The trauma left her confused and distraught. She had become pregnant during the assaults and had an abortion. As often happens with people subjected to torture, much of her memory of her life before the abduction was wiped out. When she returned to her family in New Mexico and to her religious order of nuns in Kentucky, she didn’t know them.

“To this day I can smell the decomposing of bodies, disposed of in an open pit,” she said in an interview in the late 1990s with Kerry Kennedy, president of Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights, an advocacy organization. “I can hear the piercing screams of other people being tortured. I can see the blood gushing out of the woman’s body.”

Image

![At a news conference in 1996, Sister Ortiz displayed composite drawings of her Guatemalan attackers.][4]

[4]: <https://static01.nyt.com/images/2021/02/19/obituaries/00ortiz2/merlin_183998217_d3a1bcff-aca8-4d70-ab8a-9e74a2c79241-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale>

When she suggested that her abductors were supervised by an American, she was smeared. “The Guatemalan president claimed that the abduction had never occurred, simultaneously claiming that it had been carried out by nongovernmental elements and therefore was not a human rights abuse,” she said in the interview with Ms. Kennedy.

Sister Ortiz filed Freedom of Information Act requests. She pressed her case in American and Guatemalan courts. In 1995, a federal judge in Boston [ordered a former Guatemala general to pay $47.5 million][5] to her and eight Guatemalans, saying they had been victims of his “indiscriminate campaign of terror” against thousands of civilians. (She never received the money.)

[5]: <https://www.nytimes.com/1995/04/13/world/us-judge-orders-ex-guatemala-general-to-pay-47.5-million.html> ()

She recounted her story to the news media and participated in protests to urge the American government to release its files on her. In 1996, she began a five-week vigil and hunger strike across from the White House seeking the declassification of all U.S. government documents related to human rights abuses in Guatemala since 1954.

In a little-noted moment, [Hillary Clinton, at the time the first lady, met with Sister Ortiz][6] during her hunger strike. Ms. Kennedy said in a phone interview that Mrs. Clinton’s prodding had helped lead to the release of government papers regarding Sister Ortiz.

[6]: <https://www.nytimes.com/1996/04/05/world/hillary-clinton-visits-with-protesting-nun.html> ()

The files were heavily redacted and did not reveal the identity of the American or by what authority he had access to the scene of her torture. But Sister Ortiz’s case became part of a sweeping review of American foreign policy and covert action in Guatemala during the Reagan, Bush and Clinton administrations.

Over time, declassified documents showed that [Guatemalan forces that committed acts of genocide][7] during the civil war had been equipped and trained by the United States.

[7]: <https://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/inatl/daily/march99/guatemala11.htm>

“Dianna shined a huge spotlight on the fact that the United States government, through the C.I.A. and military intelligence, was working hand in glove with the Guatemala military intelligence units,” Jennifer Harbury, a close friend, said in an interview. Her husband, a Guatemalan commando, had been killed during the civil war.

In 1999, [President Bill Clinton apologized for the American involvement][8].

[8]: <https://www.nytimes.com/1999/03/11/world/clinton-offers-his-apologies-to-guatemala.html>

Sister Ortiz’s book, “The Blindfold’s Eyes: My Journey from Torture to Truth” (2002, with Patricia Davis), recounted the psychological toll that both the abduction and her quest for the truth had taken on her.

And at some point, her friends said, she realized that she had to stop, for her own sanity.

“It was so exhausting for her; she had to pull back, or it was going to do her in,” Meredith Larson, a friend and fellow human rights activist who was also attacked in Guatemala, said in an interview.

Sister Ortiz stopped agitating for information in her own case, Ms. Larson said, but she became a champion of torture survivors, remaining active in torture-related causes.

“She has moved our collective consciousness on how destructive torture is and how important it is to support the well-being of survivors,” Ms. Larson said.

Dianna Mae Ortiz was born on Sept. 2, 1958, in Colorado Springs, Colo., and grew up in Grants, N.M., one of eight children. Her mother, Ambroshia, was a homemaker; her father, Pilar Ortiz, was a uranium miner.

She is survived by her mother; her brothers, Ronald, Pilar Jr., John and Josh Ortiz; and her sisters, Barbara Murrietta and Michelle Salazar. Another brother, Melvin, died in 1974.

Dianna yearned for a religious life from an early age and in 1977 entered the Ursuline novitiate at Mount St. Joseph, in Maple Mount, Ky. She then became a sister of the Ursuline Order. While undergoing her religious training, she attended nearby Brescia University, graduating in 1983 with a degree in elementary and early childhood education. She taught kindergarten before going to Guatemala in 1987.

In 1994 she moved to Washington to work for the Guatemala Human Rights Commission. There she met others who had lost loved ones to torture or who had been tortured themselves, and they started a group called Coalition Missing to draw attention to those who were killed or disappeared in Guatemala.

She later helped found the [Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition,][9] which became a global movement.

[9]: <https://www.tassc.org/>

“What we saw was a woman of incredible courage and integrity who literally came back from the dead,” her friend Ms. Dennis said in an interview. “It was a struggle for her for years and years not to be pulled back into that awful place. But she claimed life and was able to do phenomenal work.”

#US crimes against humanity

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ssa-jareaus · 3 years

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In Sickness and In Health

Fandom : Criminal Minds

Pairing : Jennifer Jareau / Original Female Character (Lorelai Sullivan)

Summary : The anniversary of JJ's abduction and torture is coming up and she is struggling. No matter how hard JJ tries to hide it, Lorelai knows. Set immediately following 10x11 - The Forever People

TRIGGER WARNINGS : torture mentions, ptsd, jj clearly has depression, miscarriage mentions, kidnapping mentions, death mentions

ao3 link

Watching someone you love suffer was a special kind of pain. Especially when they won't even talk about how they are suffering and obviously doing whatever they could to drown themselves in work so they could avoid the nightmares of what happened a year prior like the plague. Lorelai remembered that day like it was yesterday. Knowing that the love of her life was in danger and her only being able to do very little crushed her. She couldn't rush in and save the day or scream and cry as she so badly wanted to because she needed to stay strong for Henry, that day he could have become an orphan just like she was. Lorelai was just as terrified of Henry losing his mother as she was of losing JJ herself. She finally knew how JJ felt when she was being held hostage at the bank or being tortured by the hands of Hansen and it was this sickening feeling, she felt weak, helpless and terrified. When Emily had called her to tell her that JJ had been found alive, she feared for the worse and pretty much broke down crying in relief when Emily said JJ was okay. A huge part of Lorelai wished it was her that had been sent to Afghanistan instead of JJ, wished she had been the one to have been taken instead. She was mad at Strauss for forcing JJ to leave but she was even madder at herself for not being able to stop any of this from happening. Lorelai could see how badly she was struggling, no matter how hard JJ tried to hide her pain through her perfect mask. She knew the signs of PTSD, studied them for years as well has having her own experience with PTSD. JJ avoided any external reminder of the events in Afghanistan as well as any reminder of her abduction and torture, trying to cling to any warmth to prevent being cold, covering up her abdomen and despising being touched. The only time the torture was ever mentioned was in a conversation between Kate, Derek, JJ and herself, "tortured, last year, fun times," Lorelai found that incredibly strange to her, JJ was never the one to joke about her trauma, if anyone joked about their own trauma in the group, it was Lorelai. That night she tried to bring it up, asking if she was okay but only to be shut down. JJ had become increasingly on edge, as if Askari was going to show up behind her and take her again. JJ was sleeping much less, preferring to stay up, drowning herself in work instead of laying in bed next to Lorelai. The most concerning sign of all was her self-destructive behaviour which was evident in the recent case. When JJ went into the freezer by herself, refusing to wait for backup, Lorelai panicked, she thought she was about to lose the love of her life. She knew that the bruising that she sustained earlier that morning was not from a glass that was dropped as she said. Lorelai stood helplessly in the doorway of the conference room, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves, watching a sleeping JJ who was curled up on the couch. It wasn't hard to see that JJ was struggling, there were dark circles under her eyes and her mascara had run down her cheeks from endless hours of crying, her hair wasn't as tidy and well managed as it typically was and she looked utterly exhausted. A whisper came from behind Lorelai and she swore she jumped out of her skin. She took a deep breath when she saw it was just Hotch. "I'm sorry for startling you," He apologized, looking from her to the sleeping agent. "It's fine, I'm just... worried, you know?" Lorelai explained, wrapping her arms around her body instead of fiddling with her sleeves.. Hotch nodded, "Just take care of her, and I want you both to take time off, no less than a week," Lorelai nodded and gave him a small smile, grateful that he was allowing JJ the time to heal. "Thank you," She said before walking over to her wife, kneeling down to her level. She gently brushed her fingers through her hair which caused her eyes to flutter awake. "Hello sleeping beauty, I'm sorry to disturb you but we should be heading home," Lorelai said gently. JJ nodded and slowly got up from the couch, wiping the tears from her face. Lorelai guided her outside

and into their car. She opened the passenger side door for JJ to get in and placed one of the extra blankets in the car over her body. "I know you can do it yourself but I want to help," Lorelai said, JJ just looked at her, tears glistening in her eyes, she was too weak to fight Lorelai on this and she knew it. Lorelai brushed her fingers through JJ's hair and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before closing the door and moving to the driver's side to get in the car. The drive home was completely silent, all of JJ's energy had been drained, Lorelai knew she couldn't talk and didn't want to push her. The traffic was gentle today which Lorelai was grateful for. Every so often, Lorelai would glance over at JJ, her face was pressed against the cool window and she was staring blankly outside. She was brought back to reality as Lorelai pulled into the driveway. The look JJ gave her broke her heart, in her blue eyes there was so much pain and hurt, all she wanted to do was wipe it away. She could also see how much she needed Lorelai in that moment, the amount of love she had for her. "Henry is having a sleepover tonight, it's just us for now," She informed as she walked over to the blonde's side of the car and helped her out of the car. JJ wrapped an arm around Lorelai's waist as the two walked into their house. JJ immediately sat on the couch and buried her head in her hands, breathing deeply. Lorelai turned on the heater before sitting down next to her wife. "I'm fine," Those were the first words spoken by the blonde, yet she couldn't bring herself to look at her while saying it. "JJ-" "Lorelai i'm fine," She snapped, looking right at her this time. There wasn't anger in her eyes, only utter terror. Wrapping her arms around herself, JJ looks back down to the floor and starts to rock herself gently. "You're not fine and we both know it," Lorelai said, moving to kneel in front of her, not daring to touch her. JJ just shook her head, her body started to shake. "You need to talk to someone babe, whether it be to me or to a professional or to anyone else on the team or even Emily, but you can't keep this bottled up inside," Lorelai added. "That's easy for you to say, you didn't even talk about Hansen until it was too late," Now it was Lorelai's turn to avoid eye contact "I'm sorry, I just-" JJ apologized, tears starting to well in her eyes once again, she turned her head away from her. "No you are right but after he finally got to me, I got help, it wasn't easy but I did it. I know I can't fix this but please let me h-" "You are right, you can't fix this, this is not the Jennifer you fell in love with and I can't be fixed. Askari and Hastings broke me, I am not the same as I was before and I am just waiting for you to figure that out and leave me and take Henry with you because I am broken!" JJ yelled, tears finally streaming from her face. Lorelai just sat there with her mouth hanging open. "Therapy isn't going to change anything, it's not going to undo the damage, it's not going to bring our baby back," JJ sniffled, wrapping her arms even tighter around herself. "I saw him, you know? Askari appeared to me, he told me he is going to keep taking everything from me until no one can recognize me and maybe he isn't wrong, I have nothing left," JJ said, starting to shake and sob uncontrollably. Lorelai instantly sat next to her and pulled her into her arms, JJ tensed for a minute before flopping like a ragdoll in her arms. Lorelai gently rubbed her arm and ran her fingers through her hair while kissing her forehead. "Askari and Hastings are gone, they can't ever hurt you again, even if they weren't gone, I won't let them. You are safe here with me," She said, gently rocking JJ in her arms. "I promise you one thing, no matter what happens, you won't ever lose me Jennifer Jareau," She reassured her. Lorelai reached down to hold JJ's hand that her wedding ring was on. "Do you remember our vows?" Lorelai asked and JJ nodded. "In sickness and in health, through happiness and sorrow, I promise you this, that will never

change. I will always love you and I will never leave you no matter how hard things get," Lorelai affirmed. Lorelai held JJ in her embrace until her sobs turned into sniffles. When Lorelai was sure that JJ had calmed down enough, she lifted her chin to look into her blue eyes. "There's my pretty girl, you have the most beautiful eyes," She complimented as she wiped away her tears with her thumb, which earned her the tiniest of smiles. "Now, you said you saw him, what else happened?" Lorelai asked. "I said "no" a few times, slammed the file shut and then he was gone," JJ affirmed, earning her a smile from Lorelai as a wave of relief rushed through her. JJ would fight. "That's my girl, you are going to fight this and I am going to be here for you no matter what, it isn't going to be easy but you will be okay," Lorelai said, pulling her back into her arms. JJ nodded and smiled, it would be a long road to recovery but as long as she had the team, she would be okay.

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jj jareau #fanfiction #fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #jennifer jj jareau/original female character

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Fourteen | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 14/24

Warnings: Language. Flashback to a traumatic event from Bucky’s time of service that is fairly upsetting. If you’d rather skip it, do not read the italicized text at the end of this chapter.

AN: This chapter took so much out of me, I’m not going to lie. For sure, the majority of it is good feelings and fluff. But I spent a lot of time crying over this, I felt like my heart was bleeding. Please take the warning to heart, I don’t want anyone to go through any sort of anguish without a little bit of preparation. Chapter 15 is going to be a rough ride as well, just a heads up. The good news is that I’m back on my original posting schedule, woohoo! Returning to posting every other Thursday unless something changes again. I love you.

Chapter Thirteen

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Saturday afternoon at Grand Central Station was tantamount to pure chaos, but you didn’t much mind since you’re there for a singularly joyful reason. The hubbub of both weary and excited travelers echoes across the cavernous main concourse; you can barely hear yourself think. People from all walks of life bustle around while you hover in the agreed-upon spot, waiting for a particular train to get in.

For the fourth time in 20 minutes you check the giant chalkboard along the main wall to confirm the train’s time of arrival before consulting your watch.

Soon.

Somewhere in the last 34 days you had become the girl that ran to her mailbox each day after work with hopes of hearing from her beau. A girl that missed that boy more every moment he was away, life feeling dull in his absence. A girl that was a hopeless goner. A goner who had had to scrap more than one letter because she’d written Love, Sixth Floor or All My Love, or Love you! No one had told you how difficult love letters were to write without using the word ‘love’.

As you scrambled out your door in a rush to the train station not too long ago, you’d practically run over your unfortunate mailman. He’d had a letter for you - from Pennsylvania - and he chuckled as you couldn’t contain the giant smile on your face. Even he knew what a goner you were.

You’d plopped yourself on the front steps of your apartment and torn open the envelope, reading the letter three times before you walked mooney-eyed to the station, the paper still in hand. His words reverberated in your mind. You snort at the mental image of Peggy throwing herself over a table to maul Steve to death after he’d charged her an exorbitant amount of rent during Monopoly. He said he longed for New York because you were here. Bucky adored that you got along with his family, said you fit in seamlessly. He thanked you for things that were so natural you didn’t even realize you were doing them.

Again your eyes settle on your favorite line - “You’re so familiar to my life now, I can hardly imagine a time when you weren’t in it.” Delicately you trace the word Bucky had written before your nickname - darling - then run a finger over his soothing scrawl of ‘Your Window Washer’.

There were moments when you forgot how this had all begun. How you’d noticed a handsome window washer going about his duty, how he’d gone out of his way to interact with you, to make you smile. The moments you’d tried to connect and had barely missed one another. He really had been your window washer from the start, hadn’t he? You just hadn’t known it.

Your ears prickle to attention when they hear your name ringing clearly in the severely crowded area. Looking up from the letter your eyes rove the crowd as you shove it into your pocket.

Bright, sparkling eyes meet your own across the room.

Eyes that were attached to Bucky’s thousand-watt smile. He looks tired from the journey, but only someone who knew him as well as you could tell. With his suitcase in one hand and his jacket draped over the other arm, he cocked his hat at an incorrect yet very suave angle.

With several trains having just arrived, the concourse was rapidly becoming busier. Passengers exiting the rail cars took up almost all elbow-room available, ending in a flood of people between you and Bucky.

Taking several rushed steps through the hoarde you head in his general direction, continuously searching for that hat a head above the crowd. One moment you saw it, the next you were stuck in a crush of travelers. Finally there were only a few paces between you.

You hear the clunk of his suitcase hitting the ground a split second before your feet are swept from under you, Bucky’s arms strong and secure around your waist. He takes a superfluous little twirl around, pulling a relieved giggle from you. Feeling his heart beating against your chest shockingly sent the peaceful feeling of HOME thrumming through your veins. You didn’t know it was possible to feel home in a person.

Bucky heaves a sigh, one that reminds you of a house settling after a long day of activity. A hand smooths up your back and to the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. When you feel his lips press delicately to the side of your head you’re grateful he’s got a hold on you because you’re fairly certain your knees would’ve given out. For all the affection you doted upon each other, none had ever felt quite so intimate, so. . . tender.

“People are staring,” you whisper in his ear.

He pulls back, granting you a view of that rugged face you’d so dearly missed over the past month. “Don’t care,” he smarts. Then he kisses you properly, scandalizing the old ladies walking past - hell, he was even scandalizing you a bit.

“Okay Romeo,” you lean away, laughing when his lips attempt to chase yours. “Let’s not make any grandparents roll over in their graves with our excessive public displays of affection.”

With that he snorts before reluctantly setting you back on your feet, though not taking his hands from you. He doesn’t say much, just gazes into your eyes. Almost as if he was guzzling a glass of water after having gone days feeling parched, he takes you in, seeming more nourished as the seconds ticked by.

“What, do I have some lunch left on my face?”

There’s that wide grin you love so much. Bucky runs the backs of his knuckles along your jaw and murmurs, “Oh yeah, I missed you a ton.” His head dips down once more, gracing you with a kiss so ardent it steals your breath. A firm hand to his chest separates you and you remind him to behave.

He only laughs heartily and stoops down to retrieve his luggage and hat you’d apparently knocked off during your embrace. You hang his jacket over one of your arms, looping the other around his elbow. Together you walk out of Grand Central and onto the New York streets, feeling like a piece of you had just been restored.

-x-

Over the following weeks, you and Bucky are rarely apart from each other. If you aren’t sleeping or working, you’re together. Suffice it to say, absence had definitely made the heart grow fonder. During those days there was a near-imperceptible but also impossible-to-miss shift between you. In the moments of intense relief of being reunited, the gravity of the relationship dawned upon you. You wonder if you would ever have reached that point if not for the distance and time away forced upon you.

There was a particular night you truly felt the relationship deepen. August was quickly coming to a close, a sense of change coming in the air in the mornings and evenings. It was a Thursday. You and Bucky had generously - well, at the time it had felt generous, but it turned out to bear more likeness to disastrous - offered to cook dinner for the pair of you as well as Peggy and Steve. The other couple was extremely kind about the ordeal, but it had been a mess and barely edible. Thankfully there was plenty of wine and laughter around the table to make up for it.

Having set your eyes on cleaning up the remnants of your destruction of the boys’ kitchen, you were promptly shooed away by Peggy.

“No, no - you cooked for us, we’ll clean the dishes,” she commanded, practically booting you into the living room.

You collapse onto the couch with a huff, not having realized how much time you’d spent standing in the kitchen over a meal that was most definitely not worth the effort. Without much grace Bucky plopped down next to you, head knocking against the back of the sofa, hand searching for yours.

“I really am sorry, Bucky, I told you Mom hadn’t passed down her exceptional cooking skills to me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a thing or two I can teach you,” he winks before closing his eyes.

“Although I do feel like we owe Peggy and Steve some sort of tangible apology for making them sit through that.”

He waves his free hand flippantly. “They’ll be fine, they’re big kids. Be thankful you weren’t around for Peg’s burnt pot roast debacle. I don’t think I’ll ever see angrier tears again in my life.”

The faint sound of running water from the kitchen combined with the clattering of dishes signals that Steve and Peggy were no doubt side by side in front of the sink, shirt sleeves rolled up and out of the way, bumping elbows in their homey little chore. Bucky talks about his work in the garage while idly flipping pages of a textbook he’d placed in his lap. He dutifully asks after your coworkers, expresses genuine care and concern for them which never fails to warm your heart.

A hum of conversation floats into the room and you give in to your exhaustion slightly, dropping your head to Bucky’s shoulder. “Are they okay? Sounds serious.”

“Work stuff,” he mumbles. “Not that you hadn’t guessed it, but they have a hard time leaving it in the office. Which is understandable considering what they do.” Bucky shifts his arm up, offering you a place to wiggle beneath it, nice and cozy in his side.

“Mmm, saving the world and all. I mean, at least it sounds like a better talk than the one we walked in on after the baseball game.”

“That was definitely a doozy. Apparently it turned out okay and they seem to be better off because of it. Steve said something about how getting everything out into the open always suited them better than keeping feelings to themselves.”

“Makes sense, I suppose. So tell me what your latest lesson is about, maybe I can help.” Bucky pours over paperwork he’d retrieved from the desk in his room, calling attention to marks he’d made on diagrams that had confused him, underlining terms for which he had a hard time finding definitions. For quite a while you work like that on the couch, listening, pointing things out, doing your best to help where you could and encourage where you couldn’t.

You hadn’t noticed how heavy your eyes had gotten until Peggy’s voice fills the room, causing you to bolt into sitting upright again. “You better leave soon or the neighbors will start talking,” she halfway teases before offering a graceful wave; both you and Bucky mutter goodbyes.

“I’m leaving soon, I promise,” you call out before the front door clicks shut as Steve and Peggy step outside for a moment to themselves.

Minutes later Steve comes back down the hallway, sleepily bidding you both goodnight before slinking to his bedroom.

“Ugh, the walk home is going to be horrible. We waited way too late tonight.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky sighs. “Just listen to my essay about the benefits of having a key-based ignition in the future and then I’ll take ya home.”

“Okay,” you agree, eyes drooping as you focus on his steady tone.

The next thing you know, a door squeaks open. A few heavy footsteps move in your direction and you hear Steve murmur, “Oh.”

You squint one eye, then the other open against the sunlight streaming through the living room windows. Looking around, your confusion only heightens when you realize you’re in the boys’ apartment. Moving to prop up on an elbow you glance to your side to see Bucky fast asleep on the couch, his shirt rumpled from where your face had just been plastered. A pile of textbooks and sheets of paper is in disarray around Bucky’s feet. Steve was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, looking slightly uncomfortable and a little worried in his blue striped cotton pajama set peeking from under his robe.

Swiping a hand across your eyes you realize with dismay that you’re still wearing makeup, which is now smeared all over your face. “What. . . what time is it?” you groan.

Steve looks to the clock on the wall. “Uhh. . . a little after eight.”

“Well that’s not so bad for a Saturday.”

“It’s. . . it’s Friday.”

“SHIT!” you clamber to your feet.

Your exclamation startles Bucky awake, looking as disoriented as you felt and extremely bothered by the anxiety you’re radiating.

“Oh my gosh, this is horrible, this’ll ruin me - we slept together!”

Bucky looks down at his mussed clothing hurriedly before confirming everything was where it had been the previous night. “Well, technically-”

“Shut it,” you snap as you dart around the apartment. “I stayed overnight in your home, society doesn’t care about technicalities. Oh my god, I’m going to be late for work by the time I get back to my apartment to change clothes. Flannery is either going to kill me or worse, fire me - WHERE ARE MY DAMN SHOES!”

“I’m gonna start a pot of coffee,” Steve says to Bucky before slipping from the room.

“Baby, take a breath-”

“I don’t even have time for that, why didn’t I just go home early last night? Where did I put my purse?”

“Honey, it’s gonna be okay, will you stop for a minute?”

Eyes wide you spin to him, arms thrust out. “How is this going to be okay? Debbie probably worried about me all night AND she’s going to think I’m easy for staying at my boyfriend’s so she probably won’t want to live with me anymore-”

Suddenly Bucky’s hands grip your shoulders, forcing you to a stop. “Hey,” he says firmly, yet with a touch of gentleness. “You’re gonna call Debbie right now and tell her it was too late last night, so you slept over at Peggy’s. Would it be worse to show up to work late or not go in at all?”

“Probably show up late, she’s a stickler for punctuality,” you squeak, heart still beating out of your chest.

“Then call in sick after you talk to your roommate. You’ve been a model employee, even Flannery knows people get sick sometimes. Take another deep breath for me - there ya go. No one has to know that we accidentally fell asleep on the couch, Steve’s not gonna say anything to anyone, okay?”

You only nod, too focused on stopping the hyperventilating.

“You’re alright, c’mere.” Drawing you into his chest, you press your forehead into it, willing your tense muscles to relax. “I’m due at Harvey’s garage today, how about you come with me? I know he’d love to see you and it’d feel good to be working together again, right? We can stop by your place on our way over so you can change. How does that sound?”

Even amid the panic a part of your heart keened at the comfort Bucky was providing, at the feeling of being cared for.

A few minutes later, your relieved roommate and a surprisingly sympathetic Flannery had been called and placated. After you’d calmed down, Steve offers you coffee and cereal while Bucky changes into the coveralls Harvey had given him; Steve threatened Bucky that if he skipped breakfast again, he’d tell Winnifred.

Before you know it you’re in the garage, playfully sticking out your tongue at Harvey’s teasing about playing hookie. You forget how much working with your hands brings you peace until you’re doing it again - the stress wound in your back eases as you help Bucky on a tune-up. With a hip propped on the front of the car, you watch as Bucky follows the checklist, testing the functions of various parts to make sure they’re up to snuff.

For the first time that tumultuous morning you take a look at the man next to you. What you see sends a ripple of unease through your gut. Even though you’d both slept like the dead last night, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than they should have been and you find yourself mentally going over the last few days to remember if they were there earlier. With only his health in mind, you notice the coveralls are little looser than when he’d first tried them on for you.

“Bucky,” you ask. He hums in question from beneath the hood. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“I’m not trying to make conversation, I really want to know if you’re okay. You look tired. Well, you’ve been looking tired.”

He straightens and arches a sardonic brow. “That your way of saying I look ugly today?”

“Stop it, I’m being serious.”

“I mean, I feel tired but it’s been busy. Nothing different than usual.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Enough.” He wipes grease from his hands before shutting the hood, evading your eyes.

“So that’s a no on sleeping. Between two jobs and school, you’re going to run yourself ragged.”

“School’s almost over.”

“You still have two more months!”

There’s a flash of emotion in his eyes you can’t quite identify before he consciously smooths it over. “I’m fine, doll. Really. I just. . .” You wait patiently. You almost think he’s not going to finish when he says, “I wanna work hard and do this right. All this is so I can have a better life. . . and so you can have one too.” He finally turns his eyes back to yours. “I’m afraid that if I don’t give this all I have, I won’t be good enough to pull it off. And I really want this to work.”

Internally you debate with yourself. More than anything you want to reassure him, to soothe him, to fix all his fears and problems. But there’s also a part of you reminding yourself that that’s not your job. It’s Bucky’s life, not yours. The last thing you wanted was to become a nag and drive him further away.

You smile and drop the matter, hoping he’d take your concern gracefully. The rest of the day you work in semi-comfortable silence, each tip-toeing around the other and the subject.

That night, Bucky tosses and turns, your conversation playing over in his head. Maybe he’d been too harsh, maybe he should have been more gentle. Maybe he should take your advice and stop washing windows. But another voice (one that smacks of his father) pushes back, insists that all the work was necessary if he wants to be successful, to have a brighter future.

Finally, he drifts into a restless sleep, the all-consuming thoughts of a better life for himself and for you finally fading. Or so he thought.

-x-

Cold. Cold cold cold. He’d been on that fucking hill for hours with his belly buried in dirt, waiting. Waiting waiting waiting. Funny how this job required hours of waiting and only seconds of action.

Eyes slant to the watch he’d taken off and propped up on a stone. Nine minutes to go. Willing feeling to return to his hands, he flexed his grip on the familiar weapon he’d been cradling for hours.

To calm his mind, he runs the math again - latitude, wind speed, relative motion. Check, check, check.

The radio laying in the reeds buzzed softly with the other Commandos reporting in, just loud enough for him to hear.

“He’s on the move, Barnes,” Jones relayed from his post across the street from the church, of which Bucky had a clear line of sight from his position. Bucky leans in, one eye shut against the world so he could zero in through his scope.

The target appeared in the shadows of the doorway. Schmidt’s rumored new right-hand-man, Karl Fischer, almost as psychotic as Hydra’s leader. Falsworth had been able to get chummy with some of his men over drinks the night before, learn the faction was storing weapons in the sanctuary’s basement. Parishioners had shared that their priest had mysteriously disappeared after refusing to agree to the commander’s demands last week.

Bucky knew that the individual he watched confer with Fischer was by no means a man of God, unless priests now walked around with crooked collars and Hydra weaponry stashed in their back waistband.

The conspirators shake hands before leaning in to undoubtedly whisper two words that he had grown to loathe as they were murmured over him dozens of times while he lay strapped to an operating table in Azzano.

They pull apart and the target takes one step down the stairs.

Bucky’s finger holds tension tight on the trigger.

Two steps.

There’s a thought nibbling at the back of his mind. Begging for attention. But there’s no time.

Three steps.

The rifle’s kickback slams into his shoulder as his eye remains trained on the commotion in his scope.

Bucky blinks.

Fischer was still standing.

Had he missed? Were his calculations off? He fires again and finally sees the wretched man crumble. Then Bucky sees the other form on the ground and his stomach drops.

He hadn’t missed. Not totally.

Radio and watch forgotten on the ground he bolts for the trees, for the Harley he’d stashed beneath fallen branches before the sun had come up.

The rest of the Commandos were following the plan, corralling Fischer’s cronies before they could spread news of their leader’s demise.

Dugan shouts something at him as he speeds into the square, all but leaping off the bike when he nears the church.

Bucky’s presence perturbed Steve; if Bucky was here, something was wrong. Stepping over the score of soldiers he’d already managed to incapacitate for the time being, he rushed to meet his friend.

“Buck, what’re you-”

He ducked a shoulder into Steve - which was more like hitting a brick wall - to move past him to the church steps.

Heavy footfalls take him over the long-dead Fischer to the small body one stair above him where Bucky comes to kneel.

Her hair was dark, like his sisters’. She was young like them too. Except he’d never seen this much blood from one of their scraped knees.

A local. Had probably been praying inside before she went about the rest of her day. The overturned basket with meager rations strewn down the steps taunted him.

Bucky struggled to make sense of what happened. Fischer must have slipped or perhaps had a premonition and used her as a shield right as the shot had been fired.

A shot that had taken a blameless life. Bucky’s shot.

He wasn’t naive. He knew every action taken by each soldier sent ripple effects that altered the lives of many - but he’d never been face-to-face with the outright consequence of his profession.

Being so focused on Fischer, he hadn’t even noticed another person in the vicinity. And this young woman he held - when had he started holding her? - had paid the price for it.

Gradually Bucky became aware of Steve’s insistent tugging on his shoulder.

If they broke down over every innocent caught in the crossfire they would all have lost their minds by now. Everyone had to harden that part of themselves - not for convenience, but for survival. Bucky thought he’d mastered the act, but this girl couldn’t be much older than Evie.

“Steve, I-” Bucky sees his anguish reflected in the blue eyes of his best friend.

“I know, Buck. I’m sorry. But they’ve got her.”

Suddenly he’s sees the other villagers surrounding them, grief tracking down their cheeks. Reaching to take her away from him, to weep and mourn this sweet loved one whose time on earth was finished.

Staggering to his feet, Bucky swayed at the blood covering his clothing. Steve steadied him with an iron grip on his arm, a hand to his back.

“Mea culpa,” Bucky whispers against the wind, the sight of her unmoving eyes burning into his memory.

She wasn’t getting a better life. Why should he?

Chapter Fifteen

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@moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @promarvelfangirl @connorshero @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @barnesrogersvstheworld @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @bloatedandlonly @barnestruck @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @mcueveryday @buckybarneshairpullingkink @cassianpeia @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @russian-romanova @yknott81 @bellamys @xmarveled @cake-writes @holyshitcats @abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @sarcasm-ing @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfictionmain @majesticavenger @creideamhgradochas

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #All We've Got is Time #AWGIT #Chapter Fourteen #beka writes

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sadsongsgivemelife · 4 years

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Living with anxiety from my personal everyday experiences

So I’ve suffered from anxiety for years and it doesn’t really ever get easier but I’ve accepted it and I have learned to live with it and control it the best I can. But what’s funny to me is how people who don’t have it act.. kind of ignorant towards it honestly. Some days living in my mind and body is literally a living hell that I’m begging for any kind of escape. So like yeah man absolutely, I would LOVE to get over it and I wish I could flip a switch, but it takes time and it takes patience. Because saying that to someone who is in a panic attack isn’t at all going to help them but guess what? It’s going to add more. It is not a trend to me, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone and I keep it to myself so much because it’s honestly not even fun to talk about. So I do wish those who fortunately don’t suffer from it would try to learn to at least be a tad more understanding. Because I’m sorry if I can be in front of you trembling with tears rolling down my face, I can’t just “get over it” and I am sorry to those I bother with it, trust me. Because LIVING with it isn’t exactly a walk in the park either. I also often get the question “well what is it really like?”So here is my take on it and I probably suffer from at least one if not more every day.

So first the best way I can describe how it feels and maybe help the understanding of I swear to god I can’t control it and I can’t just stop. To me it feels like my body was just filled with bags of sand to weigh me down and often i literally cannot move for a few minutes. I feel so heavy, my palms start sweating and the trembling begins. I might feel like throwing up a time or two, then the worst of all if it gets you with the “mind fog.” I will forget every word you just said, try very hard to focus on whats in front of me and try to come back to reality. I’m now a prisoner of my own mind and it’s forcing me to see the worst in a situation, or over analyze something or if in an argument I feel attacked I start to self destruct.

Here’s some things I think/do on a normal day

I usually don’t wake up very peaceful because I have to think of everything in the world for some reason the minute I open my eyes. So I start checking bills or worrying about something that happened last month or why is there a mess.

It usually takes me quite a while to text someone because I feel like I’m bothering them so then i have to begin a master piece before I can send it.

Picking out an outfit is probably a minimum of a 20 minute task. Comparing underwear like you’re going to show it off, doing dumb things like matching that color to your socks. Getting the perfect color combo for your pants and shirt. Put it on, hate it, start over.

If someone starts acting even a tad off typing/talking a little different, oh god it’s over for me. What’s wrong, what did I do, why am I here or talking to them they’re obviously bothered, am I being too clingy today, I should leave but now I can’t move, oh god they literally hate me.

I like to do this thing where I get super motivated to do an anxiety relieving task and then guess what, it gets ruined by the anxiety. For example, I like coloring things with lots of detail because to me it’s very calming. So I get to the store and find them and damn it, there are five options. So I have a pros and cons list for the books and I’m trying to find the right sized marker to even go and I started to get so anxious by it I’m like nope and left.

I really dislike going into stores, like really dislike it. I have to go there and sit in my car for a good 20 minutes to prep and feel somewhat okay with the idea of lots of people and too many options.

I don’t get a lot of sleep and it’s very upsetting. I will be so exhausted, eyes refuse to stay open tired. I get in bed, never been more alert in my life. I will think of any and everything and yes, that comes with worries and overthinking and things that will just take over your mind and you’re going to fall asleep now? Think again.

I hate conflict, a lot. So many times I might think or feel certain ways but bottle them so tightly to avoid that chance their could be a fight or disagreement. If I feel it’s something that should be talked about, that’ll be about 3-5 business days before I have the courage.

If I ever ask you a question, please know that yes it was very deeply thought of first, I can’t just throw one at you.

Decision making is probably the hardest thing for me to do, ever. I don’t care if it’s over where to eat, which coupon to get, what should we watch, etc. Please do not ask me. I will shut down for a minute and it will take me a really long time because I’m so paranoid to pick “the wrong one” and someone not like it.

I honestly could go on for hours, but moral of the story is basically nothing that I do can be done “normally” or without thought and it’s honestly quite annoying. I would love to be so unbothered that I could sleep? Be in public without feeling like I’m going to faint. Have conversations without days of prep. So please, be patient with people who you know suffer through this. It’s not fun, easy or able to be stopped whenever we would like.

#anxiety #anxiety attacks #life with anxiety #mental health

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uhxrp · 4 years

Photo

member groups

these are open to interpretation. our site’s member groups include seven character groups as well as four side groups that we’ll give you the run down on just to keep everything transparent. something to remember for our character groups, however, is this: you have full power on which group your character falls into. we understand that characters, just like people, often fit into many different groups, and sometimes it’s hard to choose. because of this, we just ask that you pick the one that makes the most sense to you, the one that seems like the best fit even if they have qualities of other groups. basically, as long as you can rationalize it, we’re good. the choice is entirely yours.

Our member groups are as follows:

BLOOD MOON - #c991a1

the staff. this group is for the members of the site staff team.

this is a side group.

SOLAR ECLIPSE - #c99c91

the leaders. these are naturally commanding, self-assured, decisive characters. they are the 'leaders of the pack', so to speak. these are the ones to make the final decision. unfortunately, great power also comes with great sacrifice and these characters tend to be demanding, haughty, inflexible, intolerant, overbearing, and ruthless at times. these characters are the ones to make things happen, which can be good but leads to a power struggle between responsibility and power. these characters are leaders, but being a good leader means listening to the will of your followers, and the balance is not an easy one to master. still, those in this group are magnanimous, calm in stressful situations, and they inspire loyalty.

aesthetics. aficionado of history, badass in a nice suit, cunning concealed by painted lips, delighting in the waves, doves, eloquence, expensive watch, flash of lightning, flirtatious winks, force of nature, gets turned on by danger, high-rise buildings, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, lenny face, maintains order, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, natural charisma, nightmare-filled nights, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, proud arm around their lover’s waist, running on coffee, sees the world as a runway, staring wistfully from a balcony, strolling along the beach, strong handshake, technician on the piano, the sea washing their ankles, thrives on attention, thunder in their heart, unapologetically sexual, wants to be adored, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive.

NEW MOON - #c9b991

the newbies. this member group is what we call our registering members, those who haven't been accepted yet. everyone will start off in this group.

this is a side group.

MOON MOON - #bec991

the forgotten. this member group are those who have been archived, but don't sweat it. we allow for character reactivation at any time, should the need occur.

this is a side group.

WANING CRESCENT - #a1c991

the artists. these are naturally creative, sensitive, and dexterous. these characters find the future and make it discoverable. they see the world as a place to build and admire. these are the artists, the entrepreneurs, the inventors. these are creative spirits with unique ideas, outlooks, and inspired souls. they can be artificial, moody, self-destructive, and flaky - but they can also be spontaneous, refreshing, and romantic.

aesthetics. always up-to-date on the latest technology, cool rain, cows grazing on a pasture, crafting masterpieces, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, devil-may-care smile, does it for the vine, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, files that under ‘fuck it’, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, folded maps, hand clutching a string of pearls, hoodies and sneakers, ink-stained hands, large chandelier with glittering crystals, long drives on the highway, loving and hating fiercely, marble and gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, paint brushes, paint coated boyfriend jeans, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, resting bitch face, romance to realism, spontaneous road trips, will steal your french fries.

LUNAR ECLIPSE - #91c9b9

the inspirational. these are the optimists, those who are uplifting, motivating, and energizing without even trying. these are your visionaries, the people who turn terrible situations into manageable ones with ease. they reassure you, encourage you, and cheer for you on the sideline. but these aren't just side characters, these are the people who create revolutions. these people bring good intentions to life. these characters also have a strong downside though, often coming off as irrational and fanatical in their die-hard beliefs and own decided moral/ethic code.

aesthetics. blueprints for future projects, broad shoulders, cherry blossoms, clothes smeared with paint, coffee shops, colorful coral reefs, compass with a spinning arrow, cotton candy, even their muscles have muscles, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, flame burning in their eyes, fondness for diy projects, goes jogging in the morning, grocery shopping, handwriting that flows across the page, holding hands, knee high socks, leather jackets, love confessions, ma and pop diners, mood as ever-changing as the sea, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, puts googly eyes on everything, revolution in their kiss, secret daggers, sexual tension, spicy food, stirrer of passion, storm with skin , striking a match, stroking the soft fur of a cat, sweaty brow, the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, the roar of a motorcycle, the sea casting its spell, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, waves crashing against the shore.

WAXING GIBBOUS - #91bec9

the intellects. they question everything, they look at everything in a different way. they find themselves naturally curious, studious and academic not because they have to be but because they feel this undying need to be. they're analytical strong left‐brainers who question every reality of this world and pursue the answers endlessly. they're dependable while remaining independent, conventional but investigative. they can be arrogant, they can be reclusive, but they are beautifully brilliant.

aesthetics. a shy kiss on the cheek, a steamed up mirror, abs that can cut steel, ancient buildings, armor that intimidates, balls of wool displayed on shelves, big fan of logic, breathless laughter, campfires, can kill you with their brain, dipping your feet into a swimming pool, discerning gaze, eye for architecture, glittery eyeshadow, go-getter, hair done up, heads to the library often to research, loves brain teasers, matte nailpolish, modern buildings, natural lipstick, old books, owl perched on their finger, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, pottery classes, quiet museums, rainy days, sharpened pencils, stargazing, stoic statues, storm clouds, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, the glow of your phone at night, the patience of a lifelong teacher, the rooftop of a building, unreadable face.

BLUE MOON - #91a1c9

the unknown. this group is for those first viewing our site, our guests and potential new registers. this is the main look of our site, prior to becoming a newbie.

this is a side group.

FULL MOON - #9c91c9

the entertainers. they are built with more charm and charisma in one pinky than most others have in their whole body. these characters are naturally engaging, articulate, and expressive, often the people who keep the world turning by making it an enjoyable place to be. characters like these remind us what it means to be human and how to feel emotion. unfortunately, they can also be a bit arrogant because of this, as well as dramatic, demanding, and deceptive.

aesthetics. arrow to the heart, art galleries, bathing in the sunlight, beautiful cover of wonderwall, being made of gold, being the baby of the bunch, collecting vinyl records, creeping vines, drunk shitposter, glitz and glamour, grand opera houses, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, healing touch, inspiring loyalty, lives for the applause, masquerade balls, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, playing multiple instruments, pouring champagne into flutes, probably has a tinder account, receiving a standing ovation, rich fabrics on dark skin, rolls of film, rose caught between their teeth, seductive smirks, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, shunning lies, sleek-furred panthers, sleeps naked, smile mingled wrath, speaking in prophecies, sporting shades, stage productions, tasting like sunshine, the powerful urge to create, theater masks, turning the volume up, untamed curls, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup.

WAXING CRESCENT - #b991c9

the survivors. they can be forceful, but are loyal to a fault. these are the protectors, those born with determination in every fiber of their being. these characters don't know when or how to quit, always striving to be the best they can be in every aspect of their lives. problem is, these characters are often seen as brutally blunt, sometimes intimidating and hot-tempered, and nearly always unforgiving of mistakes, even when they themselves make them. these characters are people based on action, those who set goals and are always trying to move toward them. they can be persuasive or coercive, and sometimes find the balance between the two hard to find.

aesthetics. armed for battle, arrow hitting a target, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, blood on their hands and face, bonding while circled around a campfire, boxing gloves, curses under their breath, damaged goods, disheveled braid, exhausted, fear is a prison, fights against injustice, fist raised in protest, force to be reckoned with, freckles like constellations on their skin, gives piggyback rides, ignites revolutions, keen sense of a hunter, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, moonlight peeking through the shadows, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, mother doe and her fawn, not being much of a people person, patience on 3%, piercing eyes, popping egos, protecting their kin, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, red roses, running with wolves, scarred body, soft spot for children, the calm of the forest at night, the moon shimmering on a still lake, touches heaven and returns howling, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, willing to fight the world for the ones they love.

WANING GIBBOUS - #c991be

the caring. their biggest battle comes in the form of service vs servitude, or the form of serving the common good vs losing their own power. these characters are naturally accommodating, compassionate caring, hospitable and altruistic. they are the ones who always takes care of you when you need it. they are dedicated in relationships, often coming off as the "mom friend" in their friend groups. on the opposite side, however, these characters can often be overworked, easily frustrated, and self-sacrificing. they are often prone to self-disparagement and can become a bit controlling. still, these characters are trustworthy, competent, warm individuals who often are just trying to help others.

aesthetics. being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, caring for someone, curls crowned with flowers, daisies dotted across a collarbone, dressed in silk and satin, fairy lights, field of flowers, flower in their hair, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, flushed cheeks, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, hugs, laughter-loving, leaves rustling in the wind, picking fruit, playing in the snow, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air, skin loved by the sun, smile that can bloom flowers, soil-covered hands, speaks to their plants, stalks of wheat, stargazing, staying up all night to talk to someone you like, sweet smiles, takes pride in their beautiful garden, the sound of a pen scratching against paper, travelling, twirling around in a pretty dress, values simplicity.

#unhxlyrp #groups #updates

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

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Lie to Me (Ch. 15 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who are the best goddamn ego boosters a girl could ask for

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

((So because I don’t know how to use tumblr I JUST realized that copying and pasting tags doesn’t automatically make them active... to my requested tag list, I am SO SORRY! Please forgive me! Also, surprise! Now you have a lot to binge read!))

On the fourth day you fail to visit, Loki lets himself begin to worry.

He wasn’t expecting you back right away, not after admitting just how much of a monster he actually is. But he’s come to have faith in you, to the point where even if you are going to reject him for his crimes- he wouldn’t blame you if you did- he thinks you’d at least do him the courtesy of telling him. So the first day of your absence, he waits, trying to ignore the anxiety in his chest. The second day is spent in self-loathing; the third, hating the universe at large with more viciousness than usual. But the fourth… that’s when he lets a few tendrils of doubt creep into his brain. But not about your potential sudden change of heart- no. That doesn’t sit right with him.

It’s nothing. Most likely, you’ve left, just like everyone else, once realizing the depths of the horror of the man standing in front of you. Most likely, you’re moving on with your life without involving yourself with the villain. Most likely…

Then why does he still feel uneasy?

He glances where he knows a camera is positioned, tucked into the ceiling’s seams. How closely he’s being monitored, he’s never figured out, but he has an inkling that he could hang himself by his hair and no one would bother trying to stop him. So how to get their attention? He has little magic at his disposal, not enough to conjure anything disturbing, and his cell is lacking anything remotely useful.

With a sigh, he hefts his cuffs, twisting his wrists nervously in their prisons, unsure of so many things. Using as much strength as he can gather, the manacles are hurled at the glass barrier with enough force to make his bones ache and his teeth clench.

This may take a while.

Thor has never liked scavenger hunts- he lacks the brains for riddles his brother so gleefully loves- but a chase without clues is proving even more frustrating. Every inquiry about your whereabouts is met with indifference or confusion, and his visit to your offices was fruitless, as your colleagues don’t seem capable of anything but stuttering and terror in his presence. It is quite annoying. Why Loki prefers to rule through fear he will never know.

Loki. He sees you every day, from what little he can gather- no doubt he knows of your wellbeing. But he is not allowed passage into his brother’s cell…

“Thor.” A woman’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts. “What the hell is your brother playing at?”

Ah. Very occasionally, fortune does favor him.

Maria Hill stands tapping a brisk toe. “He’s been intent on breaking out for the better part of three hours now. Can you please go talk sense into him? If there’s any sense there to reason with,” she mutters under her breath.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

In the depths of SHEILD, locked behind glass, stripped of his grandeur and posturing, Loki looks more himself than he has in a long time. Thor watches the muscles in his shoulders grind to a halt as he abandons his latest attempt at what looks to be smashing his handcuffs against the barrier. Neither the glass or the manacles are any worse for wear, from what Thor can see, but his brother is noticeably exhausted.

“Thor.” The relief in Loki’s voice is palpable. “You came.”

A small spark of happiness flares in Thor’s chest. When was the last time his brother welcomed his presence? “You wished me to?”

“Obviously.” Loki sets himself down on his cot. His hands rest in his lap, and raw rings of skin peek out from underneath his bindings. “Where is Y/N?”

For a moment, Thor only blinks. “The lady Y/N? Have you not seen her? I wished to ask you the same.”

A dark shadow passes over his face. “No. I have not.”

Maria is looking between the two gods impatiently, clearly not following the conversation. “Y/N? Who are we talking about?”

Something low grumbles in the back of Loki’s throat. “Y/N Y/L/N. An archivist under your employ. She has been- assigned to me, for however long I have been in SHIELD’s grip now.”

Her eyes widen just a hint. “You’re pitching a fit about your babysitter? Is she even still still here? I would’ve thought you’d have run her into the ground a month in.” The incredulousness in her voice makes both Thor and Loki bristle.

“You do not keep count of those under your care?” Thor asks.

“We keep track of the important ones.” When the atmosphere of the room dampens to the point of stifling at the clench of Loki’s fists and the stretching of Thor’s shoulders, Maria backtracks. “I mean- okay. Get to the point. Why are you worried about her?”

“She has been absent for the better part of four days now,” Loki grinds out from clenched teeth. “And such behavior is… unusual.”

“Aye.” Thor nods. “It is unlike her to remove herself from Loki’s side for so long.”

“Okay- okay.” The agent rubs her temples briefly. Her migraine isn’t getting any better. “I have two semi-immortal beings worried about someone we hired a year ago on a lark. Wonderful. You realize she’s just on vacation or something?”

Loki looks to Thor with a glance that clearly communicates everything he isn’t voicing. “Perhaps I could verify her whereabouts,” Thor says casually, unwilling to alert Hill to his brother’s turmoil. “To ease his mind, if nothing else.”

She sighs. “If it’ll get him to calm down, fine. Go find Stark, he’s been fiddling with the security system anyways.” She leaves mumbling something under her breath, shaking her head and looking like she needs a very strong drink.

Once she’s gone, Loki visibly deflates. “Thor-”

He holds out a hand. “I will investigate the matter,” he says calmly. “I am sure she is fine, brother.”

Loki nods. “Just- be certain.”

It strikes Thor, in that moment, that as meaningful as you are to himself, he has not begun to scratch the surface on your worth to his brother.

Stark is, as predicted, sequestered into a room full of glowing screens, his attention on all of them at once. “Sparky the Hammer-Bro. What can I do for you?”

Thor lets his eyes rove over rows of code, none of which he understands. “I need to view security recordings. The Agent Hill said you may help.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuumsure.” The genius waves a hand, dismissing several rows of numbers. “Anything in particular?”

“Five days ago, roughly. As for what I seek- I believe I will know when I see it.”

Stark raises an eyebrow. “Cryptic. Fun times! Uno momento, por favor.” One by one, computer screens are filled with a past SHIELD, going about its business. It could be any given day- agents roam, papers filed, choice global secrets exposed and others hidden. But Thor zeroes in on the one displaying you and his brother, in some sort of tense conversation. Loki lashes out, and you reply with remarkable composure- enough to apparently reassure him you aren’t going anywhere. In his head, Thor adjusts every opinion of you he’s ever had.

You talk for a while more, underscored by Stark’s idle whistling from the corner. You leave, bag tucked under your arm, and say goodbye to a scant few colleagues. Outside, a car pulls up in front of you, and you go to open the door- only, it’s opened for you, by gloved hands belonging to an unseen being. While they grab you by the arms, another man in a suit is busy administering a blunt object to the back of your skull. You crumple into the waiting vehicle. The door is shut. It pulls smoothly away from the curb, as though you were never there at all.

To Thor’s right, static electricity shorts out a bank of monitors.

And now Tony is talking, leaning in to examine the footage- “Who- wait, isn’t that your brother’s pet? What the hell-?” But Thor is already gone, hurrying in a way that magically clears everyone from his path before he even arrives. Every thud of his heel echoes a crisp and succinct no, no, no, no, no, no

Loki has been pacing, but he pauses to turn his sharp gaze on his brother. “Well?” Thor can’t even open his mouth before green eyes turn deadly. “No.”

Thor’s mouth is suddenly dry. “Brother-”

There’s an inferno behind Loki’s voice, one that Thor has only ever seen herald destruction. “Bring me the director. Now.”

X “Let me get this straight,” Fury drawls slowly, in an obvious effort to try his prisoner’s patience. Even Thor is having to keep his fingers from curling into fists. “Your babysitter- who has apparently stuck around for the last ten months, even though by all accounts she should have run screaming from the room- has been kidnapped by a mysterious force, and you want me to release you in order to go on a harebrained rescue. Unchaperoned.”

“Yes.”

Fury snorts. “No.”

“I would be with him,” Thor argues, “and I would not let him-”

“-escape off-world with his magic in tow? Pardon me if I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“You don’t understand!” Loki looks incredibly close to breaking something, and for the sake of their argument, Thor very much hopes he doesn’t. “She is in peril and you would sit back and do nothing-”

The director holds up a hand as the door opens and Hill slips in, holding printed camera stills. “HYDRA, most likely,” she says, pointing out various details in each photo to her boss. “Why they’d target her I have no idea.”

Fury sighs. “Fantastic. Let me ask you something, Mister mortals-are-ants-beneath-my-boot. Why the hell do you care?”

Too many thoughts to count flit across Loki’s face, and Thor has had a thousand years to catalogue every one of his brother’s expressions. “Is it not enough that I simply do?” Loki asks, apparently at a loss for words, and Thor can’t help but notice everything he isn’t saying in that one question.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he continues, almost vibrating with desperation. “Everything you want to know, that is in my power to tell. I swear it.”

Fury’s eyes narrow. “The Chitauri? The Tesseract?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Deal.”

Maria startles. “Nick-”

“No, Hill, don’t start with me, not now.” He nods at Loki’s cell. “If you would.”

Maria unlocks Loki’s cell and releases his manacles with the grace and poise of someone who has a revolver trained at her temple. Once his hands are free, she tenses, as though expecting a quick death- but he simply rubs his wrists, in the places they bleed slightly.

“You’re insane,” she says as Fury leads her out of the room, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Insane saved the world, once,” he shoots back. “How much worse can this be?”

“I can think of a few-”

The door closes behind them.

The two gods look at each other. “Four days is a long time,” Thor says softly, unnecessarily stating the obvious. “I would not even know where to look. Perhaps the captain would know-”

He stops as a rage of green flares up to Loki’s elbows, mirroring the fire that has suddenly blazed to life in his eyes. His voice is haunted by things unknown- “I have her.”

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arkenarttechlab · 4 years

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ALL EYES ON YOU

The Roman goddess FAMA has many eyes, ears and tongues: She heedlessly mixes truth and lie. She is a creature of the present moment, a vehicle of contemporary opinion, notorioulsy fickle.

- H.J. Jackson

No one can prepare themselves for suddenly being exposed or the lasting damaging effects of public shaming. Fame is associated with great sacrifice, which, depending on the degree of exposure, can lead to loneliness, psychological problems such as addiction, distrust, isolation and the loss of anonymity. As a anonymous former Danish child star, told me: “it’s like having a social phobia that’s not a phobia; it’s real – people are watching you all the time”. Or as a Hollywood star once told me about the first time he experienced “drawing a crowd”: “imagine having a favourite restaurant where you always go with your friends or family. Suddenly, one day, when I got up from meal at my go-to restaurant, the rest of the restaurant got up, too, and came out after me.”

Professor Donna Rockwell has researched the psychology of fame – what happens in the existential process of going from being an unknown to a known face. Rockwell explained to me in an interview: “one of the things that is vital for us to exist in a group is the ability to form connections, relationships. It is a deeply rooted human need”. We are celebrated now and then, step out of the flock and become the one everyone watches and cheers. For example, for birthdays and other events celebrating the individual. It is quite natural and an important aspect of many cultures, but it would be quite different if we were celebrated and cheered by the community every day. “When an individual becomes famous, when everybody is watching, when the spotlight is aimed at you, it is hugely difficult to maintain the ability to form natural relationships. And it is a human reaction to shut down and pull away so as to protect yourself. As my research indicates, the person ends up – regardless of age – losing confidence in both the world and other people. Why are you my friend? Why do you like me? Why would you like to get to know me? Is it because of who I am or is it because of what I am known for? In the case of the later, the individual often develops agoraphobia: the fear of being in public places, which is experienced as not feeling safe anywhere. As Harrison Ford once said, being famous is like walking around with a skunk on your head. It is very descriptive of how a famous individual experiences fame.

As part of her research, Rockwell studied the behavioural and psychological conditions of a person who had experienced going from being an unknown to a known individual. The known individual, who participated in the study “Being a Celebrity: A Phenomenology of Fame”, describes being famous as “bizarre, surreal, scary, lonely, terrifying, intimidating, embarrassing, confusing and invading. An experience of being deprived of their personal freedoms, one that creates a distance to the world around them, and the consequence is a constant sense of distrust towards other people”. In Rockwell’s words, it is a difficult terrain – and extremely destructive. For example, the famous person is forced to create a kind of split personality: “they are forced to shift back and forth between the two ‘MEs’ in their daily lives, which can be exhausting, because who can ever be prepared for that kind of relational dynamic with other people, or constantly act reserved with people in those groups and context, which you step in and out of all the time?”

One of the superstars who contributed to Rockwell’s research describes celebrity as a large inflatable wall that is always present: “it’s always there, it’s the elephant in the room, the elephant who’s always there when you go to lunch or when you go to the park, it’s always there”. It becomes an addiction for some – their identity becomes entwined with fame and a kind of love-hate dynamic emerges: they want to be famous, but they also hate what that fame has done to them. They hate that it has restricted their quality of life rather than enriched it. Rockwell emphasises the need to inform people before they choose to expose themselves to the limelight. “But there’s no boot camp that explains how difficult it is and how impossible it is for even the most down-to-earth person to avoid the power of fame that can be reminiscent of an accident caused by a car driving too fast – it changes you one way or another”.

A life in the public eye gives power and access to unprecedented groups. It could be VIP fora, A-list events, restaurants, and so on. And this lifestyle leads to an addiction to the kick got from being chosen. One well-known person involved in Rockwell’s research says, “I’ve been addicted to different things, and the most addictive is fame”. Fame is ‘Hollywood Currency’, it allows access to power and influence and, as Rockwell points out, it is, therefore, crucial that this power is used in such a way that makes sense on a human plane. And it can be a long and psychologically challenging road trying to make sense of being famous. For the individual, becoming famous leads to a shift in the balance of power in relationships, personal as well as professional. Over time, fame fundamentally changes relationships with friends, family and business associates. The reason being that the experience of living as a ‘star’ violates the accepted norms for human social behaviour. And this separation and experience of being socially amputated from others creates an emotional distance and a state of isolation.

The psychological process of going from being an unknown face to a known one should, according to Rockwell, not be seen as a process in which adaptation is the solution or the ending: “adaptation is not necessarily positive – it is just one way of living with [the situation]. That does not mean you can live in balance with a limited social life: you still have to live with the fact that there are always a million eyes on you when you go for a walk in the park. Someone once described it to me as “a sea of eyes”. Adaptation is difficult, because it creates a reliance on being recognised – but for something that once was: “hey, were you not once in… is that you?” But the person still exists – and it can be difficult to live with being a ‘has been’ in the eyes of others. They will never again be that person, who ‘was once in’; be that person other people see them as, Rockwell emphasises, continuing: “I have 7850 likes, therefore I am (referencing Descartes’ cogito ergo sum, I think therefore I am). The spotlight shines in our eyes. Western culture praises what is on the outside, not the inner values. It is about how much attention we get, how much attention we can generate, how many likes we get on Facebook, how many retweets on Twitter, how many hearts pop up on our Instagram photos, etc. Everyone assumes it is a confirmation of the surface of our identity and existence. But no one can base their identity and existence on something so superficial – on the contrary, that is something inside. I am afraid that emotional intelligence is being suppressed in today’s children and adolescents, so they fail to see ‘likes’ and lack of ‘likes’ in the right context”.

Extract from PHONO SAPIENS - The Slow Mammal on Speed

GIF: Source www.roleplaygateway.com

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blue-honeycomb · 4 years

Text

Escape Artist: Chapter 1 [Aizawa x Reader]

Decided to play around with this for a bit before going back to my other stuff.

Masterlist

Prologue | Part 1

---

The Escape Artist stared at the television screen with incomprehension, blinking once, twice, until a small hand smacked her dead center in the face. The force was enough to shake her from her thoughts and she cast a sidewards glare at the little brat sitting casually beside her.

Big, off-white eyes stared unflinchingly into her own, equally white, featureless face twisting into some form of expression that was lost on her. Luckily, the little hellion's hair was prone to flashing colors with their emotions, so she at least has some idea as to what they wanted. Even if that idea was vague at best.

"How was I supposed to know there was a whole pack of heros right there?" She huffed, casting her eyes back to the news special broadcasting her latest anti-kidnapping kidnapping with concerningly clear footage. Like, crystal clear HD, not some fuzzy security camera but media quality definition; the kind that got you recognized.

On the screen was a video of her popping into existence in a police station not even 3 yards from where a group of heros and police officers were finishing up an interview, setting the child she'd brought in a chair as he chewed on the mochi she'd thought to bring with her for just such a purpose. As though in slow motion, she could see her screen self whip around and suddenly freeze, staring directly at the heros, and consequencely the cameras, before disappearing once more. Honestly, it was pretty comical, and apparently, a good portion of the in studio reporters seemed to think so too.

"That," She pointed at the screen for emphasis while leveling the yellow flashing, blank-faced little shit a glare. "Was not intentional, no matter what you little misfits seem to think." From the shadow of the color flashing cretin popped another one, this one gray haired and black eyed, grinning widely at her with his wickedly sharp teeth.

"Don't make up shit just cuz you can't understand me. Don't think I'm not on to you, shark boy." Not that any of her brats ever listened to a thing she said anyway. The only one who ever seemed to try was Spitter, but that was because the boy couldn't say no to anyone ever, so it was never satisfying. Hard to feel victorious about getting your way when it took years of abuse to make the person (a little fucking boy) willing to heel on command. Thinking about how'd she'd found the little guy made her stomach turn.

Moving on before she breaks something.

Shark brat said something about hero costumes to Whiteout Brat and a lot of gesturing took place, as well as a good bit of yelling. Thankfully they lived far enough underground to avoid being hear by any passerbys. Escape Artist turned away while they were distracted and let them entertain themselves while she thought about what she'd just seen.

It was the first time the public had seen conclusive evidence of her existence outside of a few shitty grocery store video feeds, and the entirety of Japan seemed to be eating it up. Words like vigilante and uncatchable were being tossed around, as well as theories about teleportation quirks and being a greiving mother seeking vengeance. All these things would have made her snort in amusement had it been even a few months ago. But now? Now she couldn't afford to get caught or have a hoard of glory-hounds on her trail. Too many mouths to feed, for one, and secondly, too many little bodies following her when she wasn't looking. Anything could happen with the added variable of nosy superpower enhanced dogooders.

The problem with working with homeless, traumatized children is that after you've taken care of them for a while they come to expect you to actually take care of them. As in, not just feeding them occasionally and giving them a place to crash, but actually filling that parent shaped whole in their lives and taking over all the responsibilities that comes with it. Like protection, love and trust. And time. Especially time. So much more than she has to spare.

So they've taken to following her when she's not watching closely enough, and that terrifies her because she can give them love and trust in abundance, but protection is something she just can't provide. She simply isn't strong enough to take them with her everywhere she goes, let alone into a situation that may one day be her last.

Speaking of situations.

It was time to go out and get more food. While nothing went bad in her inventory, thank God, it never actually stayed full with how many mouths needed feeding everyday. Shark boy alone could put away half his body weight in a single sitting if given the chance, and even that's got nothing on Bull or Hot Shot. Honestly, and though Escape Artist would never say it aloud, Bull's vigorous appetite may have been the reason she was abandoned in the first place. She just had to eat so much to function that even with the triweekly raids Escape Artist could barely keep up with the ever growing demand.

And then there's Hot Shot. Nicely put, he was a rather enthusiastic young boy in possession of a very destructive, fuel-exhaustive quirk neither she nor he had any idea how to train. It wasn't until he'd joined her merry little band that she'd learned the location of every clothing store in the city. Every single one of them.

Her life sometimes, she swears.

There was a shattering sound in the designated kitchen area, followed by a high pitched screech that fell somewhere between a frog croak and a chirp. Not even a second later the sound of footsteps darting through the tunnels at frankly ridiculous speeds creeked overhead, followed closely by the wall rattling thud of Bull chasing right after.

Escape Artist sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling slightly. Beside her, Shark boy leapt to his feet in a dead run to go watch the drama unfold with unholy glee, Whiteout following at a slightly more moderate pace. Not even 8 in the morning and already the chaos had begun.

Her head thud quietly against the back of the couch. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

---

Escape Artist was more than a bit concerned by what had happened on her way back home, but she supposed it could have been worse. For one thing, she wasn't dead, and for another, neither was the man she'd smacked headfirst into (or more accurately, he'd smacked face first into her). Unfortunately for the man though, the impact had left him notably unconscious and maybe a little bruised around the nose and forehead. In short, she done fucked up and this time it didn't involve another mouth to feed… she hoped. She didn't know if she had the patience needed to take care of a full grown man on top of the 8 kids at home and the 2 feral cretins that visited occasionally.

It'd been a simple case of bad luck all around, honestly. She'd just finished robbing the local Walmart (yes, it still exists and she still doesn't know how to feel about that months on) and was coming out of ID when she's suddenly been thrown to the ground by a speeding black mass all but flying through the darkened alley. Her first thought upon getting over her shock was to thank whatever was watching over her that night it wasn't a car. Her second was to fret over whoever she'd just gotten killed.

Luckily, it hadn't been a car and the stranger had survived the encounter. So, all was good in her books, besides the obvious part where the guy was laying unconscious in an alley and sporting an obvious hero getup in the shadier part of this district. If that wasn't asking for a knife in the back than she didn't know what was.

So now here she was, sitting across from the unmoving lump of man, chin in hand and elbows firmly planted on her thighs. She'd covered him up with a blanket from her inventory some time ago to keep him at least somewhat warm as the night gradually grew colder around them. She didn't think she'd manage to get the thing back before the guy was up and trying to kick her ass, but Hot Shot needed to learn to control his flames anyway and maybe going coverless for a while was just the motivation he needed to do so. She pointedly didn't think about the extra comforters she'd grabbed because she knew the first wouldn't last three nights in the little shit's care.

She blinked slowly, eyes roaming over what little bit of the man she could make out from under the blanket. Long, dark hair curling over the blanket and his heavily stubbled face (she'd picked the wild mass up off the filthy ground because ew), long lashes and a narrow, masculine face. He was attractive for sure, though the dark lines around his eyes, nose and forehead made him seem almost sickly pale in the unflattering street light. What she noticed most though was the peeks of sleek, firm muscle that the fluffy covers, ridiculously huge scarf and baggy clothing couldn't hide.

She was a woman with damn human needs. It'd been at least 3 years since she's gotten any and she was long overdue. She felt strongly that she should be able to appreciate this man's undeniable beauty so long as she kept her hands to herself and didn't do anything creepy like take pictures or some shit. She blatantly ignored the little voice whispering about how equally creepy it was to watch someone sleep without their consent.

It was also creepy how the observe function of her quirk let her learn a few tidbits about the man without any conscious effort, but for the most part she ignored the notifications hovering around the man all together. It wasn't like she'd ever meet the guy again after this, unless he was trying to arrest her of course. Either way, she doubted learning this guy's name or whatever was really worth invading his privacy anymore than her mere existence did. She'd like to think she has some standards.

In her uncharacteristic moment of distraction she failed to notice the subtle shift of the man's head before he went eeriely still. It wasn't until she was shifting to get more comfortable and noticed that a section of his hair was misplaced that she realized her mistake.

It happened too fast for her to properly react. With a quiet that belied the strength behind the attack, the man launched himself into her personal space and had her wrapped head to toe in the weird scarf he had with him. On instinct she tried to open her ID, but with a cold chill of realization discovered she couldn't get it to activate. In fact, her whole world seemed to suddenly swirl on its axis and for the first time since she'd come to this place her mind blanked with true, mortal terror.

His eyes glowed deep, sinister red against the shadows spread over his handsome face, dark hair whipping above his head like a dark, inhuman halo. Those muscles she'd been admiring just moments ago were suddenly the weapons of intimidation they were meant to be, something that made her heart race and quake with fear.

And her body. Maybe even worse than the sudden influx of terror was the sudden aknowledgement of her body's long forgotten functions. Where once she was satisfied she was now hollow, the movement of long unused organs felt like insects crawling though her body, scratching and nipping as they went.

Suddenly, the world was not just a thing that could be walked away from with a single though and a armful of goods. For the first time since she'd opened her eyes in that alleyway nearly a year ago, it was just her, the world and all the dangers that came with it staring her down with burning red eyes.

For the first time since she received her quirk she was well and truly alive.

"Escape Artist, was it."

#BNHA #Escape Artist AU #Gamer AU #Aizawa Shouta #Aizawa x Reader

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frankchurchillsaysrelax · 5 years

Note

“Please, just… touch me.”- for malex. Thank you for helping me survive this two week hiatus

We’ll make it through the hiatus together! Oh and…I’m sorry.

with the beast inside there's nowhere we can hide

part one

The love of your life being quarantined while an unknown alien lifeform controls his mind should really fall under its own category of leave. Alex is going to write the US government and tell them to get on that.

For now he has to continue going to work and act like nothing is wrong. Keeping up appearances is exhausting but Alex is doing the best he can in this impossible situation.

Liz is no closer to working out a solution and every time an idea falls through and she says she wishes Michael could help, the rage consuming Alex spreads. Michael is always the one protecting them, they owe it to him to figure this out. It’s their turn to save him.

Since he was seventeen years old, Alex had hopelessly dreamed of a future where he could come home to Michael Guerin every night. So like every other aspect of their relationship, the universe has made it come true in the most twisted way possible.

He parks next to Max’s truck in front of the cabin and allows himself a moment to just breathe. He has to be brave now, something he’s learned over the last year comes naturally to him, except when it comes to Michael.

There is no room for bravery when you feel everything else so exquisitely.

Knowing he can’t keep Max waiting much longer he gets out of the car and marches toward whatever awaits him behind his front door.

After he’d brought him back to the hospital it was decided that it would be safer for Michael to be kept somewhere more discreet. A hidden bunker in a secluded hunting cabin seemed like just the thing. Every precaution was taken. A barricade made of old furniture covers the trap door, a diluted version of Liz’s serum administered once a day making it impossible for Michael to lift the heavy objects.

The group takes turns watching him during the day and Alex has nights. He got the raw end of that deal if you ask him. Sleep doesn’t come easy when someone you love is suffering right below your feet. So close but just out of reach, as it has always been with them it seems.

Max is on the couch reading, something Alex has grown accustomed to seeing over the past couple weeks. He stands when Alex walks through the door, eager to be far away from the temporary prison they’ve built.

“How is he?” Alex asks same as every day.

Max stares at the pile of junk sitting in the middle of the living room floor stoically. “Quiet. I think he’s slept most of the day. He wouldn’t eat when I brought his lunch down.” Alex nods, his worry rising. “Oh, and Liz says her latest experiment is making progress, which is good.” Max tries to sound supportive of his girlfriend but they both know better than to get their hopes up at this point.

“Cam and Kyle make any progress on tracking this guy?” The answer is obvious by the look on his face but they’ve followed this script every other day so why deviate.

“They haven’t found anything new,” he confirms. “I’m going there now so Kyle can get to the hospital.”

They stand in awkward silence and Alex really just wants to throw him out of his house but Max isn’t done.

“Look,” Alex steels himself for what he knows is coming next. “The pod is still our best option.”

“No.” Alex doesn’t have patience to listen to the entire sales pitch tonight.

Max’s face hardens and he crosses his arms with an air of authority. Jokes on him though because Alex can handle a military standoff any day. Stubborn Manes blood is good for something after all.

“Alex this isn’t just your decision to make,” Max barks.

“It’s not my decision at all! It’s his. I don’t know if it’s him, or the fourth, or fucking Pazuzu, Michael said he doesn’t want to go into stasis and we are going to respect that decision.”

Max opens his mouth to argue so Alex steps around him and opens the front door beyond finished with this conversation. Max walks outside but shakes his head with something resembling disgust. Not as cruel as the looks he got in high school but enough to make him snap.

“Hey!” He follows Max out into the yard. “Do you think it’s not killing me to see him like this? All I want is to offer him some peace but I’m not going to force anything else on him. So until he says that’s what he wants, we aren’t taking him anywhere.”

The fight drains from Max leaving a sad, broken cowboy in its wake. He nods his head, defeated, and gets into his truck without another word.

Alex goes back inside and heads straight for the shower. He takes his time letting the tears fall down his face mixing with the water streaming over him leaving no trace behind.

He dresses hastily and goes to the kitchen to reheat some pasta dish Isobel swore was Michael’s favorite. Once it’s ready he makes quick work of clearing the trap door and climbing down the ladder.

The room is dark and barren. All that’s left of Jim Valenti’s makeshift rehab is a bed and a lamp, the rest having been cleared away to ensure Michael didn’t hurt himself. The first night and entire next day he did nothing but scream and beg them to let him out. The false memories were still fresh in his mind and, they learned later, new ones were taking root. None as harrowing as the vivisection but each with the intended purpose of turning Michael’s mind against them.

The next morning Alex had come downstairs to find the walls covered in the alien symbol and Michael curled up in the corner of the room just staring at them. Ever since then he mostly just slept, a possible side effect of the serum according to Liz.

Alex sets both plates on the bed before turning on the light and gently calling Michael’s name. Every shred of his being longs to reach out and soothe him to wakefulness. To lay gentle kisses on his skin and whisper his name against his lips until Michael comes alive beneath him and reciprocates with as much enthusiasm as ever. That isn’t an option now. Michael can’t stand any level of physical contact, not even from Isobel. Alex is too afraid to try.

He comes as close as he dares and continues to call Michael’s name until warm hazel eyes blink back at him. He steps back and grabs the plates, offering one to Michael who shakes his head.

“You need to eat, Guerin. Just a few bites at least.” Michael pushes himself into a sitting position and accepts the plate cradling it in his lap. Alex waits until he picks up his fork before walking to the foot of the bed and sitting down to dig into his own meal.

After a few tentative bites, Michael relaxes and eats until his plate is empty. He sets it on the floor and curls onto his side just watching him. Alex sets his own plate down before walking to the mini fridge on the far side of the room that they had stocked with water. He passes a bottle to Michael who drains the whole thing in two easy gulps. Alex doesn’t want to know how long it’s been since he last drank something.

Michael flips over to face the other side of the room and Alex is torn between staying and taking the obvious dismissal for what it is.

“I want to be home.”

Alex’s face pinches with pain at the words and he has to force a deep breath into his lungs. “I know.”

He doesn’t. Home can mean a few things to Michael from the junkyard to the stars. It could also mean the pod.

“So, please, just… touch me.”

“What?” Alex must be hallucinating. Either that or the fourth alien has progressed to using Michael to torture Alex.

“When you touch me it feels like home.” Michael still won’t face him. “You still make me feel safe Alex. You make everything quiet.”

Trap or not, Alex can’t refuse them both this seemingly small comfort. Approaching slowly, he lies down behind Michael easily moving them until Michael’s back is snug against his chest, his good leg trapped between both of Michael’s. They each melt into the other’s hold.

Alex is reminded of the console and the words Michael said when he first showed him.

“The pieces wanna be together. When they fit the molecules knit together on contact. It’s like it was never broken at all.”

When he closes his eyes he sees the console as it is now, nothing but broken shards torn apart beyond repair and abandoned in a sea of destruction.

Pressing kisses to the back of Michael’s neck he vows to not let that happen again.

#sp-ac-ep-re-si-de-nt #my fic #prompts #max evans #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #please don't hate me?

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aseahorsesinsight · 4 years

Text

6/4/2020

As before, I have decided not to message this person again, though if this letter comes out right maybe I will DM it to them.

I read your post. I understand your frustration. So let me explain my frustration.

In times like now, people have several options including: speak out on police brutality, stay silent, post videos of good cops, etc. I deleted my last Facebook because I started too many “conversations’ trying to defend my humanity with white people. So understand why I don’t look for conversation. It is exhausting having to defend your humanity. It’s dehumanizing. It sucks everything out of you. You research and you type, diligently explaining your point and sending resources so they can understand. And they meet you with #alllivesmatter and one anecdotal story that they think disproves your entire point. So you research and type again, pleading with them to see your humanity...it never comes.

I’m done. I’m done begging for (white) people to see my humanity.

In your original post you chose to say a few passive words about what happened to George Floyd was wrong, but the main message of the post was about how good cops matter. That your husband was a good first responder, that you cherish his life and service, and you hate see people call for the injury/death of first responders because of George Floyd. You hoped that in putting a face to people’s hatred you can change their mind and see that there are good cops, and good firefighters, and good medics, and good first responders out there. The issue I have with this statement you think you boldly posted, is that you never address the actual issue directly.

You did not directly address that George Floyd was murdered. He was murdered because of the possibility that paid with a counterfeit bill. He was murdered while other “good cops” watched and let it happen. It took DAYS of protests to get the cop charged with murder, a murder that happened on FILM. It took an additional WEEK to charge the other men that were complicit in his murder. With your post, you rushed to defend your EMS husband and the violence against first responders, but didn’t talk about the original loss of life that started all of this. You reached to say all lives matter, but you barely gave your respects to George Floyd. If you truly believed that all lives matter, you should be the FIRST to agree that Black lives matter. If your truly agreed that all lives matter, you would be able to see the injustice the Black community faces and would use your platform to explicitly denounce it.

Do you realize that if the cop that murdered George Floyd was immediately removed from duty without pay and had charges brought against him, we would be no where near the current situation? Do you know that if the police force immediately suspended the 3 additional cops that allowed George to be murdered, and brought charges against them, we would not have the destruction we have now? If other police units, when the news of Floyd broke, immediately released statements condemning the officer’s behavior and BACKED-UP that statement with immediately firing and bringing charges against future officers who kill unarmed civilians, we would not be in this position. Police have arrested THOUSNADS of civilians in order to protect 4 corrupt cops. If we look at additional Black lives matter protests, TENS OF THOUSANDS of protestors have been arrested in order to protect cops that think murder is an okay course of action against people. And while Black lives matter chooses to highlight Black lives lost at the hands of police, bringing charges against cops who kill unarmed civilians would reduce ALL lives killed by cops, not just Black ones. So yes, Black lives matter focuses on Black lives but through this movement, all civilian lives benefit.

The movement behind George Floyd was never just to arrest the 4 officers. The bigger issue has always been about ending police violence. I’ve known about this movement for about 6 or so years and the underlying message has always been “we must value Black lives by holding their murderers accountable”. This has mainly focused on police brutality since they are paid to protect and serve the community, but it extends to others as well. Why is it that Dylan Roof can murder 9 people in cold blood and he is arrested alive and treated to Burger King, but I am at risk of being shot because I want to buy a BB gun at Wal-mart? Why did the police wait 3 months to charge the men who murdered Ahmed Arbery, but I risk be shot on site for holding a cellphone in my back yard. White men shoot up schools and are labeled mentally ill (even given compassion) but there was no compassion for Tamir Rice who was shot within 2 seconds of the police arriving just because he was holding a toy gun. Breonna Taylor was shot while in her own home by police, yet those officers are not only still working BUT FILED CHARGES AGAINST HER PARTNER who fired once at the officers. If you walk into someone’s house in the dead of night, wearing regular clothes, and don’t identify yourselves as police officers, how the fuck are we to know you are officers? How can we blame them for protecting their home and loved ones? Isn’t this why the NRA promotes owning guns; to protect yourself, your family, and your property? Why are they so silent? And to make matters worse, that search never should have happened; THE SUSPECT THEY WERE LOOOKING FOR WAS ALREADY IN CUSTODY. Their negligence killed someone yet they face no repercussions.

But you expect me to “have a conversation” about this when you have not used your eyes and read these stories for yourself. You expect me to meet you halfway on an issue that is literally about not murdering people. You expect me to have compassion for you and your husband, yet you haven’t shown an ounce for black lives. Being Black is not a choice. Your husband chose his career path because he was called to it. The reward (serving his community) outweighed the risk. However, if at any point he felt unsafe, or that his life was in jeopardy at his job, he had the option to leave. He could choose to hang up the uniform and pick a career path that still served his community but in a safer fashion. I, in no way, have that option. There is NOTHING I can do to make my life safer. Beonna Taylor wasn’t a criminal, in fact she was a public servant saving lives during the Pandemic -- and she was shot in her own home. Tamir Rice was a child playing in a park. Johnathan Ferrell was involved in a car accident and was shot as he approached the officer for help. Ahmed Arbery was jogging. Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. took to non-violent action to help the Black community and was assassinated. My skin color is viewed as a threat and the only way to fix that is to fight for justice. So forgive me if I lack empathy and compassion for first responders at a time like now. Maybe if they were held responsible for their actions, we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in today.

When I first read your post, I chose only to point out the racism behind all lives matter instead of posting why your post was truly problematic. But you want a discussion so let’s continue to pick it apart. Not only do you use the slogan All lives matter, you use a variation of “I’m colorblind/I don’t see color”, which is another racist microaggression against communities of color. Intentional or unintentional, “I don’t see color” means that you do not see me. I am Black. I will always be Black and Black will always be a part of my identity. And it is not bad to acknowledge that I am Black; acknowledging color does not make one racist. But when you seek to “remove color” you can conveniently overlook and dismiss the issues communities of color face because of their skin color. In the face of racism, you say “well I don’t see color so all your problems must be from something else”. The goal is NOT to be colorblind, but to recognize each race and work harder to remove and unlearn your innate biases to make all lives better. The goal is to understand that you have learned biases because you live in a racist society, but to make the conscious effort to not let them impact your decision making and judgement.

You also mention that you would “fight for me, my mom, and my sister” which is also problematic. Not that we don’t want you fighting for us, but your lack of interest in fighting for the whole Black community shows that you have separated my family from the rest of the Black Community. You view is as “good Blacks” and “different from other Black people”. If you cannot fight for the whole Black community, then you do not flight for me.

You want a conversation yet refuse to admit your own racial biases as growing up White. That doesn’t mean you are a KKK member, flying the confederate flag and mounting photos of lynchings on your wall. It just means that you grew up in a system built for you to the detriment of Black people. If you want a conversation, you also have to meet me halfway, but based on your comment I can see you are not ready to confront that; I see that because when I commented the meaning behind all lives matter, you got defensive. I already gave you the opportunity for conversation when I made my comment. You just as easily could have said “you know, I knew the implications of all lives matter but still wanted it to mean something good for me. I had the best intentions using the phrase all lives matter but I understand your point. My intentions do not negate the phrase’s meaning, and that using it alienates the POC I am close to”. Instead, you got defensive and used your voice to project your shame. You felt my attack was me personally calling you a racist. I never called you a racist; I wanted to let you know that you were using a racist phrase. But a hit dog will holler, so you lashed out with hurt and anger because you thought someone called you racist. You were more mad at the possibility of being called racist instead of the fact that you used a racist phrase. Do you see how that is a problem?

I will have compassion for first responders when I start seeing tangible action. When videos of police beating protestors, tear gassing children, destroying medical supplies, and plowing cars through crowds cease. When the police show up in riot gear, I want them to remove the gear, place their weapons down, and march with us. I want them to refuse to uphold the unjust curfews. I want them to stop viewing the protestors as criminals. Your original post called for everyone to have compassion for and respect first responders, yet their actions show why they do not receive it. During the protests, they had every opportunity to show compassion. They could have let the protesters march peacefully on and worked to defuse and violent situations. Instead we see them line up 10 minutes before curfew starts, waiting for the opportunity to beat people. We are so quick to highlight “good cops” yet very few are condemning the actions of their fellow brothers and sisters. This is why people say “All cops are bastards”. They have corrupted their purpose of serving and protecting, and no amount of “good cops” can fix this. We must dismantle the system and start again.

Notice how I never mentioned the rioting up until now. Because talking about the rioting is a deflection to paint Black people and those who join the protests as lawless and criminals. Most everyone knows that taking advantage of the unrest is selfish and that they should be removed from the area. But you know what’s worse - 400 years oppression. This is not because of a single injustice, but centuries.

In this letter, I’ve said so much yet I don’t know if I’ve said enough. This is a complex issue with many facets, so if you read this and are still angry at my comment, I suggest you do more research. Research, and read, and watch documentaries, and talk to other POC from the theater community I once called home. Thousands of people are posting resources to help people understand the issues. You can’t claim to be an ally, without first understanding the problem.

As I said in the beginning, I am not looking for conversation. With this letter, you can either accept it or not. You can choose to respond or not. You can choose to look at your innate biases or not. But I am done. With this letter, I am -- yet again -- begging for a white person to view and accept my humanity. I am reliving my traumas, researching, pouring my heart into my words, with the likelihood you will type back “I understand your point, but...”. I do not hate you... but I no longer trust you. I gave you a chance of reflection and you chose another path. Well I am choosing my path too. I am choosing justice. I am choosing to fight in the hope that black girls and boys NEVER have to beg a white person so see their humanity ever again.

#mythoughts #my thoughts #blacklivesmatter #alllivesmatter #all lives cannot matter until black lives matter #george floyd #justice for breonna #no justice no peace

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tsarethan · 5 years

Text

OTP questions for Bandit and Ghost

Who likes to go on drives to nowhere in particular

Bandit is the one who suggests it more often but they both enjoy it

Who is in charge of the radio or playlist in the car (and what do they play)?

Ghost, no questions asked. He usually puts on those low-fi styled songs as they fit well with late night long drives

Who reaches over to hold the other’s hand

Bandit

Who is more likely to hog the bed

Probably bandit since he’s bigger than Ghost and Ghost sleeps curled up tightly, but they both sleep clinging to each other

Who likes to drink their coffee or tea outside in the mornings

Bandit, cup of black coffee and cigarette is his favourite way to start the day

Who reads the paper or watches the news

Ghost watches the news when it’s on

Who comes home with the weirder work stories

Well they have the same job so they would both have weird work stories, the one that got the best laugh was when Ghost told Bandit about a bomber that was charging down a corridor towards him but tripped and landed on the detonator before they even got close to Ethan. Dominic immediately demanded to see the body cam footage after he calmed down enough to speak

Who takes long baths

Bandit, Ghost would sit on the floor next to the bath and keep him company, run his fingers through Dominic’s hair or hold his hand, since this only really happens when Bandit is having a bad day

Who gives the other a massage when they seem tense

Bandit, Ghost has no idea how to give a massage

Who prefers to kick back with a drink in the evenings

This is like their perfect evening, a good film and some beers in Ethan’s room.

Who stays up too late reading

Ghost, this boy is constantly re-reading the a song of ice and fire series

Who is the deep sleeper

Neither, unless one has taken sleeping tablets they are both very light sleepers

Who is the one who likes to cuddle?

They both do but if it was an option Ethan would cuddle with Dom 24/7

Who has awful taste in music?

Some of the songs Ethan likes are ‘questionable’

Who is the meme lover?

GHOST, but Bandit likes memes as well

How did their second date go?

They’re not the type of people to go on dates so it was probably just going to see a film then getting chippy on the way back to base. They had a good time.

Who hides the weapons?

I’m gonna say Ghost’s knife collection counts so, Ethan

What do their parents think of them dating?

Thatcher was cautious at first, Ethan had been taken advantage of many times in the past and his own failed marriage left him with a cynical view on relationships, but he mostly just kept an eye on them from the side-lines never really confronting Bandit about it. He eventually chilled out when he realised how happy Dominic made Ethan. Bandit hasn’t had contact with any of his family in years so who knows what they would think.

Are they a super sappy couple?

In public? no but when they’re alone they can be pretty sappy

Who stays up too late and makes stupid jokes?

Bandit 100%, once Dominic gets in one of those moods its guaranteed Ethan is getting very little sleep. No matter how hard he tries Ghost ends up laughing his head off even though he’s exhausted and just wants to sleep

Who is the nerd?

Ghost

Who knows the most obscure facts?

Ghost and he loves bothering Bandit with them at 3 in the morning (probably as retaliation for the stupid jokes that kept him awake the other night)

Who makes the other a flower crown?

Ghost, he would probably near die laughing at Dominic’s ‘so done with your shit’ face when he forces it onto his head.

“but Dom you look like a pretty little princess”

cuts to Bandit’s deadpanned face

Who likes to read?

Ghost, Dom prefers it when Ethan reads out loud to him when they’re laying in bed at the end of a long day

Do they have similar taste in movies?

Somewhat, they both love the classic greats like The Matrix but when it comes to genres Ethan prefers horror while Bandit prefers comedies

Who has better fashion sense?

Ghost but not by much, Bandit just sticks to the ripped jeans and hoodies with that signature jacket while Ethan has a little bit more variation but not much

Who will punch someone out if they are rude to their partner?

They would both get aggressive, Bandit would be the punching one where as Ghost would pull out a switchblade, Ethan needs to work more on his reactions to anger. The rest of the team are more likely to interfere with Ghost than with Bandit for obvious reasons.

Who likes to prank the other?

Dominic ‘Bandit’ Brunsmeier, Ghost tries to prank him back but just can’t Dom is the king of pranks

Who is the one who loves to take pictures?

Ghost, the gallery on his phone is filled with memes and pictures of Bandit or his dogs. Bonus points is a picture of Dominic with the dogs

How would they react if they found out they were soul mates?

They’d make jokes about it and call it cringy but both of them would kinda be overwhelmed with the whole concept of it

What would they dress up as, for Halloween?

They wouldn’t dress up for Halloween although there were two occasions in which they did.

The first was when they bought a ghost face mask, one of them would wear the mask and hide in a cupboard or behind a door and the other would pretend to be on their phone in the room but was secretly filming it, some of the best victims to this were Rook, Castle, Mira, Thermite, Blackbeard, Ying and Harry.

The second was when Bandit made a bet with Ela and Dokkaebi, he lost an both Dominic had to wear Pikachu and Pichu onesies respectively

Can they name each other’s favourite food?

Yup, I’ve already said ghosts is tuna pasta, but bandits is meat feast pizza

Do they have pet names for one another?

Yup again, Ghost calls Bandit the usual, baby, babe, love and when they’re alone sweetheart. Bandit uses the same but also calls Ethan Liebling, Mausebär and Schatz

How do they cheer each other up?

Depends on how upset they are, it can something as simple as smoking a joint together but others it can often be going on long drives or holding one another in the safety of Ethan’s room with gentle music on in the background

Do they show a lot of PDA?

Nope, the most would be cuddling on the couch or Ethan sitting on the floor in front of Dominic if there’s nowhere else to sit. Although they are always together and standing close to each other.

How old were they when they got together?

Ethan was 24 and Bandit was 32 (I age Bandit down in my au)

Who is the one that would bring the puppy home?

Neither of them really would since Ethan has Atlas and Brutus who both love Dominic as well

Can they do yoga couple’s poses?

Yeah, they would probably do it for a laugh in the gym when they don’t wanna work out

What is their song?

Berlin by Teeza

What does their room look like?

It’s Ethan’s room which I’ve put before is not that decorated since its on base, there are a couple of personal items in the room though like pictures and a few posters and books.

Who makes the other breakfast in bed?

Bandit, purely because he enjoys cooking more

Who loves kids more?

Ghost, there are plenty of kids in his family and they all mean the world to him but Bandit’s still good with kids.

Do either of them have a crazy ex?

Bandit does but he has long since lost all contact with her

What are their favourite colours?

Ethan’s is a dark blue while Dominic’s is black and yellow together (shocker)

Who likes to cook?

Bandit but he makes a mess every time, so it usually goes with Dominic cooking and Ethan cleaning up as he goes along

What do they do for Valentine’s Day?

They don’t celebrate valentine’s day although bandit did once buy that bear holding the heart with ‘shit bitch you fine’ on it

Who swears more?

Between how much Ethan calls people cunt and Dominic says Scheiße its hard to tell.

Who has the better comebacks?

Dominic, they are both good with comebacks for other people but between the two of them it would be Dominic

Do either of them know how to do a handstand?

Ghost can, he repeatedly tries to get a headshot while doing a handstand during training

What do they usually text about?

Just joking around and seeing what the other is up to, they rarely spend time away from each other. Mostly they get in trouble for texting each other during meetings trying to get the other to laugh out loud

Who is the dramatic one?

Ethan for sure

Is either one confrontational?

They can both be confrontational but Ghost more than Bandit. It takes a lot to get Bandit confrontational.

What is their favourite cuddle position?

Dominic laying on top of Ghost with his head on top of Ethan’s stomach, while Ethan runs his fingers through Dominic’s hair

Who would be the more laid back one?

Bandit

How do they work out a fight?

They spend time away from each other to calm down then go to their room and talk it out

Who has more songs on their phone?

Ghost he has a massive music library

What movie did they first see together?

Creed

What do they like to see each other in?

Honestly the first time ghost saw bandit in a suit he turned into a blushing teenager and was speechless for several minutes. Dominic loves seeing Ethan in his jacket

Who makes jokes during inappropriate times?

Bandit

Who does stuff on impulse?

Bandit, he makes about 70 plans in the space of 10 minutes

How do they comfort each other when they are helpless to do anything about the situation?

Hold each other, if there’s nothing else they can do they can comfort each other

What is an inside joke they have?

They have so many its borderline annoying for everyone else, the stupidest one they have is ending a sentence by saying “with your penis?” it’s a reference to an episode of law and order SVU that had them near crying laughing

Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all?

They both do

What is their favourite holiday?

Halloween, free sweets, scaring people, pranks, movie night, everything about that they love

Who is the one that is calm and collected while the other is angry and destructive?

Bandit is calm and collected, Ghost is the other

Who sleep talks?

Bandit, he sometimes sleep walks as well, never fails to scare the crap out of Ghost

#oc #ghost and bandit #ghost #r6s #rainbow six siege

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nadunacreates · 4 years

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1, 4, 20

thank you!

1: SUMMARIZE YOUR WIP IN 10 WORDS OR LESS.

superpowers, corrupt heroes, secret identities and chaotic schemes, hate-love-betrayal-forgiveness.

•

4: DESCRIBE THE SETTING OF YOUR WIP.

there’s a pinterest page for that xD the images that are not pinned to any section + the ones under “the shop”.

but, here’s a description in words:

i’m not quite sure yet if any of this will actually stay this way, but for now it’s set in some kind of post-apocalyptic city, but where the apocalypse wasn’t all that bad, really. i just don’t have a better word for it – just imagine 2012 went differently and the earth was hit by a “meteor” (it wasn’t really a meteor but shhh, people don’t know that).

so basically it’s set in a city generally similar to nyc, but close to both the ocean and mountains that no one really dares to venture in (because dangerous things lurk there… allegedly). it’s a big city with tall buildings and there are areas that are very high-technology while others are mostly just ruins?

people from all over the world have fled to this city, which is not set in what would be present day america. i like to think it’s in switzerland but where the apocalypse has destroyed some of the countries around it to make way for the ocean? (can you tell i’m mostly making this up on the spot? i really haven’t developed the setting the way i should, yet. i’ve been hoping i’d get away with being vague.)

but what i do know is the aesthetic: there are very cold winters with not much in terms of snow, but definitely a lot of fog and generally autumn-y aesthetic. also the neon purple / pink / electric blue is featured very strongly here, along with the tall buildings that reach into the sky. lots of places in the city are in a state of constant disrepair, because the villains love causing destruction but of course they never clean up after themselves. we’re out at night a lot with our mcs.

to contrast this, there’s the warm ambience of the coffee shop slash bakery that our mc moe works in, situated right next to a bookshop that she could spend hours in if she wasn’t so busy. there’s also the workshop of moe’s best friend’s grandfather where moe works at in her spare time, which i think will become more important to the story later on. just imagine an old garage with lots of spare parts lying around and lots of space for car-tinkering and more scientific experiments to take place.

then there’s the other mc kaliope who works at a newspaper with the bustling setting of such a business. fast-paced and filled with people, tv screens, the rustling of paper and keyboard clacking.

the mountains and the harbor will also have big impact on our characters, i think.

•

20: POST A BRIEF EXCERPT.

so i was going to say that i don’t really have a good excerpt to post other than the ones i already posted, but still resigned myself to look through the draft and see what I wrote these past two days, but then i figured out some background on one of the character that makes me really excited for writing right now and in the flow it this scene happened that i kinda really like?

(i don’t know if Farren actually is going to be a more prevalent character or not, but it seems that they just want to leave me alone at the moment! they’re gender fluid and currently using she/her pronouns; Boss is the character i got really excited about, and well, Moe is one of the MCs, a superhero.)

TW for the depiction of a panic attack, and, seeing as i luckily never had to experience one of those yet i don’t really know the best way to deal with it and made this up on the spot, will have to do some research later on.

well, i don’t know about brief, but. i’d love to hear your thoughts! (i put most of it under the cut, so read on there (: )

•

“So, Kaliope seems like an interesting girl.”

“Go away.” Moe scrubs extra hard at that bit of honey sticking to the countertop.

“She does.”

“Well, you don’t get to adopt her, too.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Your pick. She’s already got a job. You don’t need any more children to take care of. She can very well take care of herself — as can I, by the way.”

“What makes you think she has a job?”

Not her too, now. “Why are you even still here, Farren?”

She shrugs in response, all false carelessness. “Had nothing better to do?”

Moe and Boss both stare at her and don’t say anything else. It takes approximately five seconds for Farren to give up and throw her hands toward the heavens. “Well, what does it matter? We were interrogating Moe, not me.”

“We weren’t interrogating anyone!” Moe protests.

“No, we were,” Boss says nonchalantly, “but this is more important — were you not safe at home?”

“No! Why do you always think the worst?! It was just that… well, I was supposed to go out with some friends and they cancelled on me, but I was sick of hanging out alone at home, so. Since Moe is a stupid martyr who doesn’t know how to take care of herself it wasn’t such a far stretch to come here instead.” A pause. Farren crosses her arms, glares at both of them. “There. Happy now?”

Uh oh. That look in Boss’ eyes never bodes well. Moe is always kind of afraid to imagine what it must have been to oppose him during his still-complete days, as he calls them. When he was one of the people Moe now fights on a regular basis, out to cause mayhem and destruction.

“Happy with you, yes,” Boss says, slowly. Turns on Moe, then. Nope, not caving. “But you, young lady. What is Farren talking about?”

The penny dropped for Farren, now, too, and she winces, turns an apologetic glance on Moe. She looks away, busies herself with the cleaning rag instead, goes to wipe down the tables, but Boss moves so he’s in her way, and she’d at the very least have to look up into his face to get through.

Moe lets her shoulders sag as she sighs instead, rubs at her face. “Nothing. Farren is talking about nothing.” She’s exhausted, and doesn’t trust herself to come up with any better excuses.

“Moe.” Gods, how she hates that tone of voice. So calm and rational, undemanding but lending an open ear.

“It’s just… a thing happened, yesterday, and I just had to get away from it for a while. Forget.”

“A thing? Yesterday?” Farren asks. “Are we talking about the same thing here? It’s not that recent.”

“Well, no. But… it may have been related?”

Farren’s usually olive-toned face pales considerably. “You didn’t.”

“Not on purpose, you can believe me when I say that.” The bitter laugh scrapes at the walls of her throat, makes them feel tender and raw, makes her bite her lip, hard, and hope for the best.

She tastes blood.

“Would any one of you care to fill me in? Any time now?” Boss tends to get annoyed when he isn’t in the loop of things. Right now, he just sounds gentle.

Gods, Moe must look a mess for him to pity her like that.

The girls share a glance. Technically, it’s none of his business. Technically, he’s also not their dad. That’s never stopped him from acting like it, and him technically being a retired super villain also hasn’t stopped his employees from trusting him with their lives, even though that detail is more of an open secret than an acknowledged fact.

Another sigh, then Moe steels her shoulders, breathes in, and says on the breath out, “itoldlisathati’minlovewithherandshereallydidn’ttakeitwellithink.”

Boss blinks at her, owlishly. “You did what now?”

Moe breathes in, breathes out. This is okay. This is fine. She knows she did that, never mind she never really got to acknowledge it. This tiny detail somehow got lost in the much bigger drama of telling her best friend that she’s a superhero, even when knowing that saying said best friend really doesn’t like superheroes is a severe understatement. But since she really can’t tell this part to her co-workers it has to be the other part of it. And it’s bad, isn’t it? That Lisa hasn’t even acknowledged it? Does it make the other thing better or worse? Gods, what did Moe even do, last night? Is she crazy?

Moe breathes, but the room still starts spinning around her, and her breath goes faster and faster, hurts on the way in, is pure agony on the way out. Fuck. Fuck.

She puts a hand in her hair, clenches her fingers and pulls at the roots until it hurts. Fuck.

It should be fine.

“I think she’s having a panic attack,” someone says, but it sounds as though the person is underwater somewhere, or maybe Moe is, and she’s drowning, and there’s water in her lungs and stinging salt in her eyes and the sea is cold and harsh and unforgiving, pulling at her body and forcing it down onto the floor, pressing down at her shoulders and making her open her eyes, making her look into Farren’s and watching them glint with determination, watching Farren’s mouth move and count out one, two, three, say hold, and in and one two three, and Moe’s chest moves in time with hers and then the ocean pulls back, releases her from its unforgiving hold, but not without a warning that she better be careful next time, that it’s always there and waiting to welcome her back.

“That bad, huh?” Farren says with little humour in her voice when Moe comes back to it, sitting on her knees on the floor, panting as though she’s just been through three rounds with a local minor villain.

She laughs, pushes back her sweat-slicked hair, puts her face in her hands. Just breathes for a while. Then: “That bad, yeah.” Fuck.

It was supposed to be fine.

•

ask me other things!

#raevenlywrites #answering asks #wip ask game #wip: heroes bleed red #i'm so bad at writing a log line for this wip so i just gave up and meshed these words together #it's not really a summary is it?#whoops #also i probably went a little overboard with the setting #but hey #i once again learned new things that i didn't know before so that's amazing #and that excerpt... eep #i like it right now #but tomorrow will probably a different story b #because right now is like half past one in the morning #and i had an EXHAUSTING day today #but i wrote like 5k+ words #so that's grat #*great #ugh #let me go to bed now #but!#thank you so much for the ask!#and anyone else who wants to send some in please do #i linked the wip i'm talking about in the summary sentence #my writing #naduna creates #i should actually learn to use my tags #hbr: excerpt

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