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ina-nis · 9 months

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Because I’ve been thinking about it again, I want to talk about a passage in Pessoa’s Book of Disquiet...

(…) Wherever I’ve been in my life, in whatever situation, wherever I’ve lived and worked alongside other people, I’ve always been considered an intruder or, at the very least, a stranger. Among my relatives as among my acquaintances, I’ve always been thought of as an outsider. Not that even once have I been treated like that consciously, but other people’s spontaneous response to me ensured that I was.

I am... not sure why this happens. I, too, feel this way all the time. Even around peers, even around others (seemingly) like me, even though I know not a single person is 100% like another, and we’re all unique in our own particular ways - that’s not the issue after all... what I’m talking about, what I sense is this unshakeable alienation.

I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s not lack of knowledge, nor it is me denying my differences and similarities with others. I know all that already, it doesn’t help me feel any less alienated and that’s probably because they don’t feel the pain I feel...

Everyone everywhere has always treated me kindly. Very few people, I think, have had so few raise their voice against them, or been so little frowned at, so infrequently the object of someone else’s arrogance or irritability. But the kindness with which I was treated was always devoid of affection. For those who would naturally be closest to me, I was always a guest who, as such, was well treated, but only with the attentiveness due to a stranger and the lack of affection which is the lot of the intruder.

Yes, people extend their kindness out of politeness or because they truly care but it really doesn’t matter, does it? A kindness that is a pleasantry, devoid of affection, devoid of closeness, devoid of intimacy - the “normal” kind of kindness.

The problem is me. I’m looking for something else entirely. Not (only) kindness, but affection.

I’m sure that the source of all this — I mean other people’s attitudes towards me — lies principally in some obscure intrinsic flaw in my own temperament. Perhaps I communicate a coldness that unwittingly obliges others to reflect back my own lack of feeling.

Yeah... the sense there something really wrong with me and people notice, and that drives them away, despite my best efforts at improving and changing. It’s hard to not blame my very existence for that, huh? But if I start blaming myself and seeing this is a hopeless matter, then I cement these beliefs that I’m immutable and inherently “wrong”.

It’s not helpful but I don’t know what to do.

I’ve noticed this is a pattern for many, many other people who are alone. Despite their efforts at bettering themselves and trying to be more sociable/likeable, people just don’t seem interested, or never for long enough, or never being on the same page regarding relationships and like... yeah, I get it.

I’m severely mentally ill, and so are so many of these people, going to therapy can only do so much. Trying self-improvement can only do so much.

It’s hard to improve individually from a social issue.

I get to know people quickly. It doesn’t take long for them to grow to like me. But I never really gain their affection. I’ve never experienced devotion. To be loved has always seemed to me an impossibility, as unlikely as a complete stranger suddenly addressing me familiarly by my first name.

(…) I always wanted to please and always found other people’s indifference wounding. As an orphan of Fortune I have, like all orphans, a need to be the object of someone’s affection. I’ve always been starved of the realization of that need. I’ve grown so accustomed to this inevitable hunger that, at times, I’m not even sure I still feel the need to eat.

Yes, love... in particular, romantic love.

There’s so much pain in this I guess, because you feel so much, and so intensely, and doesn’t receive it back, or at all. You love with all your might while receiving what looked like crumbs of feelings - maybe that’s all they can give you, maybe for them it’s not “crumbs”, you’re just too needy, too clingy, too desperate and you’ll consume them whole. That’s a scary thought.

People like you, they even love you, but it’s not fulfilling for you because you need something else. Why can’t they adore you (like you do them)? Why can’t they want you (like you want them)? Why do you feel like you’re never even considered a thought, as an object of their desire and affection (as they are yours)?

With or without it, life still hurts me.

Yes, life does. That’s one of the many unfortunate things about being alive.

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if one could experience joy and happiness in a way that feels sustainable and intense, but instead, they feel pain despite the joy, and pain because of the joy too.

Life feels as if it was perpetually painful, as if it was a collection of brief joyful moments and little happinesses that existed in a foundation made out of agony. The agony is not brief, it’s neverending.

Others have someone who is devoted to them. I’ve never had anyone who even considered devoting themselves to me. That is for other people: me, they just treat decently.

It’s so painful, isn’t it? To not be chosen. To go through life all alone - “but you’re never truly alone” I know that. Does it matter? I am alone now, I feel alone now, because I don’t feel close to anyone in particular, because my life is devoid of the affection and love and intimacy, all things I crave and that make me suffer.

I receive kindness, I receive connections that feel good but they don’t give me what I need. I’m treated well and yet I feel like there’s the huge gape between me and the others, and the distance only gets bigger as time passes, until these connection are no more.

I recognize in myself the capacity to arouse respect but not affection. Unfortunately, I’ve done nothing that in itself justifies that initial respect and so no one has ever managed fully to respect me either.

People don’t see me in the way I see them. They don’t look at me with eyes filled with passion and a desire for closeness and to become intimate.

It hurts me that this makes me unable to sustain these connections, as I grow weary and resentful, not having my needs met. I almost don’t want to be liked or respected if that means I’ll have a bunch of one-sided relationships with others.

I’m aware this makes me a bad friend and person to be around, but can I help it? Can I help my feelings? Can I just control it and tell myself to be okay with it? Can I just “get over it” and “be normal” and not let resentment take over? If I could, I don’t think I would be in such sorry state, feeling cornered and stuck in some helpless predicament such as this...

#loneliness #resources #inanis post

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smallhandsdowhattheymust · 9 months

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Small Hands 2: Ioreth of Gondor

Can we talk for a second about the most overlooked hero of the siege of Minas Tirith? I mean my girl Ioreth, an assistant at the Houses of Healing, who is probably the character across the entire legendarium who is the most egregious combination of wise and totally disrespected.

When we first meet Ioreth, we're told right away that she's an old woman. That's based both on the physical description of her as an old woman and the fact that her name literally means "old woman" in Sindarin (leaving us to wonder exactly what Ioreth's parents were all about when they settled on a name for their little infant child many years ago). Whenever she talks, which she tends to do in a rushing stream of extremely verbose thoughts and digressions, you can practically hear everyone around her roll their eyes and start to tune out. More often than not, someone cuts her off before she's done talking. But even when she gets a complete thought out, her ideas and opinions are ignored or even outright mocked. In essence, Ioreth is roundly treated like a batty old grandma whose presence is tolerated but no one takes seriously.

That reaction, however, misses several major truths about our Ioreth. For one, she's incredibly brave. Let's not forget that she chose to remain in a city under siege. While all the other women have been evacuated, Ioreth remained in order to treat the sick and wounded--a monumental task, given the conditions--for as long as the city still stood. Based on the information available to Ioreth at the time, she couldn't have had many illusions about ever getting out of Minas Tirith alive. She could probably hope, at best, for a death that wouldn't be too brutal or prolonged. But she still stayed!

More importantly, Ioreth might not be book smart or sophisticated, but she's the Gondorian equivalent of street smart. She has that wisdom that comes from a long life of experience and a deep respect for traditional ways and customs. As a result, Ioreth is the only one to remember the critical old adage that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer, thus giving Gandalf the idea that Aragorn could heal Faramir, Eowyn and Merry. It's been more than a thousand years, at this point, since Gondor had a king, and the serious and learned men of the land have long since forgotten this ancient wisdom or dismiss it as (in this case literally) an old wives tale. But Ioreth remembers, and if she hadn't spoken up--and had at least one person in Gondor willing to actually listen to what she said--everyone in the Houses that had been afflicted by the Nazgul would probably have died. No happy reunion of our hobbits, no love story of Faramir and Eowyn, no happy end for Eomer, and perhaps no peaceful transition of power in Gondor without a living steward to hand over authority to King Elessar.

Old women are easily overlooked and dismissed even here in our world, and it's a shame that the fantasy world of Middle Earth is no better on that score. But the fact is that Ioreth's commitment to the traditions and knowledge of her ancestors and her willingness to give her opinion EVEN WHEN SHE KNOWS SHE WILL ALMOST ASSUREDLY BE IGNORED ends up not only saving the lives of 3 beloved and important people but probably shoring up the political stability of Gondor itself and, thus, ensuring the happy peace that King Elessar is able to preside over for all of the disparate lands of Gondor and Arnor.

#lord of the rings #lotr #tolkien #middle earth #small hands #minas tirith #ioreth

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otstudentwithalife · 1 year

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Week 4, just past halfway there!

Okay so I went into this week especially excited about my new patient. My new patient is a T12 complete spinal cord injury male who sustained this injury as a result of multiple gunshot wounds in February 2023 and he is paraplegic. I’ve worked with this specific diagnosis before which is why I’ve been confident in my assessment techniques and treatment principles, everything felt so already polished. But as per usual, nothing is ever that straight cut on fieldwork, and I learnt that the hard way. Even though the aim of rehabilitation in the acute and subacute period in spinal cord injuries is to prevent complications that may occur long term, my patient’s pressure sore development has delayed his treatment regime.

This curveball has had me racking my brain thinking of activities for my patient outside of ADL re-training which is a priority for him based on evidence in the Biomechanical AFR. The goals of the FOR are to prevent deterioration and maintain existing movements for occupational performance, to restore movements for occupational performance and to compensate/adapt for loss of movements in occupational performance such as ADL’s.(Biomechanical Frame of Reference| OT Theory, n.d.). So with my patient’s unhealed pressure sore hindering his ability to engage safely in ADL training, I had to now think of activities that will optimise his upper limb strength, range of motion and endurance which would in turn later improve his occupational performance in his ADL re-training and mobility. Now with the risk of doing physiotherapy instead of OT when trying to achieve these aims, I had to find activity based ways my patient can increase his upper limb muscle strength, ROM and endurance while sitting on the edge of his bed which is currently all he can do. This is when I had to implement evidence based practice when trying to find ways to meet my aims, but also observing the precautions while also ensuring that the acute rehab phase for my patient is optimally used.

Evidence-based practice (EBP) is the conscientious and judicious use of current best evidence in conjunction with clinical expertise and patient values to guide health care decisions. (Titler, 2008) So because of my lack of knowledge on pressure sores, I had to zip back into research and find evidence of ways that I can still treat my patient to prevent complications. With the advice of the Head OT being to focus on pressure relief techniques, upper extremity client factor improvement and maintenance of ROM in lower extremities , I started my research rabbit hole and found that according to the Agency for Clinical Innovation, 2020, When the person with a SCI is on bed rest with a pressure injury the occupational therapist should:

inspect their skin;

discuss possible causes of the pressure injury;

provide advice about positioning and bed mobility

gather information about their daily routine including how functional activities are performed

consider care needs – to facilitate bed rest and to prepare for gradual return to seating when skin has healed.

Now that I’ve done that evidence-based practice based on clinical expertise is guiding me to find ways of keeping the LL range of motion maintained and improve UL muscle strength due to the amount of dependence there now is on those extremities to facilitate independence in occupations for my patient. So, at the risk of doing the physiotherapists job, I planned an UL muscle strengthening session that would definitely work on muscle strength and my supervisor told me that that could not be my entire session and for some reason in that moment I had a light bulb moment and thought of doing a grooming nail cutting session. Bear in mind I barely slept last night trying to think of an activity and my brain was literally mashed potatoes and blank. Super odd!

because research from Otr/L (2022), “If patients are diligent with therapy, recovery often happens more quickly. That’s because the exercises done during therapy are repetitious and help stimulate neuroplasticity the brain’s ability to rewire itself. Patients that participate in daily therapy, or consistent therapy throughout the week, often achieve major milestones by the 5 year mark. Patients that suffered mild or moderate strokes often achieve a full recovery by this point. Those that sustained massive strokes are often still making progress.”

We did ball kicking exercises which she struggled with due to the cognitive fallout and learnt disuse because she would forget she can actually move her RLL and try to passively mobilize it using her unaffected hand. So, I tabled that due to safety implications of her mobilizing outside of her wheelchair anyway and moved onto wheelchair mobility and she was a PRO I tell you. I was out here thinking she’ll struggle, a simple straight-line curse will be okay today, but she zipped through it and even told me not to help her at some point. I was internally like “GET IT MY ANGEL”. Now my fieldwork this week forced me to research ways to adapt my sessions due to the emergence of complications and factors I had not seen before and the use of clinical expertise from colleagues guided me and my intervention plan adaptations into new ways and methods of achieving the same aims I have set for each client.

References

Titler MG. The Evidence for Evidence-Based Practice Implementation. In: Hughes RG, editor. Patient Safety and Quality: An Evidence-Based Handbook for Nurses. Rockville (MD): Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality (US); 2008 Apr. Chapter 7. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK2659

Nas, K., Yazmalar, L., Şah, V., Aydın, A., & Öneş, K. (2015). Rehabilitation of spinal cord injuries. World journal of orthopedics, 6(1), 8–16. https://doi.org/10.5312/wjo.v6.i1.8

Biomechanical Frame of Reference|OT Theory. (n.d.). https://ottheory.com/therapy-model/biomechanical-frame-of-reference

Foy, T., Perritt, G., Thimmaiah, D., Heisler, L., Offutt, J. L., Cantoni, K., Hseih, C. H., Gassaway, J., Ozelie, R., & Backus, D. (2011). The SCIRehab project: treatment time spent in SCI rehabilitation. Occupational therapy treatment time during inpatient spinal cord injury rehabilitation. The journal of spinal cord medicine, 34(2), 162–175. https://doi.org/10.1179/107902611X12971826988093

Meyer, S., Verheyden, G., Brinkmann, N., Dejaeger, E., De Weerdt, W., Feys, H., Gantenbein, A. R., Jenni, W., Laenen, A., Lincoln, N. B., Putman, K., Schuback, B., Schupp, W., Thijs, V., & De Wit, L. (2015). Functional and Motor Outcome 5 Years After Stroke Is Equivalent to Outcome at 2 Months. Stroke, 46(6), 1613–1619. https://doi.org/10.1161/strokeaha.115.009421

Hatem, S. M., Saussez, G., Della Faille, M., Prist, V., Zhang, X., Dispa, D., & Bleyenheuft, Y. (2016). Rehabilitation of Motor Function after Stroke: A Multiple Systematic Review Focused on Techniques to Stimulate Upper Extremity Recovery. Frontiers in human neuroscience, 10, 442. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2016.00442

Bunketorp-Käll, L., Pekna, M., Pekny, M., Samuelsson, H., Blomstrand, C., & Nilsson, M. (2020). Motor Function in the Late Phase After Stroke: Stroke Survivors' Perspective. Annals of rehabilitation medicine, 44(5), 362–369. https://doi.org/10.5535/arm.20060

Otr/L, C. M. (2022). What to Expect from Stroke Recovery After 5 Years (Looking at Studies and Stories). Flint Rehab. https://www.flintrehab.com/stroke-recovery-after-5-years/

#student #ot3 #occupational therapist #student life

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

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Yan Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Beidou & Ningguang / Courting Darling.

Warnings: Stalking, implied blackmail, kidnapping, and gaslighting. Note: this is a bit of an amalgamation from different asks i’ve gotten, put into one thing bc i thirst for these six characters so hard .

Childe:

“What’s life without a little adventure? You can stand to miss work for a day or two, it’ll still be there waiting for you when we get back. People have even gone so far as to say I’m an absolute joy to be around. You want to know who said that? Sorry, that source is staying a secret.”

Childe is an erratic whirlwind of highs and lows. You never know what to expect from him, and he likes it that way, always keeping you on your toes. He doesn’t bother with having his friendliness appear genuine. If you want to doubt his goodwill, then so be it, he won’t stop you. It just makes it all the more interesting to keep you around should you be wary of his presence.

He doesn’t care for the traditional conventions surrounding romance. It isn’t his thing, and he’s used to being considered the odd one out of every crowd, so why stop now? Childe doesn’t tone down any aspects of his bloodthirsty personality in your presence. It’s difficult to tell how serious he’s being since most of it takes the form of jokes or other lighthearted jests. In his mind, the fact he’s even spending so much time with you should make it obvious he’s interested. Whether that’s good or not.

You’re going to be dragged all over the place. Childe’s stamina is seemingly an infinite well, as he takes you from activity to activity. By the end of the day, you’ll be exhausted. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take no for an answer, weaseling his way into your schedule despite your protests. Childe is particularly fond of getting into situations where a fight is inevitable, purposefully taking you to areas with monsters to show off his combat prowess.

“Did you get a look at that, [First]? Aha, I haven’t had this much fun in ages! You already want to head back? Hm, I don’t know, the night is still young. Stop dragging your feet or I might just have to carry you. Not that I’m complaining, should that be the outcome. It’s up to you. Oh! Now that’s the spirit! I’ll try not to be hurt by how fast you’re moving now.”

Diluc:

“Ah, [First], I take it you’re doing well. I couldn’t help but notice you eyeing this book at the market earlier. I’ve had a copy of it for ages, but with how busy things are, rarely do I have time to read. I’d be appreciative should you accept this and give it a better home.”

Diluc is self-assured in many areas of his life, romance is not one of them. He knows how to carry himself in the company of businessmen, staying polite and vigilant, but this rigid method doesn’t work in his favor when it comes to wooing you. To soften the blow on his side, Diluc tells himself that it was never about a relationship anyway. That his main priority was and will always be to ensure your safety. He tells himself this, but... isn’t sure if he really believes it.

He’s a perfect example of pining from afar. Subconsciously, he’ll drift towards areas you tend to linger around, hoping to spot you amidst the bustling crowds. Each time he tells himself that this’ll finally be the time he approaches you. The opportunity is set before him, waiting to be taken advantage of, but he rarely follows through with his desire.

It frustrates Diluc to no end how easily others flock to you. He’ll stand there, still as a statue, eyes boring into whatever pest currently holds your attention. This would be the push to finally send him your way. It’s a surprise to you both when Mondstadt’s wine tycoon materializes by your side, politely asking to speak in private. Truth be told, he just can’t stand the thought of another person holding your attention that isn’t him.

“I apologize for my abruptness back there. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about for some time, and well... would you consider having dinner with me tonight? I’d appreciate your company.”

Kaeya:

“It’s a funny thing, really. How we keep bumping into one another like this. Ah... that suspicious expression, it wounds me deep, sweetheart. When did you start looking at me like that, I wonder?”

There’s no doubting Kaeya’s interest in you, from the first time he sauntered over to you and started a conversation. The problem you have is deciding how genuine his advances are. While Kaeya might not be the textbook definition of a heart-wrenching playboy, you’re familiar enough with the many rumors surrounding him to be wary. It doesn’t help that he’ll point this out to you when guessing the source of your apprehension.

His methods are, oddly enough, effective. Kaeya balances the various aspects of seduction with ease. He reveals just enough about himself to draw out your attention, before focusing the conversation back onto you. You’ll never get to stop and realize how little you know about the man sitting in front of you, he makes certain of that.

Kaeya might hide certain aspects of himself, but his dubious morality is never concealed. He has you entirely wrapped around his finger, words validating his actions falling from his lips with the utmost ease; he’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll start a conversation heated about something you’ve learned, only for it to end wondering why you were ever upset in the first place.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get all riled up over something like this. Don’t you trust me by now? When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? You need to take a look at the bigger picture. Hey, take a seat. I’ll sit here all night explaining to you if it’s necessary.”

→[More underneath the cut].

Zhongli:

“There must be something that I can assist you with. It may not look it, but I’m familiar with many fields of work, even obscure ones. Please allow me to lend a hand.”

Zhongli, despite having been around for many centuries, is somewhat clueless in romantic pursuits. He’s aware of his fondness for you, but doesn’t know what to do with it. This leads him to becoming your shadow for some time. He focuses on what he knows best: observation and processing new information. Your every little movement will be analyzed and tuck into the back of his mind for later usage.

Zhongli’s soft over the idea of you coming to rely on him for everything. He prides himself on his wealth of knowledge and work ethic, believing it a strong appeal, one that he puts on full display when you’re around. It’s not rare for you to overhear neighbors and friends speak highly about Zhongli. They’ll mention in passing how they were having difficulty with something, only for Zhongli to come around and help without asking for anything in return.

This is exactly what he’s been hoping and waiting for. Zhongli has patience and sets himself up to be a desirable partner in your eyes, the efforts from his labor coming into fruition. Before you even speak to him for the first time, you’re likely to think highly of him, having heard all the ways he’s helped people close to you. Now that the stage is properly set, he’s ready to make his interest in you more evident.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, [First]. Oh? You can say the same for me? Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations. I had just been on my way to Yanshang Teahouse, would you care to join me? My treat, of course.”

Beidou:

“You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a voyage with my crew and I. I’ll set up a nice cabin just for you, how does that sound? Hm? Special treatment? Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, lass.”

Beidou’s attention is overwhelming and oftentimes dangerous. Traditional social conventions are nothing but a waste of time for her, meaning that common courtesy is disregarded in favor of always speaking her mind. Which might not be so bad if she wasn’t so amorous. Even the most oblivious person couldn’t miss Beidou’s overt favor towards you.

This reverent display of affection is only exacerbated when she’s drunk, face flushed and an arm swung tightly around your shoulder. She doesn’t care who sees, who’s judging, or what gossip will be born from her actions. Beidou makes a point of showing everyone in the vicinity that even if you aren’t officially partners yet, a claim has been staked on you.

Whether it be coercion or some other unsightly method, Beidou is intent on bringing you on her ship at least once. Or that’s how she initially phrased it to you. Imagine your surprise, that when you finally caved so she’d drop the subject, her crew was untying the ropes keeping the boat at port.

“The fun’s just getting started, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t get all teary-eyed yet, sweetheart, I know you’ll come around. This’ll be a story sung by sailors for generations to come.”

Ningguang:

“If I’m being honest, not many are given the opportunity to speak to me outside of business-related ventures. I never thought I’d find it this... pleasant. I hope you’ll continue to entertain me as you do now.”

Ningguang starts off her wooing in a subtle, almost coquettish manner. She is confident in her charm and brilliance. Not many have been gifted in the art of conversation to the same extent Ningguang has, her silver tongue paired with quick intellect making it difficult for you to escape. She’ll corner you verbally without you even noticing it.

Ningguang finds amusement in how you stumble over your words, pure of heart and not chained down by special interests. Your forthright but considerate demeanor intoxicates her. She’s used to people cowering in her presence or trying too hard to pursue their goals. You might even earn a rare compliment or two, disguised as politeness, that doesn’t register for hours.

She is a lady of fine taste. The sky’s the limit when it comes to her wealth, which is unrivaled throughout Tevyat, and you’ll be quick to notice this. Ningguang is most partial to sending you traditional Liyue adornments, believing the rich culture behind each piece suits your beauty. She’s also fond of the fact that when you wear her gifts, everyone in the vicinity will know it’s from her, due to its extraordinarily high cost.

“Do you like my latest gift, little dove? It was made custom with you in mind, an unrivaled display of craftmanship, if I may add. Wear this and carry me with you... always.”

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dark1k · 3 years

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Oh no.

❛ people get hurt if they get too close to me. ❜

Connor saying this to markus.

*runs*

Don't run too far, haha! Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy! :)

•••

"Next question!"

News conferences always dragged on relentlessly. Markus tapped his fingers against the table in a random pattern, waiting as the next journalist was selected to speak. They had been asked about their demands, the law-making process, even opinions of CyberLife's future. He was accompanied by the rest of New Jericho's leadership and felt comforted by the presence of Connor and North beside him, with Josh and Simon sitting at either sides of the stage.

It had been a standard, boring conference thus far.

"Markus – as leader of the android movement and subsequent revolution, are you not fearful of the RK800's programming?"

You could hear a pin clatter against the floor in the sudden quietness of the room. Markus was stunned into silence and felt Connor stiffen beside him, his LED blaring red for a second before transitioning back to yellow. Even North was uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"His name is Connor." Markus began, an edge to his voice that had not existed prior, "And what evidence nor relevance does this question have to the nature of our desires to be seen and treated as equals?" Markus swept his eyes to the android next to him and felt his heart wrench as Connor's posture had turned rigidly still, his eyes blank and unseeing towards the crowd of cameras and flashing lights in front of them.

"With the recent breach in CyberLife databases, private information that had been unknown to the masses has since gone viral. It is now public knowledge that the RK800 possesses an artificial intelligence program that can be accessed from any point within the state of Michigan. Rumors have begun to spread that such a feature can pose as a threat to the progress you have been trying to achieve. Are you not wary of such accusations?"

Markus clenched his fists against the table, any trace of exhaustion long forgotten. How dare this journalist ask such an invasive and offensive question. Connor had confided about the night atop that stage months ago, how he had been so fearful of losing control, his autonomy, and Markus only reassured him that there was nothing to apologize for. He ultimately defeated his programming and was a deviant – his own person – just like the rest of them.

The nerve of this journalist to flaunt one of Connor's biggest insecurities, even unknowingly, had Markus seeing red for the first time since he stared down the FBI in the middle of Detroit's streets.

"I'll have you know that I am neither fearful nor wary of the android sitting beside me, the one you refuse the decency of referring to by name. Connor has been the most formidable in our campaign for android rights and has sacrificed far more than you will ever begin to comprehend. CyberLife's security breach is of no interest to us as we have no regard for the corporation that profited off of our slavery for years. Your question lacks knowledge, empathy, and sophistication for the station you unfortunately represent. This news conference is over, no further questions."

Contrary to the silence from two minutes earlier, the room erupted into shouts and clambering. Markus paid it no mind as he stood with his fellow leaders, immediately grasping onto Connor's arm. The detective barely seemed to register his touch, the only acknowledgement being a sideways look into his eyes before he followed Josh down the stairs.

Wirelessly communicating with his friends, he asked them to walk ahead towards their shared green room as he led Connor to an empty meeting room nearby. Once the door was shut, Markus gathered the other into his arms, his worry only growing as Connor remained unresponsive against his chest.

"Come here, come on now. Don't even listen to what he had to say, he was completely out of line and had some nerve." Markus pleaded, rubbing his back in the hopes of getting some kind of answer. "Connor, you've helped our revolution more than anyone and are so innately alive. You feel, you care, you love, you create, and the fact that he used Amanda and the abuse CyberLife inflicted on you is fucked up."

Those words apparently snapped Connor out of whatever headspace he had been stuck in because he immediately rips himself from Markus' arms and begins to pace around the room, LED shining bright red for a second time. He anxiously twists his hands, his quarter forgotten on their shared nightstand. Neither thought it would be needed today.

"Markus, you have to see some credibility in what he asked. They see me as a liability, now more than ever, thanks to CyberLife being hacked. They know about Amanda, about my mind palace, I wouldn't be shocked if they found the reports I sent while acting as their machine." Markus frowned, opening his mouth to retort, to exclaim that the humans had no right to be privy to such private information. But Connor spoke before he could utter a single word, his next statement crushing his soul.

"People get hurt if they get too close to me."

Momentarily uprooted by those words, Markus then notices the unshed tears in Connor's eyes and the way his chest appears to heave. He runs a quick scan and nearly drops from the shock of seeing his stress levels displayed at 88%.

Crossing the room in three large strides, he grabs Connor by the shoulders and stops his pacing. "Hey, look at me. Okay, Con? I need you to pay attention and follow my lead, can you do that? Just watch my chest and try to match my breathing." Markus takes a deep breath in and holds it in for a few seconds before slowly exhaling, making sure Connor is following along. It takes a few minutes, but soon enough, both androids are breathing at the same time and Markus is rubbing the other's shoulders, trying to keep his attention in the present.

"No. Connor, the people you're closest to have only benefited from your presence. You help them heal, you inspire them to grow. You advocate for them to become the best versions of themselves. You are the exact opposite of pain, you are warmth personified."

And as Markus gathers the trembling android into his arms, quietly hushing and whispering words of endearment into his ear, he vows to do everything within his power to ensure Connor never feels this helpless again. The gunshot wounds he received in battle hurt less than the sight of his boyfriend not only suffering, but believing such hateful words.

He softly kisses his forehead and they stay pressed together for what feels like a second, a minute, an hour, a lifetime.

#rk1k #rk1000 #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh #markus x connor #jericrew #detroit become human #angst but with a hopeful ending(?)#my writing #I honestly didn't expect to write this much #but here we are #ANYWAYS

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jesawyer · 3 years

Text

No Power Left to the Vanquished

My feelings, Conscript Fathers, are extremely different, when I contemplate our circumstances and dangers, and when I revolve in my mind the sentiments of some who have spoken before me. Those speakers, as it seems to me, have considered only how to punish the traitors who have raised war against their country, their parents, their altars, and their homes; but the state of affairs warns us rather to secure ourselves against them, than to take counsel as to what sentence we should pass upon them. Other crimes you may punish after they have been committed; but as to this, unless you prevent its commission, you will, when it has once taken effect, in vain appeal to justice. When the city is taken, no power is left to the vanquished.

- Sallust, quoting Cato the Younger, Bellum Catilinae

In the late years of the Roman Republic, a conspiracy arose from within the ranks of the Senate. The aristocrat Lucius Sergius Catilina attempted to seize control of the government after his bid for consulship failed. One of the consuls, Cicero, exposed the conspiracy and Catilina fled Rome to prepare an army. Five of the conspirators were captured after the letters they wrote, in which they urged people to join the conspiracy, were intercepted. The letters were read before the Senate and Cicero urged for the execution of their authors.

Julius Caesar pled for patience and clemency; after all, Rome had laws and customs to observe. He did not want to set a precedent that the ways of Rome could be set aside because they were inconvenient. Cato the Younger, a longtime (and future) opponent of Caesar, spoke next. His appeal won out because the Senate understood the reality of the scenario he was describing: when an institution is in imminent danger from those who seek to dismantle it, you must question if strict adherence to the institution’s laws and customs is worth more than the existence of the institution itself.

Fourteen years later, Julius Caesar, champion of Roman laws and customs, crossed the Rubicon in defiance of law, custom, and the explicit order of the Senate to mark what would become the end of the Roman Republic and the beginning of Caesar’s rule of the Roman Empire. Caesar’s respect for Roman norms and civitas ended when they put him in personal danger. As for Cato, he died with the republic and subsequently became its most lionized martyr.

In 1923, Adolf Hitler and Erich Ludendorff, accompanied by hundreds of other Nazis and members of the paramilitary Sturmabteilung staged the Beer Hall Putsch, an attempted coupe d'état against the regional Bavarian government. Hitler’s goal was to pressure the elected representatives in Munich to turn against the federal government in Berlin through a public show of force and violence. It failed. Hitler was imprisoned, but he used his trial testimony to continue spreading his propaganda and dictated Mein Kampf while serving his sentence. The Beer Hall Putsch was a success for the Nazi party in spite failing to achieve Hitler’s goals.

Ten years later, Hitler was the presidentially-appointed Reichskanzler of Germany. While the Nazis had the most seats in the Reichstag, it was still a minority party. To ensure the passage of the Enabling Act, which gave the chancellor the power to enact laws without the involvement of the Reichstag, Hermann Göring, President of the Reichstag, suspended the rules for quorum and outlawed the opposition KPD (Communist party) from participating. Sturmabteilung forces entered the assembly chamber to surround and intimidate the non-Nazi representatives into voting for the law. The passage of the Enabling Act marked the end of the Weimar Republic and the beginning of Hitler’s dictatorship over the German Reich.

The differences between the Beer Hall Putsch and and the Enabling Act were differences of organizational power, instruments, and outcome, not intent. In both cases, the same bad actors were seeking to overthrow an existing government. President Paul von Hindenburg and Franz von Papen failed to recognize that Hitler and the Nazis not only threatened the principles of the aristocracy or their other political opponents, but the Weimar Republic itself.

Was the Weimar Republic worth saving? It was, by most accounts, including the little my grandmother remembered of it, an awful state. Its government was, putting it mildly, dysfunctional. Many of its citizens lived through an era of terrible poverty and violence following the end of the first World War. But the Reich is what came after. All other avenues of evolutionary institutional or truly revolutionary change ended with the fall of the republic. The world suffered for it.

Trump and his allies have been attacking American institutions for the last four years. Trump doesn’t have the ideological drive of Hitler or the strategic acumen of Caesar. He just has the most base populist instincts to agitate a mob. What he shares with Hitler, Caesar, and other would-be dictators is a desire to remove opposition and the institutional mechanisms of opposition through whatever means are at his disposal. If he can do it through an executive order, he will. If he can do it through political pressure, he will. If can do it through intimidation, quid pro quo exchanges, and other illegal actions, he will. And if it requires a mob of supporters to storm the capitol during a Senate session to overturn their certification vote, he’ll try use that, too.

People have been likening what happened in the U.S. capitol to the Beer Hall Putsch. It’s a fair and reasonable comparison, though Hitler did actually march in his own coup attempt and was wounded during its defeat; Trump just gathered people together, lit a fuse, and watched them go. But it’s important to remember that the differences between the Beer Hall Putsch and the Enabling Act were of organizational power, instruments, and outcome. What if there had been more pro-Trump agitators at the capitol? What if the Senate had not been evacuated in time? What if Trump had more supporters within the Senate to begin with? What if Trump were even mildly more intellectually competent or the various online factional leaders in his mob were more coordinated in their tactics and goals?

Facebook, twitter, and other social media sites have deplatformed Trump. Several companies have suspended hosting services for online communities that have been involved in coordinating fascist, white supremacist mobs in the past. Trump’s supporters, in ignorance or bad faith, have decried that this violates 1st Amendment rights. They are wrong, but even if they were not, the events of January 6th, planned armed protests on the 17th, and threats of violence against Biden’s inauguration on the 20th, represent the kind of imminent institutional danger that Cato spoke of during the Catiline Conspiracy. “When the city is taken, no power is left to the vanquished.”

We have wrestled with how the government and corporations should moderate social media since these platforms emerged. We will continue to do so in the future. While we must take guard against the transformation of severe actions in time of crisis into the de facto way of handling our day-to-day problems, we must also recognize and act to resolve crises as soon as they appear if we have any interest in preserving the institutions they threaten.

I think of myself as a socialist. My political thought is not as educated, as principled, or as nuanced as many other socialists I know, some of whom think that any efforts to preserve or work within existing American institutions is, at best, naïve; in practice, counterproductive; and, at worst, actively reactionary. I often look at our institutions through the lens of a designer. When I do, I see systems that do not work to produce meaningful social change. I see systems which do not often work to accomplish any goals of its body politic. In practice, our systems serve the needs and interests of the ruling class and the powers that have the means and knowledge to manipulate the members of that class. The systems confine the use of violence and its instruments to the state, as the state sees fit, often to the detriment and mortal peril of the most disadvantaged and vulnerable among us. It is hard for me to sympathize with those who deify the state and its institutions, especially a state like America that treats its citizens so cruelly. It becomes even harder when adjacent political cousins perennially denounce any hesitance to support milquetoast centrist candidates as tantamount to treason. Even so, when fascists, white supremacists, advocates of genocide are positioning themselves to imminently dismantle these institutions through intimidation and violence, it is not difficult for me to see the value in their immediate preservation.

But if the state and its institutions do survive the next few weeks, we will still live in a world where social media and the principles of freedom of speech are vulnerable to the predations of those who would use their contentious legal status to spread lies, foment popular dissent, and, if necessary, coordinate another violent coup d'état when the time is ripe. The next time, perhaps the popular figurehead will not be as ignorant, as incompetent, as craven, as plainly stupid as Donald Trump. You can already see his would-be successors positioning themselves for 2024 in the waning hours of his presidency. The next time, the populist agitators may be more focused in their goals, more coherent in their strategy, more careful in their communication. Those among them who have witnessed the spectacular failure of imbeciles like Jake Angeli, Adam Johnson, and Richard Barnett may be shrewd enough to learn from the disaster as they prepare for the future.

The Weimar Republic became vulnerable to the schemes of the Nazi party because its representatives failed to address the needs of its citizens and because its leaders failed to recognize the magnitude of threat posed by leaders like Adolf Hitler, propagandists like Goebbels, and paramilitary groups like the Sturmabteilung. Our elected representatives may have finally, at this recent brink of disaster, comprehended the threat that Trump and his supporters pose to the existence of the state. After they make their way through January 20th, the federal government will have to address the needs of a disaffected, impoverished, violently-policed, often disenfranchised populace. They will also have to disentangle the mess that the government has created through their laissez-faire attitude toward social and news media regulation. Their actions in the immediate future will tell if they intend to effect meaningful change or if they are content to use the next four years to pave a road to the ruin of the republic.

#essay #politics

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daily-escuella · 3 years

Text

Drawn Out Feelings - Chapter 4

Charles x f!Reader

Narrowly escaping with your lives from the attack of a ruthless gang leaves more than a physical scar. Charles notices.

((I've been dealing with some stuff and I've written my coping methods with that here more or less. I'm sorry if this experience is not similar to your own! It's also in no way meant to be advice in place of professional help, I just like to think about how Charles would help <3 ))

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Bonus

Word count: 3628

tw: Mentions of the Skinner Brothers - mildly graphic

The journey to Blackwater was a long one in your conditions, but you’d finally made it.

Before entering the heart of the town, you made a quick detour to ensure Taima was properly treated. The stables were softly lit by gas lanterns and despite the late hour it was thankfully always staffed. The young boy sweeping out front looked nervous as he took in the sight of you two approaching him. He took a hesitant step back and you glanced at Charles, worried Taima would be turned away, but luckily the stable manager noticed and asked what you needed. Charles briefly explained the encounter in the forest and the man nodded solemnly, commenting that he’d seen horses come from Tall Trees in much worse condition lately. You slipped the man a few extra coins for his trouble and assured him you’d be back soon.

Reaching the main street you could feel the eyes of the townsfolk burning into you. A hush even seemed to fall over the saloon as you shambled past. You’d caught your reflection in one of the windows and could see what Charles meant. You looked like you’d been through hell, and in a way you had.

Pushing into the doctor’s office you made quite the pair. The doctor looked up and did a double take before stammering, “H- how can I help you... fine... folks today?”

Charles explained the situation to the man and his face shifted from one of apprehension to one of a man passionate and knowledgeable in his profession, his brow furrowing in concern as he decided what was the best way to help. Charles asked the doctor to look at your arm first but you insisted you were stable for now, and persuaded him to check your friend’s shoulder instead. Charles must have been suffering because he relented quicker than you expected.

The doctor led you both to his back room where Charles stripped his bloodied shirt and sat in the operating chair. The doctor picked away the scraps of fabric you had haphazardly stuck to his wound. Charles tried to keep a neutral expression but you could see slight twinges in his features as the doctor worked. Your heart sank watching him in pain, but you knew he was in good hands now.

It only took 20 or so minutes and the doctor had Charles stitched up. It wasn’t the neatest wound, but the doctor did what he could to make a clean scar. He applied a salve and a bandage to it. He handed Charles a bottle of tonic and fresh gauze before saying, “Have your wife apply this twice a day and you’ll heal up in no time.” Even if the doctor’s assumption about you two was correct, you knew Charles would rather treat his wound himself, though you’d still offer to help.

Charles exchanged an amused look with you before thanking the man and making room for your turn in the chair.

“My…” the doctor breathed, unwrapping the bandages on your arm, “this was treated well.” he nodded in approval at Charles’ work. “It’ll take some small surgery, but once the arrow head is removed this should heal up just fine. I doubt there’ll even be much of a scar.”

You smiled up at your friend, thankful for everything he’d done for you both during the traumatic evening. Charles smiled back at you, a look of relief on his face at the good news.

~~~

Walking back into camp that night, exhausted, wounded and thoroughly shaken, you’d drawn quite the attention. Charles made sure you were alright before hitching Taima and relieving her of her saddle. He made his way to Dutch to report the incident and explained the new danger in Tall Trees.

You shambled to your spot in the women’s tent, feeling the curious eyes of the camp on you. The ladies fluttered around you, asking more questions than you could answer. From concern about your wellbeing to prying questions about why you spent the day in the forest with Charles. You explained the best you could but eventually had to ask for some peace. Thankfully they obliged with looks of understanding before flitting off to join the others in their nighttime routines.

You watched, amused, as Karen chastised the Callendar boys for their dangerous antics by the fire, while Micah and Javier played an extra bloody game of five finger filet. For the first time in a while, you actually felt happy to be back at camp, surrounded by killer outlaws and criminals. At least these ones were on your side.

It took over a week before you started to feel a little like yourself again. You were lucky to make it out with only relatively small injuries. With Charles’ help and the salve the doctor had given you, you were both healing well. Your mind however was not. You had never seen a person die before, and the image burned in your mind was graphic. You found you’d been jumpy, more than usual, and could barely eat. When you looked at the chunks of meat in Pearson’s stew you couldn’t help being reminded of the man’s head you saw explode. Instead you’d sit at the edge of camp with an apple or some crackers and nibble at them while you sketched to take your mind off of things.

You knew most folk in the camp were killers. They’d all had their reasons, some of them good, some of them not so much. It just seemed like a natural part of outlaw life. You knew they killed, and yet you’d never really pictured them killing. Imagining Charles, the gentle soul you knew, ending lives made you feel ill. He never killed unless he had to, which you reminded yourself of often, but visualizing it at all pulled your stomach down. It had to be something folk got used to seeing, but you couldn’t even think about that right now.

You took another small nibble of the apple you’d been holding for ages. Scraping a layer off with your bottom teeth, you savoured the flavour and tried to imagine it wasn’t brains. Your stomach churned and you couldn’t be sure anymore if it was hunger or sickness.

A footstep crunched behind you and you knew it was Charles making himself known. You turned to smile up at him but his face was creased with thought. Furrowing your brow in reply you asked, “Are you okay?”

He lowered himself to the ground next to you and sighed while gazing out at the grassy fields stretching across the horizon. “I’m uh, not good with this sort of thing… I want…” he paused, chewing his cheek as he searched for the right words, “I... I need to apologize... properly. For everything.”

“You’ve made it up to me already! It’s okay.” You laughed lightly, trying to assure him. He spent all week trying in his own way to show you he was sorry. Beyond helping you treat your arm, he’d left you new plants to draw, more miracle tonic for your pain, and brought you coffee in the mornings. You’d had to ask him to stop before folk started talking.

He kept his gaze down and continued regardless, “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I was... being selfish, taking you out there. You got hurt because of me. I was careless.”

“You got hurt too. There’s no way you could have known,” You said, looking at him seriously. After a thoughtful pause you added, “It was selfish of me too, you know.”

He turned to look at you, a puzzled expression on his face as he waited for you to elaborate.

“I wanted-” you started confidently, before a stab of nerves hit your stomach. You cleared your throat and started again, “I wanted more time to draw you.” You tried to keep a neutral expression, but felt heat flush your cheeks.

“You can draw me here all you want.” He stated. And he was right of course, but not without the prying eyes of your fellow gang members.

“I meant... privately.” You clarified, then, realizing the possible nuance in your wording, interjected with, “away from people here, I mean.” Your cheeks flushed a little brighter and you were forced to look away.

He chuckled softly, then after a pause said darkly, “I know you’re not okay.”

Your eyebrows raised and you blinked at him incredulously, “What do you mean?”

He looked at you sincerely and confessed, “you haven’t been eating.” Your downcast expression told him he was right. “What you saw out there. I wish I could have saved you from that. No one should have to see that.”

“You did save me.” You reminded him. “I’ll be okay. You’ve seen all those things and more, and you are, aren’t you?”

He grimaced at your assumption. “...I’ve suffered.” His words hung heavy in the air and you felt your heart sink. “I want to save you from that.”

You sat in silence for a while, but it wasn’t comfortable like usual. There were feelings left unspoken and they tugged at your heart. You simply didn’t have words for them yet. “I’m sorry.” You spoke finally, “I didn’t mean to imply-”

“It’s alright.” He cut you off but glanced at you reassuringly. “I don’t talk about myself much. You wouldn’t have known…” He paused to take a breath, looking out over the landscape once more before continuing, “I’ve never really had a- …an easy life. We left my mother’s tribe before I could remember, lived rough for a while… Sometime later my mother was taken away by military men and I never saw her again... My father was never the same. He was drunk and angry and miserable…”

When Charles paused you weren’t sure if he would go on. His eyes, darkened by memory, were looking far beyond the horizon. You wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him in some way but you felt frozen, instead you watched him helplessly, breath caught in your throat.

After another moment he breathed out solemnly and continued, “I was only 13 when I finally ran away from all that... I learned from a young age that the world ain’t a very kind place. Not to no one, certainly, but especially to folk like me.” His words hung in the air for a moment. “I just… want to try and make it a little better before I go.” He shook his head with a small laugh and added, “I haven’t been doing a very good job of that though.”

“Charles,” You breathed softly, your heart aching for him, “you’ve made it better for me. That counts for something.”

“So getting shot at is a better world for you?” he joked darkly.

“That’s not what I meant. Since meeting you I- ...I was so alone here. I was happy to have people to talk to and look after, but I felt like an outsider until I met you. You fit in so well from the start, and now I feel like I do too.” You explained sincerely.

His face softened and he gave you a small smile. After another pause he stood back up and said, “just, make sure you finish that, please,” gesturing at your apple. The flesh you’d bitten into was already turning brown, but for him, you’d try. You nodded at him and he looked approvingly at you before turning to start his shift on night guard duty, his eyes seemed to be focused on a thought a million miles away.

You sighed sadly as you watched him leave, kicking yourself for your earlier assumptions about him. He’d always seemed so strong, so confident, but he was hiding a lot of pain. Maybe someday he’d tell you more. Maybe someday, you’d have the stomach to handle what he’d say. You took a large bite from the untouched side of your apple, and tried very hard not to imagine brains.

~~~

As the days passed, the unusual heatwave finally relented. Winter approached but in southern West Elizabeth that only meant more rain. The days were still warm and your proximity to Flat Iron Lake made the humidity that much worse. Despite feeling coated with sweat and fatigued, the camp buzzed on. There was simply no other choice. Your days further west were certainly hotter but never quite so bad where the air was dry. Your biggest worries in those days were dust storms or finding a water source nearby that hadn’t dried up.

With everyone worried about keeping themselves cool and dry lately, you felt less conspicuous drawing in camp. You’d taken to doodling more of the gang in secret, enjoying the quick impressionist sketches you’d make while trying to be stealthy. It was riskier as they’d sometimes ask what you were working on but you’d managed to keep your portraits to yourself through some miracle. You still couldn’t stop yourself from drawing Javier, though it happened much less frequently now. He was so handsome, and his clothes were always so nice, it was difficult not to.

Lately though, one subject was featured more prominently than all others. Charles. His portraits were more thought out and done with care, usually taking a whole page each.

With so much help and encouragement from Charles, your skills were growing better all the time. You hadn’t been brave enough to show him yet, but you knew you would soon. You just wanted to make sure it was the right timing. It felt too intimate to do spontaneously, though you knew you were probably overthinking it.

Your feelings for Charles were growing too. You hadn’t admitted that to him either, afraid to be turned down or worse: lose your closest friend over something as foolish as matters of the heart. For that reason, you hadn’t denied yourself your soft feelings for Javier. He never spoke to you, so in a way it felt safe. You couldn’t disappoint him, though you couldn’t impress him either. It was neutral and existed only in your mind.

You liked it that way.

One warm afternoon while Charles was away on a job with Arthur, you couldn’t seem to push the dark memories of the Skinner Brothers out of your mind. Normally you’d find Charles during those times, his steady energy always helped you find some peace, but you didn’t know when they’d be back.

Not exactly sure how to take your mind off of things without him, you settled for drawing some of the gang’s horses. They were so stoic and content, for now being near them was enough to help you steady your breathing and relax. With your favourites, Taima and Boadicea, away from camp, your eye was drawn to the patterns of Boaz. You sat a little closer to him in order to do a study. He eyed you momentarily before going back to grazing, his tail gently swishing flies.

As your study was nearing completion you glanced up at Boaz in time to watch his ear flick before he raised his proud head to look in your direction. He nickered softly and shook his mane. You smiled at him, appreciating the gesture when a voice rang out behind you, making you jump.

“That looks really good.” Javier said.

You shielded your book with your body and twisted to look at him, flustered, with eyes wide, you squeaked, “Oh this? No it’s- ...I- ...your horse is lovely...”

He continued as if you’d responded normally, “Jenny mentioned that you could draw, I didn’t realize you were so talented though.” He walked past you, brush in hand to groom Boaz. “You don’t mind if I stand here do you?”

“I- um, no, not at all.” you said, hoping your volume was normal as you couldn’t hear much over your pounding heart.

Jenny told him you could draw.

Was he telling you he knew what she saw? Should you own up to it now? No. You turned your attention back to your page but didn’t move your charcoal, your mind racing. Then you heard his suave voice once again. Your eyes snapped to him uncomfortably quick, but luckily his focus was on his horse.

“If I could draw, I’d draw Boaz too.” He chuckled, “he and I are the most handsome fellas in camp, right boy?” he cooed to his stallion. Boaz snorted gently.

Your eyes were back on your page, wide as ever, and you were silent. What was he trying to say? You were so lost in your panicked thoughts you didn’t hear the next thing he’d said to you. The silence dragged on until he eventually spoke again.

“Ah… I’ll stop bothering you now,” he laughed a little sheepishly.

“Oh, you’re not bothering me,” you said snapping back to reality, your voice a bit strained as you fought your nerves. He looked at you with an eyebrow raised and you tried to smile, “ I’m just… shy... I guess.” You explained, casting your eyes down once more, pretending to add another line to your doodle, though it was mostly finished.

There was an extended pause, the quiet disturbed only by the sound of the brush sweeping over Boaz’s back. “Is that why you don’t talk to me?” he asked.

Your gut squirmed with a stab of nerves at his question. He thought you weren’t speaking to him? “I uh-” you began but were thankfully cut off by the sound of horses approaching the camp and Bill hollering out for them to identify themselves.

“It’s just us!” Arthur hollered back adding, “you idiot.” slightly softer but still audible.

“Welcome back, amigos!” Javier called out to them as they approached the hitching posts.

Taima was carrying a large buck on her rump, an expert kill by Charles. He slid down from her back, pausing to look between you and Javier briefly, a subtle expression on his face, concern or surprise. You couldn’t quite place it before he turned away to untie the buck from Taima’s back, but you felt your stomach drop. He glanced at you one last time before slinging the heavy animal over his shoulder and beginning to make his way to Pearson’s wagon.

“So, you’re giving me that drawing, right?” Javier asked you in a joking way, his eyes shining playfully. Charles stopped mid-stride at that but soon continued on his way. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at your work for a moment, then over to Charles who was moving swiftly away with his long strides and then finally back to Javier. He was looking at you expectantly.

“You… Want this?” you breathed feeling a bit shocked. He’d only had a glance over your shoulder at it, he couldn’t have seen it that well otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. You’d never given a drawing away before. If you handed it over to him now he’d be able to scrutinize it and he’d see you weren’t that good. Your mind was awash with anxiety. “Umm-” you started, not sure what to say.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to... it is my horse though,” he teased, though you were still too stunned to take it as a joke.

You rose quickly to your feet, your head feeling light as pressure throbbed in your ears. You carefully tore out the page before handing it to him and turning to leave hurriedly. “ I’m sorry it’s so bad,” you called over your shoulder as you walked briskly in the direction Charles had gone. Your face was burning hot and you felt like you’d been punched in the chest.

“What are you talking about?” He called after you before saying to Arthur, “What is she talking about?”

“Art’s a sensitive thing,” Arthur reasoned, but you were rapidly out of earshot before you could hear the rest of their conversation.

You walked to Pearson’s wagon where the buck Charles had caught was already strung up to be processed. You hated that part so you averted your eyes and hugged your sketchbook tightly before asking Pearson, “Did you see where Charles went?”

“Uh, I think he left that way,” Pearson said, gesturing towards one of your favourite spots just outside of camp.

“Thanks!” you replied before taking off quickly again. You were so shaken up by your encounter with Javier, you needed to be near your best friend and away from everyone else as quickly as possible. You rounded a corner to find Charles staring out at the lake. You felt your expression soften, immediately feeling relieved. You approached him and sat down before asking, “How was the job?”

“It was fine,” he replied simply.

You paused a moment before commenting, “You had some good luck hunting today.”

“Yeah.” He answered plainly, his expression unchanging.

You paused a while longer, feeling a tension in the air you hadn’t known with Charles before. Tentatively you started, “Are you oka-”

“Yeah.” He cut you off. You could see a muscle in his jaw working as his eyes were narrowed with thought. You wanted to ask what was wrong or if you could help, but his monotone replies left you lacking the confidence to try again. You didn’t know what was wrong or what was on his mind, but it was clear he wanted some time alone.

Suddenly feeling wounded, you carefully rose to your feet. “I should probably get back to work.” You said softly. He didn’t even glance over.

Despite deeply yearning to stay near him while you dealt with your own emotions, you made your way back to camp timidly, stopping for a moment to look over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t moved.

Something was wrong and though you didn’t know why, you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault.

#Charles Smith #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #daily escuella #vdl gang #javier escuella #drawn out feelings

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contagiousiridescence · 3 years

Text

It takes three months, two weeks, and one day before the world is finally free of the terror that is your brother. You know this because you keep a meticulous count each day, hour, and minute in a tick-tock of apprehensive anxiety that haunts your every morning until it’s over. Until he’s good and dead for a second time, and a very convincing part of you wants to chuck his remains into the nearest volcano to ensure he doesn’t come clawing his way back to the mortal realm again.

But that would be a consideration for later. You don’t need to mourn him any more. Twice was enough for you already.

The team invites you back to their base of operations-- the Tower, you hear it called fondly-- and you accompany them out of polite acceptance because they’d asked, and Kara had turned those weary, beautiful eyes on you like she wanted you there. Maybe it’s just the obnoxious bleat of your heart in your ears again, but you also know there’s no possible way you would have even thought of declining.

So here you are. Sitting in the main room of the Tower, perched on the edge of a stool as you run your hands through the mess that had become of your tactical braid. You’re not a superhero in any sense, so you don’t have a fancy outfit to change out of or wounds to treat beyond maybe a bruise or three after Lex had tossed you about like a rag doll. The others are busy shucking off their bloodstained costumes and letting Alex dress their injuries, so for a time it’s just you and your thoughts sequestered off in a corner where you’ll be out of their way.

It’s been like this for a while. Ever since you and Kara have come to this agreement of civility, a promise of good faith and the trickling hope that maybe something resembling their past relationship might eke back into existence, you’ve been sure to keep your distance from the others. It’s not as awkward as it had been-- grimacing smiles and uncomfortable periods of silence-- but there’s still a barrier between you and the rest of Kara’s friends. Your old friends, by extension. They don’t treat you much differently, but you know distrust when you see it. You understand the underlying tension that buzzes into being when you’re around them, because it never stops prickling at your skin every hour of the day. You can work with them as you’ve done in the past. But any more feels like a fumbling attempt to build a bridge you don’t even have the mortar to keep together. You don’t deserve to build that bridge, anyhow.

And now that Lex is gone, you’re not exactly sure how much more of your help they’ll tolerate.

So, you take what you can get, and sit in your little corner with your thoughts weaving all of those should haves and regrets into a cocoon around your heart, because there’s not much else you can do in this situation but fortify your resolve to never let your anger get the best of you again. Now that Lex is gone, the pain coiled up in your chest can soften a little. It loosens just enough that you can breathe, enough that you can think beyond the one goal you’ve thrown yourself at so you didn’t have to keep staring at the truth laid bare and raw before your very eyes. But, well. Lex is dead, and you can’t really keep holding Kara to a standard of brutal honesty if you weren’t willing to drag out that last secret kicking and screaming from the sordid depths of your sorrow.

There is at least one thing you’ve learned about yourself over the last few years. It doesn’t really matter the nature of whatever it is you confess to Kara-- you just do it, eventually. Because Kara deserves to know, even if it is too late. It’s some compelling force that you’ve never been able to fight back, even when you first met and the kindling of something fresh and exciting had begun to piece you and her together. Like your own personal Truthseeker nestled into the cavity of your ribs, secure in the knowledge that Kara Danvers is the one thing, the one person , you could never truly hide yourself from.

You twiddle your thumbs beneath the sleeve of your coat as you think of this and wonder how in the hell you’ll ever be ready to tell Kara what you’ve been meaning to tell her for the last four years.

Hello friends! I got a bit sidetracked with my own wedding, but I finally remembered to post my @supercorpzine Volume 4 fic contribution! I have to be real, this is probs my favorite zine fic that I've written to date, I'm quite pleased with out it turned out. Hope you all enjoy! ♥

#supercorp #supercorp zine #v4 #karlena #luvers #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor

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informationsorter · 3 years

Text

Let's talk about self diagnosing.

(This is purely a personal opinion piece.)

CW: Descriptions of hypothetical physical injury.

So I'm going to start off by immediately settling your minds - I believe self diagnosis can be both good and bad. I’m not here to judge, gatekeep, or vilify. *************************************************************

A quick overview of the sections: 3 problems/examples. 5 questions/opinions.

*************************************************************

Determining that you have an issue, does not mean that it is the only issue.

Lets start with a hypothetical example where the self diagnosis is obviously correct:

- You've fallen down the stairs. - You can see a bone sticking out of your leg. - You deduce that you have broken your leg.

This is almost certainly accurate, as there is no healthy explanation for the visible evidence.

However, this may not be the whole story.

What we’re really doing in this situation is identifying symptoms and possible/probably causes.

The symptoms are: - Pain. - Visible evidence of a broken bone. - Visible evidence of wounded skin. - Probably experiencing shock - Pale, cold, clammy skin. Shallow, rapid breathing. Anxiety. Rapid heartbeat. Etc.

The probable diagnosis: A broken leg bone.

When you arrive at the hospital, they will do an x-ray. They may discover additional injuries, for instance the bone may be broken in several places, a tendon may have been severed.

Their treatment of your issues relies on the full knowledge that they are able to learn via their tests. If they (somehow) were to treat only your broken bone and the flesh wound, you would likely end up with further health problems as the extra broken bones were not set properly, and the severed tendon would not heal on it's own.

This is a rather ridiculous example of course, but that's why I started with it.

You may believe that you know what the issue is, but if you do not have the right equipment/training, you may not be able to identify the full extent of the issue.

Even if you know what the issue is, you may not be able to determine the full impact of it.

For example: - You notice that whenever you eat citrus, your mouth and tongue start tingling/going numb. There may be also be symptoms such as sweating, feeling faint, swelling of lips/tongue. You conclude that you are allergic to citrus. You act on this by avoiding citrus. That’s all fine and reasonable. However, with this information you only know that you have a reaction to citrus. You don’t know the full extent. Are you mildly allergic? Are you at risk of anaphylactic shock? Sometimes you do not need to know the full extent (in this example you can simply avoid lemon). But sometimes you DO need to learn everything you can about it, in order to live the best life possible.

Especially when the issue is not something easily avoided such as a minor food allergy.

You might group all of your symptoms together, leading to you accidentally obscuring one issue by presenting it as another.

(An example using some of my own symptoms & past trauma experiences.)

You have diagnosed yourself with autism based on the following symptoms:

- Difficulty forcing eye contact with others.

- Inability to read the invisible social cues that neurotypical’s can see/read.

- Discomfort/anxiety in social settings / large groups.

- An extreme feeling of mental shutdown in response to loud noises/music.

These could indeed be symptoms of autism, however they can also be symptoms of other issues in play.

For instance, discomfort or anxiety in social settings could be due to an anxiety disorder.

The loud noises/music may mimic sounds from traumatic events - initiating flashbacks or fight/flight/freeze instincts.

You go to a therapist.

Your therapist listens to your concerns and symptoms, and looks for other explanations for these symptoms.

This is to ensure that the diagnosis they give you will be accurate, and thus the treatment you receive will be the most effective treatment possible for you.

If you did not go to the therapist with this, you may have been able to deal with the autism symptoms fairly well, but the anxiety and PTSD would go untreated. Your problems would not go away, because you weren’t treating ALL of your issues.

When do I believe it is acceptable to self diagnose without seeking professional verification of your self diagnosis?

- When the issue/symptoms do not affect your life in any substantial way;

- When the issue is self evident;

- When there is no indication that there is an unseen element;

- When the issue does not require urgent or extensive treatment.

Eg: Mild allergy to citrus, which can easily be avoided in your daily life.

In this sort of case, I believe it is important to stay aware of the symptoms and immediately seek a professional opinion if there is a change in severity, frequency, or perceived cause, of these symptoms.

Eg: One day you have a drink that had a lemon wedge on the rim, and the symptoms are far stronger, or appear far sooner, than they used to.

Or:

One day you have the same reaction, but you did not consume any citrus.

When do I believe that it is helpful to ask a professional to confirm/refute your self assessment?

Always.

There may be situations where the professional can’t offer any treatment (eg: a mild food allergy, where avoiding it is all that can be done). But if you feel anxiety over the uncertainty of it, and you want a professional assessment, diagnosis, or testing, you are of course entitled to it.

Whether it pinpoints a cause, or rules out a cause, finding out for sure will increase the chances of you receiving appropriate treatment.

Additionally, professional tests and assessments can identify previously unnoticed symptoms and/or issues.

(Such as additional injuries in example 1, or separate disorders in example 3.)

Do I believe that you should tell your health professional that you have self-diagnosed / self-assessed your symptoms?

Yes.

Especially with mental health issues, where your therapist’s assessment of you may be affected erroneously by them noticing that you are holding something back.

They may believe you are uncomfortable with them, or have some trust issues which you may not have.

If you simply tell your therapist that you have recorded your symptoms and searched for answers on your own, the therapist will be able to make a more accurate assessment of you.

It also gives them a good starting point, as they immediately know that the issue is concerning to you, and that you are ready to seek help for it.

Any health professional worth their training should be able to understand that you seeking explanations for your symptoms is natural, and should be willing to look into something that you are concerned about.

Eg: I told my GP (physical health doctor) that I was concerned about a specific lung condition which seemed to fit symptoms that I had been experiencing for over a decade. He listened, he asked further questions, he performed tests for the condition I had brought up, and he performed tests for other possible explanations.

In the end he determined that I did not have that condition, and we went from there.

Why do health professionals dislike self-diagnosis?

The issue with self diagnosis is that a patient can become convinced that they have something that they do not actually have.

This can lead to the patient: - Misinterpreting symptoms - Ignoring symptoms which do not fit their self-diagnosis - Unintentionally manifesting somatic symptoms which fit the self-diagnosis (this refers to a patient believing they have a condition, and their body beginning to show those symptoms. This is not the same as purposefully faking.) - Refusing testing for something other than their self-diagnosed issue - Refusing to accept that there may be a different issue - Refusing to accept that there may be additional issues - Resorting to self-help remedies which may be ineffective or actively dangerous to the patient

They aren’t just being difficult or elitist - they are concerned that your self-diagnosis may impact their ability to accurately diagnose and help you.

This is a particular concern when the health professional doesn’t know you well enough to be able to determine how much your belief will impact your symptoms, or whether you will be open to treatment if they determine a diagnosis which conflicts with your self-diagnosis.

Your health professional has YOUR health and safety in mind.

(If you believe this isn’t true, you should seek a second opinion.)

Should your health professional just accept your self-diagnosis?

It is your therapist’s duty to independently assess your symptoms, and possible causes for those symptoms.

It is not an attack on you, it is not a sign of distrust.

Think of it like scientists - they don’t just say “oh well that guy’s experiment showed these results, so they must be correct.” They go out and duplicate the experiment to check their results against the original results.

Yes, it’s not a perfect metaphor. No two people’s life experiences are the same. No two people’s brains will react identically to the same thing.

But the spirit is the same - in both cases, doing the extra work is to ensure that the stated result is accurate, NOT to discredit or demean the person who originally stated it.

What if you are certain you have a certain issue, and will not be persuaded otherwise?

I urge you to rethink this, and open your mind.

You want to heal from whatever it is that is interfering with your best life.

You want answers.

You want validation that such-and-such issue isn’t a personal failing but a neuro-divergency.

Those are great goals, but the best way to find the truth is to be open to explanations that you may not like.

And the only way to know it’s the truth, is to be honest and objective about yourself.

#CW: Descriptions of hypothetical physical injury.#did #osdd #self diagnosis #therapy #actuallydid #actuallyosdd #actually neurodiverse #actually autistic #actually multiple #long post

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malulls · 3 years

Text

The Darkest Part of the Sea- Chapter 4

Manorian Pirate fanfic

Manon had been sleeping for hours. Which was understandable considering the amount of blood she had lost. Ress was still trying to get the red marks off the office floor, but it looked like some of them would still be there.

Dorian's brain almost burned trying to figure out what the fuck was going on after Nesryn Faliq simply knocked Manon Blackbeak down, untied him and told him to go after her. Things only got more confusing when the two of them passed all the Ironteeth who had invaded the ship with Manon, the Thirteen, he supposed, passed out on deck.

Now they were all in the cellar, occupying the ten cells that were there.

Manon was in a cell far away from the others. First, because it was a little larger and she needed that space because of her injuries. Second, because it was the only one with chains. And Dorian couldn't sleep if she was in anything less secure than that.

He and Ruby spent a long time trying to get the arrows out and make the cuts stop bleeding. The prince didn't think they would be able to. But the white, almost clean strips that wrapped the wounds and the witch's steady breathing ensured otherwise.

- So she is alive and has stopped bleeding. Very well. Now Nesryn, by the gods, can you explain what the hell just happened?- Chaol asked without taking his eyes off Manon, as if he was expecting her to jump up and break the bars with her hands at any moment.

Nesryn Faliq, also known as Adarlan's best archer, was one of Dorian's best friends and had been ill for over a week after being stabbed by a poison-covered sword in a Valg pirate attack.

Everyone on the ship had some basic knowledge of how to treat injuries, but on more serious occasions they needed healers. Those traveling with them were all dead. Nesryn spent days shifting between unconsciousness and a few minutes awake. Dorian almost surrendered to the despair of thinking his friend would die when she spent two straight days blacked out.

- I woke up with Adrik screaming- She finally turned her brown eyes away from watching Manon and stared at them both- When I opened the door I saw a red-haired woman dragging him into the cellar, which obviously meant that you guys had done something fucked up and things had gone wrong. So I took the poppy explosives we bought in Eyllwe - yes, Dorian, I assaulted the weapons room and hid two of them in my bag, I even do that often, now stop interrupting me if you want to hear the damn story - and went up on deck with a crossbow since I didn't have time to prepare the bow. I didn't expect to stumble upon ten angry women, so I exploded one of the bombs without a second thought. Two of them were going up and ended up inhaling the poppy opium and went out as well. The other explosive I threw into the basement where the last two were. Most of the crew was smart enough to try to cover their faces. And those who couldn't, well, they are sleeping now. That was it.

That was it. As if taking down bloodthirsty pirates was as easy as buying a gooseberry pie. Chaol shook his head.

- So you just took down a bunch of scary women?

- Yeah, kind of. I think poppy explosives are the only explanation because it was almost... Easy? Honestly, what the fuck.

- Of course, those bombs cost half the gold we took to the harbor.

Dorian thought that all that gold had been thrown away, as the bombs were absolutely useless in the Narrow Sea, as the opium spread quickly in the mist.

- If you weren't my friend I would ask you to marry me right now.

She grimaced at Dorian and then pulled him and Chaol into an embrace. This surprised them both, it wasn't something she did very often.

- I'm glad you idiots aren't dead.

- We're glad you're not dead. You stayed in bed for a whole week. More than that. Are you sure you're all right?

The archer pushed them both away.

- Okay, enough hugging. Yes, I'm better, but I don't think I should be on my feet for too long for the next few days. And shall we go somewhere else, please? I don't want to be half a meter away from that woman when she wakes up.

Manon opened her eyelids and regretted it at the same moment. The shimmering golden light of a lantern made her eyes hurt. The witch blinked a few times before she got used to it and could see. The gentle rocking of the waves signaled that she was still on a ship.

She was in some kind of room-no, not a room-a cell if the bars were any indication. The places where she had been hit by the arrows were bandaged, but something was disturbing her. She tried to sit up, and froze in mid-motion.

Chains. There were chains on her wrists.

- Hello, witchling.

Manon sat up slowly. The prince was sitting in a small chair in front of the iron bars that locked her in.

- How long have I been sleeping?

- Three days.

- Where are we?

- Is this an interrogation?

She leaned against the wooden wall and lifted her chained arms.

- There is nothing I can do with this information.

- Then you don't need it.

Calm down. She needed to stay calm and keep the anger from consuming her. Then something hit her mind like a stone.

- My Thirteen. What have you done with them?

- They are locked up. And they don't stop asking about you, no matter how much I tell them you're fine. Maybe they'll be calmer now that you're awake.

- You mean they are all right?

- Of course.

She could have simply collapsed with relief, but she wouldn't dare show how much she really cared about them.

- Pirates don't leave their prisoners undamaged.

- I am not a pirate. And I have no reason to hurt any of them.

Good. They were intact. But they were still stuck.

- And what do you intend to do with me?

He shrugged and rose from his chair, taking a few steps into their tiny space.

- Your head is worth a few million. You have made an exorbitant number of people very angry.

- So you are going to kill me and sell me as a prize?

- No. But I might take you to Adarlan. You are the granddaughter of the high-queen of the deserts. What would she give to get her heiress back?

Panic was something Manon rarely felt. But the mere thought of what her grandmother would do to her if she knew she had been captured, what she would do to her Thirteen...

- The only thing you would manage with that is a war for imprisoning and kidnapping an heir.

- I didn't kidnap you. You gave me the right to arrest you and your crew the moment you attacked us. We are within the law.

She forced herself to stand. If she stood for another second she would become dizzy.

- What do you want?

- What ?

- What do you want me to do or give you to get me out of here?

- There's nothing I want.

- Everybody wants something.

- It's not something you can give me.

She stepped closer to the bars, as close as the chains would allow.

- What reason do you have to take us to Adarlan?

He moved until his face was right in front of her.

- So I should just let you go after you tried to rob me and threatened to kill my friends- Friends. He was a prince and called his subordinates friends- Should I let you go knowing that's exactly the first thing you will do once you're free?

Manon smiled at him, momentarily forgetting her panic and letting cruelty consume her face.

- I would have killed every single one. One. Of them. In front of you. Slowly. And I would enjoy myself immensely doing it. And after I got the ring, princeling, I would make you suffer until you were begging for death.

The two were so close that their breaths were mingling, the tension between the prince's and the witch's hateful glances could be cut with a knife.

- Then know that I don't feel a shadow of remorse for placing those chains around your wrists.

That was the last thing he said before turning his back and leaving. As the prince left, fear returned to her mind. She needed to think of something. Quickly.

The surge of strength that hatred had released in her vanished like smoke in the silence that enveloped her, and was replaced by a sudden exhaustion. The iron that covered the witch's wrists became unbearable.

Manon sat down again on the linen-wrapped seat that covered the wooden bank of the cell, trying to keep the desperation away.

Dorian felt as if he was breathing for the first time since Manon woke up. From where he stood on the ship's railing, the sea looked like a dark blue cloth swaying in the wind. The warm summer breeze was shaking the prince's hair and the white sails on the mast, moving the ship closer and closer to the Gulf of Oro.

He was trying to get the witch's words out of his head.

I would have killed every single one. One. Of them. In front of you.

The sunlight didn't keep the chills off his body. Even trapped, she could be terrifying.

- Is she awake?

Ruby joined him, leaning against the railing of the ship.

- Yes, she's probably planning our deaths right now.

- Oh, don't say that. I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep at night.

Her gaze was distant, lost on the horizon as if she was waiting for someone.

- What's wrong?

- Nothing. I'm just anxious to get off this boat as fast as possible.

No doubt the entire crew shared this thought.

- We won't see each other for a few months after arriving in Adarlan.

- Are you going to Wendlyn?

- Yes, I need a break after that. I am going to see my sisters. And my mother wants to make sure that I'm still alive.

Ruby never talked about her father. Sometimes Dorian wondered if she even knew him.

- I'm surprised that you are anxious to get back. You hate the court.

- Do you understand the level of my despair? I can't look at your ugly faces anymore.

She kicked him in the shin.

- You've been hitting me a lot recently, you know. Ress is going to be jealous.

- Ress- She said, her voice full of mockery- Is too busy flirting with the red-haired witch to be jealous of anyone.

- She is pretty. - They all were. None were as beautiful as Manon, but still.

- Why is Ress flirting with her?

- She is the one who is flirting with him. Or anyone who is on guard. All the day long. She is as terrible as you are.

- Is she? I'll make a visit to see who flirts the longest.

- By all that is holy, no. You two are forbidden to stay more than thirty seconds in the same room. You would never leave.

- I am your captain, you can't forbid me anything.

- You only remember that you're in charge here when it's convenient, don't you?

- Who are we speaking badly of?

Ress leaned against the mast near the two of them, spinning a dagger between her fingers.

- You and your new girlfriend.

- Oh, I suspect she's cheating on me. Yesterday she was flirting with Chaol. He was horrified.

- What are you talking about me?

The prince's first mate came up on deck with Nesryn by his side. She had her bow and quiver on her back as usual, her brown eyes always watchful, always watching, like two eagles' eyes.

- Shouldn't you not be on your feet?

- I'm not an invalid.

- You didn't answer, what were you talking about me?

- About you? Nothing. Actually, we're complaining about the insufferable flirt Dorian is.

The prince rolled his eyes.

- Get over it.

- The fact that we spent an entire afternoon trapped in a tavern because you wouldn't stop flirting with the barmaid? And that when we finally managed to get you out, we were lucky enough to get out just as a circus was passing by and we were run over?

Dorian couldn't take it. He started to laugh. None of the four could keep their serious expressions any longer, and soon they joined the prince, laughing and reminiscing about stories and cursing each other until the sun disappeared and the sky turned cobalt blue, Manon's dark threats and the image of their friends' ripped bodies were finally far away from Dorian's mind.

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

I should've posted this last week but I was traveling and I couldn't translate, so as always, I'm sorry it took that long

And I didn't like this chapter so I'm sorry if is too bad

@positivewitch @awesomelena555 @darklingswhxore @hellasblessed @wandererbyheart @notyournymphetish @acourtofsjmtrash

#dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #manorian #throne of glass #sarah j maas #dorian x manon #fanfic #pirates #chaol westfall #nesryn faliq #manon x dorian

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

So like, maybe reader gets captured or something like that and Anakin kinda loses it? I give you creative liberties since I’ve never sent a request before 👉👈 hope you are having a nice day!

congrats ahdjfjs you made it in under the wire!!

and that’s fine! I love when people bring requests to me regardless of how formatted they bring it

This mission was essential.

General Grievous was a threat to the galaxy, and he needed to be destroyed, whatever it took. So, when his location was ensured and confirmed, the Jedi Order sent three Jedi to infiltrate it. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, and (Y/N). They were to slide into the complex he was visiting, set up explosives, and detonate it, leaving no chance for escape to anyone within it.

And for the most part, everything had gone according to plan.

Every detonator was weaponized and placed. Now, they just needed to get out, and to safety, to blow it all. And General Grievous would die. That’s all you needed- for your luck to hold out just a little bit longer.

But why would it?

Why would luck favor you, the Jedi who betrayed the Code with every thought that crossed your mind? The Jedi who would leave it all behind, if asked, for one man? This man another Jedi, if things weren’t bad enough. The Force had no reason to reward you, and your blasphemy, your bitterness, your utter disregard for the code you’d been told to live by all your life. Regardless of your skill with a saber or ship, the Force refused to be kind to you.

And so it almost never was.

A routine droid patrol came across the three of you. You destroyed them as quickly as you could, having made no missteps, no errors, but they had sent up the alarm. And all was ruined.

But that was fine, it was okay, as long as- as long as you could make it out, you could blow it all, and Grievous would die, all the same. You just needed to run. Fast enough to escape, to get clear. That’s all you needed.

It was a mad dash to the exit of the complex, at a dead sprint, no heed for anything else. No discussion, no banter, no plan. Just run. You had your saber at your belt, having no need for it in the moment, keeping all of your energy for the run beside Obi-Wan. The Code wasn’t here, wasn’t to protect you in battle. Your bitterness toward the teachings you’d been given all your life was in your heart as you ran, ran as a lowly soldier for the Republic, not as a peace keeper for the galaxy.

The code, which served meditators, served the peaceful council who sat in their chairs and judged the foot soldiers, the knights who risked their lives. What other than emotion, ignorance, passion, chaos, death, existed in war? Here, there was no peace, there was no knowledge, no serenity, nor harmony. Why should the Force guide you in war?

You made no sound when you went down.

The droid hit just below your ribcage, on your right side, and your legs faltered under you. You hit the floor, adrenaline pumping through your body, and you struggled upwards as best you could. The Force never favored you, the Code never guided you.

You were caught by the ankle, and dragged back down.

“Anakin!” you screamed, trying to find purchase on the smooth tile floor as you were dragged backwards. He whirled around, now without the gates, safe beyond where the blast would reach him. His eyes met yours as you struggled, retrieved and ignited your saber, stabbing it into the floor. You thought it might give you a chance, you hoped it would stop you from being dragged back further.

“(Y/N)!” he called, and the doors began to close.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

“Blow it!” You knew that as long as you were being dragged back, Grievous would focus his attention on keeping the captured Jedi, not hunting down the other two. While you were inside, right now, Grievous was still to be killed by the explosion. “Anakin, blow it!”

And the gate shut, leaving behind only your parting words, a desperate plea for death.

Anakin looked downward at the button in his hand.

“Anakin, they told you what you need to do,” Obi-Wan said, sensing the confliction in his former padawan. Anakin knew what needed to be done, but...

But he couldn’t let you die.

“They told you to go through with the plan,” Obi-Wan insisted, “They must have known they would die, but that it would cause us to succeed. Detonate it, Anakin.”

“I can’t,” Anakin said, voice strained and hurt.

“Anakin, are you willing to lose a war to keep them alive?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice accusatory, and Anakin narrowed his eyes toward Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” he breathed, and after not an instant more launched the detonator, far away into the forest.

You were torn from your saber, but that was alright. Your side was bleeding through charred skin, and your arms were tired, and it was alright. You accepted the fiery explosion that would take your life, because you knew it would take Grievous’, too.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

You could die well, in service of the galaxy, even if it was as just a soldier. You could die, knowing that you’d take Grievous with you into the fire and the flames. At least, to Anakin, you would die a Jedi. A noble hero.

But it never came. And when your foot was finally dropped, the blunt of a weapon smashed into your temple. You were unconscious within the second.

Anakin and Obi-Wan had fled to the forest, where they would be safe- for now.

“Anakin, do you understand what you’ve done?” Obi-Wan scolded him, “The mission has not only failed, but you’ve done (Y/N) a disservice by keeping them alive in the care of Grievous.”

“I’ll get them out,” Anakin growled, his rage-filled eyes turned toward the forest floor.

“You can’t possibly go in there,” Obi-Wan said, “it’s suicide. They’ll be on high alert.”

“You said it yourself, master.” Anakin turned over his saber in his grip, voice cold. “Every moment they spend alive with Grievous is torture.”

“You’ll die if you go after them,” Obi-Wan reminded him.

“They were willing to die for us,” Anakin said, “I’m the same.”

“Anakin, we cannot afford to lose two good Jedi-”

“I can’t afford to lose them.”

There is no passion, there is serenity.

You awoke in a chair, reclined, as though your comfort had been considered by your captor. But you couldn’t move your arms nor legs, nor even your neck, and your wound hadn’t been treated. You felt it lazily sludging blood into your robes.

Grievous introduced himself by wheezing your surname.

“A fine saber,” he said, appreciating the ignited orange blade, “an excellent addition to my collection.” He had kept you from moving your arms, but done nothing about your fingers, and so you opened your hand, calling your saber to you with the Force. It ripped from his grip and flew to yours, and so you gave him a triumphant, cocky smile.

Grievous growled, and brought the back of his metal hand across your right cheekbone. The metal cut through your flesh like gelatin.

Tears immediately came to your eyes, and you felt the blood begin to roll down your jaw, but you turned your gaze back to him without a word.

“It seems you aren’t interested in a discussion of weapons,” Grievous said, grabbing your saber from your hand again, “So I’ll move on. You’re going to tell me all about where your little Jedi friends are hiding.”

As if he thought you’d be so easy.

Most of the security of the base was either on its exterior, thanks to the two Jedi that had disappeared into the forest, or within it, thanks to the Jedi at Grievous’ disposal. That meant that there were droids in every single place Anakin wanted to be, and as such there were to be plenty of things in his way. But Anakin Skywalker had never been one to balk at obstacles.

Obi-Wan let him go, to attempt to retrieve you, finally admitting that if he could save you, it would do good for the galaxy. He was still silently angered that Anakin hadn’t blown the base, but he would save that lecture for another day. Something about ‘respecting the wishes of a dying Jedi’. Such a lecture was burned deep into his heart.

Obi-Wan offered only a bit of help, providing a distraction on the north end of the complex so that attention would be drawn from the South. Anakin made it past the first wall, and once he had, there wasn’t much left to go, until he reached the droid army that would have no doubt amassed around you, keeping you prisoner. He knew you were wounded, and that you may not be much help- still, he was determined to get you out, no matter what it took.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Eventually, you pissed Grievous off so much that he was finished with you. You were still useful to him, so he couldn’t kill you, but how he wanted to. He took you by the throat, dragging you from the room. You gripped at his hand at your throat, his metal fingers digging and pinching and cutting the thin skin of your neck, and you tried to kick from his grip, to no success.

“You are an irritating slime,” Grievous told you, voice hoarse as always, and tossed you by the neck into a cell. Its door closed before you even hit the floor.

Which was good- it saved you embarrassment. You tried to catch yourself, but the door being up three stairs from the floor, and you fell further than you expected. You’d managed to plant your foot straight down, but too much weight came down upon your left leg. As though time had slowed down, you felt your mistake, and as your body was still twisting through the air, you felt it when your femur came down upon your knee, and when it found resistance, it slipped to the side, twisting, while your tibia remained where it was.

The pain was immediate. As was your collapse to the floor.

Where luck had been against him from the moment he placed the last explosive, Anakin had finally run into a stroke of good luck. Grievous was nowhere to be seen when Anakin located the wing that you must’ve been- a cell door, shut and sealed, surrounded by a dozen droids.

Easy.

Anger wasn’t meant to be the way of the Jedi, Anakin knew that. But he had disobeyed the code plenty of times before, and now, he would do it again. He didn’t need to curb himself- his rage, in this instant, was his focus, drawing him toward his singular goal.

Not a single droid managed to fire a single shot.

One well-placed swipe of the saber and the door swung open.

You were laying on your back on the floor, trying to ride out your pain.

The door opened on your left, and for an instant you weren’t sure if this was fantasy, or reality- Anakin Skywalker, your guardian angel, here to rescue you.

“Anakin?” You breathed, and as he stepped through the door you decided that he must be real. He had to be. So you threw your left leg over your right, rolling onto your stomach to begin the process of standing. It threw the whole world out of balance, your dizziness and blood loss starting to affect you.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Only when you were on your knees did you reveal to Anakin your right side- its bloody wound from droid fire, its deep cuts along your cheek and neck, and the large, smudged print of blood your wet robes left on the floor. He rushed forward to you, gently helping you to your feet, and immediately he noticed how you lifted your left foot from the floor.

“I’ve got you,” he said, pulling your left arm over his shoulder so that your injured leg hung between you. His words were a promise, more than a statement- that you would escape, that he would make sure of it. He started toward the door, and you tried to assist him, but with every step his fingers, meant to hold you up by gripping your right side, dug into the skin nearby your wound. You couldn’t see, with all the blood and sweat in your eyes, now blurring anew with tears.

“Anakin,” you said again, trying to say any number of things- ‘I’m sorry’, ‘leave me behind’, ‘thank you’. But your voice failed you, and you just left your jaw hang slack with grunts of pain and panting breath, every ounce of your focus taken by limping toward the exit.

Until a single thought entered your mind.

“My saber,” you groaned, pulling from his grip when he tried to continue. “I need to find my saber.”

“(Y/N), we don’t have time,” Anakin said, trying to gather you toward the gate again, but you resisted with a shake of your head, eyes dulled but focused.

“It might still be- I have to find it.” If you had any control, over anything in the galaxy, it was yourself. You could control your own fate, your own decisions, your body. Sheer will invaded your mind and so your limbs, flooding you with adrenaline, and so you took off, leaving him no choice but to follow. You learned quickly how to run on your injured leg, numbed yet weak as it was- as long as only your toes struck the floor, and not your heel, your knee didn’t force you to the ground.

And finally, some good luck came your way.

Grievous had left your saber in the room you had awoken in. Relief hitting you like a wall, you strapped it to your waist, but with that relief came a crash of your adrenaline, and suddenly you couldn’t even stand. Anakin caught you before you hit the floor, and tried to guide you again, but your feeble steps turned into toes dragging on the floor behind his footfalls. Soon he conceded and pulled your arms over his shoulders, and ordered you- ‘hold on’.

Your grip was loose around his neck, but you managed not to slip off.

You were bloodied, and bruised, and your knee didn’t quite work. The 2-1B droid aboard Obi-Wan’s ship called it a hyperextension- a stretching of your ligaments. And the cuts were deep, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed, even if red lines would accent your neck and face for quite a while.

And Anakin didn’t leave your side, even as Obi-Wan insisted you just needed to sleep.

A lifetime ago, before the Clone Wars, before you’d even had a light saber, you were taught a different code. One that, you could see now, was meant to ease children into the absolute, the black and white, that they weren’t yet ready for.

It was this code that you felt still held true. You were barely a knight, barely even an adult, fighting a war for politicians who would never see the pain it caused. You fought it beside the true love of your life, the one thing you would die without, die for, and you felt his heartbreak when he looked upon your blood, and your heart broke the same each time you heard his pain.

Emotion, yet peace.

You would do anything for Anakin Skywalker. You would fight a nonsense war you didn’t believe in, if it meant you could do it at his side.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

You knew not what truly guided this war, and it meant nothing to you. You knew what you needed to know, for the time being.

Passion, yet serenity.

Anakin was half asleep at your feet, the couch just long enough that while you laid lengthwise, he could curl up in the final bit of space. You would do anything for him, anything, you’d follow him to the end of the universe. You loved him more than you could describe, more than there were words in all the languages of the galaxy, more than there were stars in hyperspace. You only hoped he knew it.

Chaos, yet harmony.

Nothing was black and white- only a Sith deals in absolutes, and you were a Jedi. There was no harmony without chaos, and if it hadn’t been for everything going wrong, then you wouldn’t have been able to illustrate to Anakin, and him to you, the way that each would die for the other. Grievous lives to fight another day, but so do you.

Death, yet the Force.

And each day, you wake up, when the odds tell you you should have died long ago. You wake up, and have the honor of seeing and loving Anakin Skywalker, and feeling his love just the same. You wake up knowing that even though this war would one day fall into the history books and someday be the one question a youngling can’t answer on their history exams, you were calmed with the knowledge that you were on the right side of it. You had been brought to Coruscant, to fight for the light, to believe in it, to love it.

Maybe the Force was with you, after all.

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #angst #imagines #anakin x jedi reader #anakin skywalker x jedi reader #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #poor anakin #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars self insert #star wars #star wars prequels #fics

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farplane · 3 years

Text

DAY 3: SCALE

The captain had agreed to meet him off the coast of the Jade Sea.

It might have been simpler to choose any old plain outside of Radz-at-Han, but he had long since understood his home was no longer a refuge and harboured no desire for his dealings to take place in its proximity. And besides—the one who had gone through the most trouble getting to the meet was him.

He didn’t have a bloody airship to fly him halfway across the Continents in a matter of hours. When he lamented such woes to Nairel, she snorted and said, in that delightfully flat tone she took to put him in his place: “You are the very spirit of penury.”

“I am horribly skint at present, I’ll remind you.”

“But skint isn’t poor, is it?” Nairel retorted effortlessly, as if it made much of a difference to a woman who lived in the bloody woods.

She had a way of easing his nerves.

Though he prided himself on his ability to be in command of most situations, there were two things wrong with that belief: the first being that it had only been hammered into his mind since tender youth by a man whose word he wished never again to live by; the second that, of late, his life had been a veritable unravelling of any control he might have ever had over himself and his own fate.

It was as though he’d constructed the very circumstances that were sure to make him nauseous with dread. This was not Radz-at-Han, but knowing his family’s reach, he may as well have been standing right at the heart of it. He could have picked any place—distant Kugane, some miserably dusty point in Thanalan, even drab freezing grey Coerthas—and instead he had wandered so close to home, like a lost little boy running to the last place he had seen his nursemaid.

He was halfway through regretting his choice of locale for, oh, the eighth time when the Merlose touched down at a careful distance. Nairel, bless her heart, caressed the hilts of her knives as the captain approached.

To her credit, the Merlose party only outnumbered his by one—and their third member didn’t seem a fighter at all. She was slender, slighter than the aging captain—still strong with corded muscle, and no doubt as deadly as her reputation made her out to be—and wore a complicated loupe on a threaded silver chain about her neck. Most likely the captain had preferred an appraiser to a killer for these particular dealings.

It was the long-limbed Elezen at the captain’s right hand who concerned him, but Nairel at his back lessened his fears. Even with a mess of Void churning inside him, he could still bash heads in without magic, and he had the most vicious five-fulm-and-then-some(-she-insists) forestborn in Eorzea at his side.

“Pavane Malichar,” said the captain, as though the name meant something to her.

“Captain. I trust your journey was—”

“You’ve brought the payment?” asked the Elezen, no-nonsense, eyeing the very conspicuous coin pouch at his belt. Then, evidently critical of its size: “All of it?”

Pavane untied the laces, but didn’t part with the purse just yet.

“I understand and empathize with your wariness—in fact, I very much share it. Mine is a difficult package to conceal without glamours, and I neither see it nor sense its aether.”

The aether part was a bluff, but normally, it wouldn’t have been. And that was the reason Pavane had been grinding his teeth enough to ensure they’d be worn down to nothing by the turning of the next era.

“I am not in the habit of robbing downtrodden nobles just standing on a beach,” the captain said with a dangerous smile, and paused long enough to give power to the sound of waves breaking onto shore. “Not much challenge in it.” She turned her head to the Elezen: “Bring it over, Madelaine.”

Madelaine cast him one last dark look—a pirate’s trade-tool, he supposed—then turned on her heel. Pavane tossed the captain his coin pouch, but she didn’t hand it to the appraiser until her right hand had returned with a long coffer under her arm.

Already Pavane could feel some whisper of power stir within him, stoked by a boyish excitement for the relic that was so close to becoming his.

“I understand my first mate’s apprehension, lord,” the captain said, keeping her eyes on him as she passed the pouch to the appraiser. “That purse seems quite light.”

“Yours was a steep price, Captain. I’d have broken my back carrying the full payment if it was only in coin.”

He was confident in what the appraiser would find when she opened the purse, nestled among the absurd amount of gil that was only a portion of the price. The medallion had been forged, it was said, in the stone-heart of Mhach in the last days before the Flood—the first of House Malichar had made herself, then, the inheritor of her city’s great legacy. And it had been passed down through the generations, from heir to deserving heir, to wear her two-headed serpent upon their chest and signify their birthright.

Never had it been lost. Pavane, as a student of history, knew that it had changed hands outside of his family a number of times—but any thieves that stole it had only ever met gruesome ends. That was House Malichar: his ancestors had set a horrifying precedent for the exercise of their own power, all to the singular end of its preservation.

And he was giving his birthright away for another piece of Mhachi power—to make, on his terms, his own legacy.

The appraiser fumbled her loupe twice in her haste to inspect the medallion. She took a moment, her expressive eyebrows shifting, then whispered something in the captain’s ear; and, finally, dropped Pavane’s whole life into her weathered palm.

“This is a precious thing you are treating as currency, lord,” said the captain of the Merlose, weighing the precious metal in her hand.

“It more than covers your price.”

“To be sure. Even melted down or hacked to pieces, which would be the safest way for me to dispose of it.” Her grave eyes met his. “Are you prepared for that?”

Pavane didn’t waver, though it seemed to him she spoke from some deep place of knowledge for precious, irreplaceable things. He put on his best, most charmingly twisted smile. “Not to worry. I’ve another,” he said, pulling back his sleeve.

The black scales of the snake wound in ink around his forearm shivered and writhed, a mirage of badly-rendered aether. Even when it was wrong, it was precious. It was his alone.

Nothing showed on the captain’s face; her dark brow furrowed no more than if she were merely trying to read something in a viciously small script. Surely a woman of her age—a pirate, a liberator of immeasurably rare weapons; an Ala Mhigan, by the newly-familiar shape of her words—had seen her share of strangeness. With a small gesture of her head, she ordered her first mate to lay the coffer at Pavane’s feet.

“A deal well-struck, then,” she concluded.

Pavane crouched down with wonder coursing up and down his hands, weighting them as he opened the coffer to reveal his prize: a long-bladed scythe, unadorned in the Mhachi style he had come to know from his family’s archives, brimming with power to harness the Void.

“Indeed,” Pavane said as he rose with the scythe in hand. In his breathless appreciation for the weapon, he felt a twist of envy for the captain and her crew—and the adventure they must have had finding it. He pictured ruins, ancient knowledge, a dark thrill of threat.

The captain nodded to him, satisfied with their business, and said little else before she turned back towards her ship with the appraiser in tow. But Madelaine, the first mate, lingered.

“Thinking of all the harvesting you’ll do, lord?” she asked with a smirk. “Grass? Wheat?”

Nairel, who until then had been so utterly quiet, said, “Or the one it will protect,” in a tone that gave nothing away. “Do Hearers’ daughters know much about harvesting, actually?”

A flash of irritation passed across her face, barely noticeable, before her expression settled into something else. Curiosity, perhaps.

“You’re Nairel?” she said, with an air like she was almost entirely sure of the answer.

“I am.”

A pause. Madelaine glanced over her shoulder at her retreating captain, then made half a step towards turning before stopping to look at Nairel again. “Is your brother well?”

“He’s alive. For now.”

“Aye,” said the first mate, nodding. She turned to walk away. “I knew he would be.”

Pavane blinked, trying to piece together the familiarity that had just passed between her and Nairel. Why had she asked about—

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Nairel stroked his arm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you once we’re in the shade; my head’s bloody spinning in this heat.”

sigrid keane belongs to @onwesterlywinds; madelaine lachance belongs to @ink-long-dry

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #c:pavane #f:xiv

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loveisnotadagger · 3 years

Text

Love Is Healing - Chapter Six

Chapter 6/?

Rating T

Arianna's life went on undisturbed by the fact that Loki was in it. She still took trips to hospitals to heal the wounded, and she didn't hate the fact that she was living in the same building as Natasha. Tash was her best friend, but they didn't usually get to spend a lot of time together because they weren't usually called on the same missions. The Manhattan fiasco had been an exception. They usually weren't called to do anything so large scale as that had been.

Aside from Natasha, the other Avengers were good company as well. Steve kept to himself mostly, but he was nice and polite when he did talk with Arianna. He sometimes treated her like a kid, but she chalked that up to the time jump he'd had to deal with after being frozen for seventy years. Bruce spent most of his time with Tony in the lab in the basement. Natasha and Clint spent their time together with Arianna unless she was with Loki, though they remained nearby when Arianna was with the Asgardian.

On this particular morning Arianna was in the kitchen making herself some toast and a fruit salad to go with it. She was making enough fruit salad for everyone, actually. She'd been the first one up and had made a pot of coffee. The aroma had pulled Tash out of bed as well as Steve. Arianna almost grinned at the mess that was Tash's red hair. She hadn't even taken the time to brush it.

Steve's hair wasn't in place either, but it didn't matter. It was so unfair that people with short hair looked okay even if their hair was a mess.

"Jarvis, can you tell Tony and Bruce that there's coffee if they want some?"

"Yes, Miss Grace."

Arianna smiled, remembering the first time Tony had spoken to Jarvis in front of her. She hadn't known what to think when Jarvis had responded. She'd basically praised Tony's genius after he'd explained what Jarvis was exactly.

Over the few weeks that she had been there, Tony had taken to treating Arianna as if she were a kid sister, which basically meant that he teased her constantly but was also protective. In fact, he was protective to the point of being almost paranoid. It didn't really bother Arianna at all, so she let him get away with it. If knowing she was safe gave Tony Stark a small amount of security in his mind, she would allow him to do what he deemed necessary.

"Is Clint still asleep, Jarvis?"

"He hasn't left his room, Miss Grace."

"Okay. Thank you."

"You know he likes to sleep in when he can," Natasha said.

Once the fruit salad was prepared Arianna took some of it and her toast to the living room where she sat on the couch and began to eat. After she was done, she took a medium sized bowl of fruit to Loki's room. He had yet to come out and socialize with the others, though he did leave the room at night when most of the others were sleeping.

He barely talked to anyone who wasn't Arianna. She didn't know what to make of that, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Loki seemed not to trust anyone else but her – if trust was the right word for what he felt for her.

She knew that he at least enjoyed her company. ----------

Loki was reading when Arianna brought him his breakfast. The Man of Iron had bought him a set of books that would help Loki learn more about Earth. He had to admit that Midgardians were adept enough, considering they didn't know magic existed. From how many wars he'd already read about, it was probably a good things humans couldn't do what Loki could – or what he'd been able to do before he'd been made mortal.

It seemed Midgardian leaders would fight over anything. It reminded him of the time Thor had raced off to Jotunheim to declare war on them. It would've caused war against all of Asgard had Thor's antics worked. Loki had played his own part in getting Thor to go, but he had hoped he'd be able to talk his way out of a fight. Thor had been impulsive then and quick to anger, quick to fight, and words were said that Thor had reacted badly to. That was when the battle had begun.

He looked up from his book when Arianna came in. She gave him a small smile and came over to the bed to sit on the edge. She offered him a bowl of fruit, which he accepted and began to pick at. Some of the fruit he recognized because they were also grown in Asgard, but others he had to ask about as he came across them.

For instance, he had no clue what a banana was.

"We're going to have to get you acquainted with the kitchen so you can learn to make what you want and not just what I make."

"I like the food you make."

Arianna never made any complicated meals, but they always satisfied. Besides, as a prince, Loki had no knowledge of cooking.

"Be that as it may, you still need to know. And it's okay to come out of your room when the others are awake. It isn't meant to be a prison cell."

"I'm under constant watch," he reminder her. "And I am still not at my best."

"Well, no one's going to attack you," she said gently. Then with humor, she said, "I think everyone is afraid of what your mother would do if something were to happen to you here."

Loki shook his head. "It would depend on whose fault it was."

Arianna stayed long enough to let Loki finish eating and then she immediately stood up. Before leaving she said, "In all seriousness, you should come out. We could watch a movie or something."

Loki had read about movies – moving pictures – but hadn't yet watched one. Maybe he could try just once. If he didn't like it, he would just say so and he wouldn't have to watch another one.

Loki carefully got off the bed and went to his closet to pick an outfit. Arianna had ordered him clothes the first day he'd agreed to stay with the Avengers. He had to admit that Midgardian attire was easier to get into, but it left Loki feeling vulnerable and exposed. How did Midgardians feel safe without armor on at all times? On Asgard, the only time Loki's armor came off was at night when he was sleeping or when he was bathing and, even then, he took precautions to ensure his safety.

He decided on a dark blue sweater and a pair of black jeans, which he had to admit he looked good in. He went without shoes and found the sensation not unpleasant. He'd seen Arianna go around barefoot at all times of the day; many times she had visited fully clothed aside from her lack of shoes.

She'd definitely made herself home in Stark's Tower. ---------- Arianna had just put a movie in the DVD player when Loki came into what would be the living room in a normal home. The room had since been fixed from when it had been destroyed by the war that had been brought to Manhattan.

Tony had taught her how to use the TV because he had a remote that controlled all the electronics in the room – even the lights. Arianna didn't know why Tony couldn't have just invested in some light switches. When she'd voiced her opinion, he'd given her a sarcastic grin and had called her cute.

"You said I could join you," Loki said as he appeared out of the hallway.

She nodded, not surprised by his sudden appearance as she could feel his presence when he was close by. Side effect of being connected to him for so long even though it had been almost a month now.

The movie she'd chosen was the first Harry Potter movie. She'd chosen it in the hopes of Loki coming out of his room to watch it with her. She hoped he'd like it because of the magic in it, even if it wasn't the type of magic he was used to.

"The type you're accustomed to then?" Loki assumed when she tried to describe the movie without giving too much away. It was about a boy who found out he was a wizard and was allowed to go to a school for magic.

"I can do some of the things in the movie."

"So you can make things float?" Tony asked, suddenly appearing in the room. Bruce was with him. They had just come from the lab.

"Depends on what I'm trying to make float. And I've never actually done it, but theoretically, I know how."

Arianna wasn't surprised that Tony had known what she and Loki had been talking about. There were cameras everywhere in Stark Tower and Tony could pull up the video feed from pretty much anywhere.

"Would you mind testing that theory while you're living here?" Tony asked. "I just wanna know why you can do what you can do."

Arianna knew Tony was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and that he didn't want to use her for anything. She also knew he was asking her respectfully. If she'd been anyone else, he probably would've mentioned that he was letting her live there for free while also having her every need met with his money, but he hadn't said a word.

"I don't mind furthering your research," she said. "Better you than Fury and the science team at SHIELD."

"And Banner? He'll want to take your pulse and check brains waves and such."

Bruce looked uncomfortable for a slight moment. He'd obviously known nothing about Tony's request until just now. It was kind of cute and ironic that the guy that could turn into the Hulk was so bashful when he wasn't green and smashing things.

"It's fine," Arianna said. "I have a few conditions, though, because I've heard about how excited you get when you start a new project. You act like a kind with a new toy."

Tony looked as if he agreed with that statement, so Arianna felt confident enough to continue.

"I am not a toy and I'm not a machine. I have limits, so . . . I guess these are my conditions. One, I want to know what we do before we do it, and two, no pushing if I say no."

Tony agreed almost immediately and then said, "What exactly do you think I want to force you into? I gave up my dreams of world domination years ago."

Arianna rolled her eyes at Tony's joke and responded with, "Just covering my bases." ---------- After Arianna and Tony came to an agreement, which didn't take too long. Arianna was finally able to play the movie. Natasha watched the movie with them, even though Arianna knew Natasha wasn't much into movies – especially ones like Harry Potter. She didn't know why Natasha was being so protective when Loki really wasn't a threat at the moment. If he'd had his powers, Arianna would've completely understood, but as it was . . . even Arianna could beat Loki, and she couldn't fight to save her life.

By the time the movie ended, Arianna had decided to get Loki the Harry Potter series for him to read. She knew he liked to read because he had responded well to the encyclopedias she'd gotten him already – or that Tony had gotten him, at her suggestion.

After having been inside Loki's head, she'd found out more than he'd probably be comfortable with, but she couldn't help that. It had helped her decide how to approach Loki. Helping him understand the world he now lived in would make him feel less helpless.

He could learn their culture and try to fit in if he so desired. She could introduce him to other movies, her favorite ones and ones she thought he would like. She could bring him music, see if he liked it. She didn't even know if Asgard had music, but she knew music helped her relax. It could settle her when she felt anxious or it could help her have fun if she felt like dancing around. She'd even hopped around to Tony's music a few times when she'd stumbled upon him jamming out.

That night before Arianna went to bed, Natasha stopped her and asked to come into her room.

"Sure, Tash. What's up?"

"Loki."

"What about him?"

The two women sat down on the bed and Arianna gave Natasha her undivided attention.

"Loki is better now, right?" the red head asked. "I mean, there's nothing more you can do for him. He has to build up strength himself."

"Yeah. I mean, I could share energy with him, but there's no need. He's awake and able to eat and drink. It would sort of be a waste of time."

Natasha smiled slightly. "Yes. It would be."

"What's this about?"

If Natasha was taking the time to have this conversation, it meant she had something to say. Tash wasn't one for idle chitchat.

"Aries, you are good. Loki is not. He killed eighty people in two days. He didn't blink; he didn't flinch. That's not counting the people that were hurt during the battle."

"You mean the battle where the people we worked for were going to bomb the city? That would've killed a lot more than eighty people. And correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't those eighty people that died the ones that were buried beneath the rubble that Fury himself decided to bring down?"

"To try and keep Loki from getting away."

"I know that. The point I'm trying to make is that we're responsible for some of the blood that was spilled."

Natasha didn't say anything to that, but she looked as if she'd had the same thoughts go through her head at least once.

"Besides, it's not like I like him or anything."

She didn't trust many people enough to get close to them and Loki was no different. Arianna had known Natasha for a long time. It had taken Arianna two years to get close enough to consider her a friend and not just a co-worker.

"All I'm saying is . . . don't coddle him. He's not a pet."

"I'm not coddling him."

"You bought him books. You're watching movies with him."

"I didn't buy him anything. Tony did. Besides, Fury said I needed to help Loki acclimate to life here. He needs to know things about this world."

Natasha sighed and her body deflated from losing its purpose for being in the room.

"All I'm saying is be careful, okay? I've been alone with him. He can get in your head."

Arianna smiled. She knew her friend was coming from a place of love and that Natasha was only looking out for her.

"Tash, I think you're forgetting the fact that I can get inside his head too." ---------- Over the next few days, Arianna and Loki spent time going over things he would need for everyday life

He had learned about the shower within the first few days he'd been strong enough to stand on his own. Loki preferred baths, and until arriving on Midgard he'd never taken a shower. No such thing existed on Asgard. Loki had always had servants to draw his bath for him. On Midgard there was plumbing and they had knobs that controlled the temperature of the water.

It was practical and convenient. It beat having to boil water to pour into a tub and then having to wait so one wouldn't scorch oneself.

Loki had also been introduced to an invisible person named Jarvis – or at least he'd assumed the voice had belonged to a person until Arianna had explained what exactly Jarvis was. It was brilliant. Loki didn't like the fact that Tony Stark could pull up an image or video from anywhere in the Tower, but he did appreciate the genius behind it.

This particular day, Arianna was showing Loki around the kitchen. Mostly she was just letting him know where everything was, so if he needed something, he would know where it was located. That was easy enough to remember.

On Asgard there wasn't anything remotely like an oven, a microwave, or a refrigerator, but they were all brilliant inventions. Loki was used to a pit of fire for cooking – not that he knew how to cook, but he knew what was needed – so the oven was a nice touch. One was able to control the heat by setting the degree one needed for a specific dish.

The refrigerator was practical and kept things from spoiling when left over. Asgard should invest in such things in the future.

He wasn't sure about the microwave. It was brilliant, of course, but it didn't seem healthy. He didn't understand how it worked, so he didn't trust it.

As it was, Arianna had shown him how to use the toaster and they were both slathering butter and jam over the toasted bread.

"Is there anything you want to do today?" Arianna asked. "Maybe watch another movie or something. I have to go down to the lab, but I can set you up before I go. I can show you how to use the DVD player and the TV. Or I can show you how to use the computer."

Loki didn't really want to do any of those things. He didn't mind movies or TV, though he thought people needed to be careful in choosing what to watch. Some of the things he'd seen could only be called moronic and probably lowered the intelligence level of the people who regularly watched them.

He didn't mind reading, but it seemed to him that the only thing he'd been doing was reading.

"Do you mind if I come with you? I'm interested in what Midgardians consider science. Maybe you could teach me the computer later."

Arianna smiled softly. Loki's gaze fixed on her face when he noticed that when she was genuinely happy her green eyes would dance with light.

He didn't know why she was still being so nice to him. He'd heard her arguing with her red-headed friend. He knew Agent Romanoff didn't agree with Arianna treating him as kindly as she was, but Arianna hadn't changed despite knowing how her friend felt.

Loki didn't know what he would've done had Arianna begun to show hatred or indifference towards him. She was the only thing making his stay on Midgard bearable. He didn't really miss Asgard, but it was his home; it was what was familiar to him. His mother was there, and he did miss her.

Arianna was what was familiar here. She was what he clung to so that he would not be completely alone.

"I'll teach you the computer. Will you teach me about you and your people? I mean, you're from a different realm."

Loki could see the obvious curiosity Arianna was expressing. She was sincerely interested in learning for the sake of learning.

"How about you let me come with you and I'll tell you more about Asgard."

"I don't mind you coming with me. You probably should explore the building a bit. Although the lab is usually off limits when Tony is working."

Loki did want to explore, but he wasn't up to his usual strength yet. He didn't know what his usual strength was anymore. He would no longer have the strength of a god. He would have only human strength. He wasn't sure what that meant. He knew he would probably be one of the weakest ones there.

The patriotic one had the power of science making him strong; Dr. Banner became a green beast when angry enough; Agent Barton was an excellent archer and a fair fighter; Agent Romanoff knew how to fight and could probably wield any weapon one put in her hands; Stark had his suit of metal that he could call on in an instant; Arianna had her powers even if she didn't know how to use them to her advantage.

Loki could fight, but he'd always had his strength and magic to rely on. He'd told Arianna once that he'd preferred magic to fighting, and he hadn't been lying. Most of the men on Asgard were big and burly like Thor. They had their build to work with, whereas Loki was tall and lean.

He was brought back to himself by hearing the cling of dishes being put in the sink. Arianna was done with her breakfast and she was waiting for him now.

Without a thought, he took a large bite of his toast. It wasn't polite to keep a lady waiting. ---------- The first thing Tony did when Arianna and Loki got to the lab was attach her to a heart monitor. He was also going to scan her brain waves so he could record activity while she did whatever it was she could do.

Tony explained what everything was before getting started. That had been one of the conditions of their arrangement, and he didn't mind upholding his end.

The first thing he said was, "Why's Reindeer Games here?"

Arianna mock-glared at him. "He wanted to come see the lab, and that's not his name."

"Right. Loki. My bad."

Loki didn't seem offended in the least. Tony was sure Loki didn't care what anyone thought of him, let alone what Tony thought. In fact, Loki seemed uninterested in anyone that wasn't Arianna Grace.

"I am here to speak with you, Man of Iron," Loki said. "If you had directed your question to me, I would have more than happily answered."

Tony was shocked, to say the least. Loki had barely spoken to anyone aside from Arianna, and now he was requesting a conversation with Tony.

"It can wait until you are through with this . . . session of experimentation."

"Research," Tony corrected. "Not experimentation."

None of it would be documented. Tony was just curious. Plus he didn't want to risk SHIELD hacking into his database and stealing information on their littlest Avenger. He wouldn't endanger her that way.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Dr. Branner, who was in a lab coat. He stepped forward and quietly greeted everyone, even Loki.

"Is it all right if Bruce takes a blood sample?"

"Sure, but I can already tell you I'm A positive."

"That's good to know if you're ever bleeding to death," Tony quipped. "That's not why I want a sample, though."

Tony gestured for Bruce to begin. All in all, Arianna was only in the lab for about thirty minutes. Tony was only testing her normal responses at the moment. He wanted to know what her heart rate and brain activity were when she was relaxed. Only then could he compare it to results he hoped to get at a later date.

"You're all set," he said.

"That's it?" Arianna asked, a cute and confused look on her face.

"Yup. We can do other tests later."

She hopped off the hospital bed she'd been sitting on, looked at Loki, and raised her eyebrows a bit.

"You don't have to wait for me," Loki said. "I'll find my own way back."

She nodded and sent them all a quick smile before heading to the elevator. Tony found the bond between Loki and Arianna interesting – troubling, but interesting nonetheless. Arianna hadn't given voice to her question, but Loki had understood her facial expression. He'd known her a few short weeks and whether Arianna would admit it or not, she'd formed an attachment to the former god of mischief.

Tony didn't know what that meant.

"I mean her no harm," Loki said. Apparently Loki was just good at reading people.

"Good. Because if you hurt her, the kid gloves will come off and you'll be given to Fury so fast you won't know what hit you. And you're not immortal anymore."

Loki nodded soberly. "That's why I wished to speak to you."

Tony looked at Bruce, who was pointedly pretending to study a drop of Arianna's blood that he'd placed on a slide and onto the plate holder of a microscope.

"Go on," Tony said.

"I am mortal now. I don't know what that entails. I don't understand myself in this form."

Loki stepped forward.

"I'd like to learn. I'll need your help. I need to know my strengths and weaknesses, my limitations." A small grin graced Loki's lips. "Research, Mr. Stark."

Because Tony Stark was ever the curious genius-playboy-philanthropist, he gave in.

@smallangryandpink, @purplekitten30

#loki #loki x reader #loki/oc #Loki/OFC #love is healing #chapter six

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Yan Giorno Giovanna - Tarot Card Asks

i’ve actually done some of the tarot cards for giorno but i wanted to revisit how i characterize him as a yan, and therefore we’re doing all of them again bois ! i might do this for bucciarati, mista, narancia, josuke and jotaro too! but my fav is up first

here’s a link to all the tarot questions!

The Fool - How deluded is this yandere when it comes to their darling? Are they self aware on any level?

His fears don’t come from an unfounded place. Being Don of Passione puts you in danger merely for being associated with him, Giorno well aware of the fact. When he tells you he’s protecting you he means it, frustrating as it may be. That doesn’t mean he prides himself in cutting you off from others, it hurts to know you’re lonely when he’s not around.

The Emperor - How much of their darling’s life does this yandere dictate/want to dictate?

Giorno feels that he doesn’t take more than he has to. There’s a lot of things you’re able to do, plenty of rooms set aside filled with equipment for your hobbies. The catch is that you’re either with him, or with no one at all. Other than keeping you in a certain, secure area, you’re allowed to do as you please as long as it won’t harm you. It’d make him feel better knowing you have some level of autonomy.

Strength - How outwardly passionate is this yandere around their darling?

At first, he came off as impersonal to you. Giorno gave you space and allowed you to come to terms with your situation, not imposing himself upon you other than checking in. You can feel how he cares for you in his actions more than his words. From the way your room is decorated with your favorite flowers, to how you fall asleep in the study only to wake up tucked carefully into bed. Eventually he’ll grow more comfortable with you, sprinkling in words of heartfelt affection.

The Hanged Man - Is controlling their darling important? Or do they want their darling to love them willingly?

It’s natural that he does want you to return his love, but he’s patient and cunning. Giorno will give you small pushes, but never outright forces you to say or do anything for him. It’ll be much more gratifying when it comes from a genuine place. He’s not a pushover though -- if you’re being disagreeable, he’ll leave to cool off as not to aggravate the situation further.

The Tower - If this yandere saw their darling in danger, how would they respond/react?

It would require a lot of planning for anyone with nefarious intent to get close to you. The only plausible way is if they’re a Stand user. If Giorno is with you, he’ll take care of the person with detachment. Your safety is his first priority, any wounds you may have sustained being treated with GER. He’ll take this experience as validation for his concerns. Expressing to you later that this is why he has to protect you, once you’ve calmed down.

Judgement - Would this yandere ever open up to their darling?

He wants to truly be himself with you, but these things take time. Giorno isn’t sure how to open himself up to you, and doesn’t want to reveal too much at once. It’s a vulnerable feeling, and he’ll only ever attempt it once you’re more accepting of your situation. With enough encouragement he’ll start to show more sides of himself to you.

The Magician - How would this yandere use their abilities/status on their darling?

Anything is at his disposal, given his position in the mafia. He prefers to lavish you in luxury rather than punish you. Gold Experience allows him to create an assortment of rare and beautiful flowers to impress you with. Giorno wants to have positive experiences with you, but given the nature of what he’s doing that isn’t always possible. If you were ever harmed in an attempt to escape, he might hold off on healing you as you know he can as a “lesson”. It hurts him to do so though.

The Hierophant - Could this darling’s yandere fool them easily? Or be manipulated by them?

Hah no way. Giorno wouldn’t have made it this far without being able to tell when a person is acting genuine or is lying. To make matters worse, he has already memorized most of your behavior. Any signs of lying will be picked up on with seamless grace. Whether or not he calls you out on it with a smile depends on what it is you’re lying about. If you’re trying to manipulate him, he might play along to get more information. Or if he feels he’s had enough, he’ll tell you outright with an unimpressed expression that he’s disappointed.

The Hermit - Is this yandere more relaxed, or capable of being more relaxed?

When you’re acting as you should, Giorno is pleasant to be around. He listens to you, is attentive to your needs, and truly adores you above all else. He’ll even go along with most things you ask for, within reason. You mention a craving for a certain dessert lately? He happens to know one of the best chefs in Italy who’ll make it right away. One of your favorite books came out? You’re getting a signed copy. Be good to him and he’ll be good to you.

Death - Would this yandere ever kill their darling? If not, would this yandere “kill” undesirable traits of their darling?

Giorno would go to hell and back for you, he wouldn’t even entertain the thought of killing you. He’s lost so much in his life -- friends, family -- he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you on top of that. Everything he’s done has been to ensure your safety, after all. Unless you have a habit that’s extremely self destructive, he’ll let you be yourself. He fell in love for who you are.

The Star - How would this yandere deal with their darling’s loved ones?

There are a few possibilities with this. He might introduce himself to your family at one point, dazzling them with his charisma in hopes of further cementing himself into your life. Giorno doesn’t have any sadistic desire to hurt people more than necessary, that extends to them as well. If you’ve been acting up for too long, he might dryly mention paying them a visit. That’s normally all it takes for you to quiet down.

The World - Would this yandere ever give up on their darling?

Giorno is nothing is not determined. Once he has a goal he will accomplish it. It’s not a question of if, rather, a question of when. He’ll have a preference for less malicious methods, but he is a member of the mafia. Getting his hands dirty doesn’t make him flinch. It’s just that when it comes to you, he’d prefer to give you the option to give him before he goes to more extreme lengths.

The High Priestess - What expectations does this yandere have for their darling?

He wants you to be as you were before. Giorno expects the initial combative phase, but doesn’t want it to last forever. He’ll do anything to make you feel at home, so that you can be yourself around him once again. Expect lots of encouragement to return to your hobbies and previous interests, he wants you to thrive in your new environment.

The Lovers - How would this yandere deal with their darling being in a relationship with someone else?

Unfortunate as it is, he will be mercilessness with his methods. It’s what comes to mind when you almost find yourself giving into his abundance of charm. How blatantly abhorrent he is with your former partner. It pains him to even give them that label. Expect a very mafia style death, of a set up accident or worse. It depends on his mood. It’ll be messy and cruel no matter how the orders are carried out to remove that obstacle.

Wheel of Fortune - Would this yandere’s behavior stay the same over time? If not, why do they remain the same?

Growing closer to you will change how he acts, even if it’s only in the small things. He’ll be more open about his interests with you, taking pleasure in deep discussions about nature where he can showcase his knowledge. Before he could almost seem clinical at times, like every touch and word was calculated. He becomes more of himself once you accept him, less rough around the edges.

Temperance - What made this person yandere for their darling?

Your benevolence. In his life he has rarely been on the receiving side of it, the world dishing out tragedies to him one after the other. Your disposition is in stark contrast with the cruelties he’s witnessed. From giving people the benefit of the doubt, to actively going out of your way to assist your friends... it draws him in. He wants to both protect this rare part of you, and keep it all to himself.

The Moon - Is this yandere sensitive to what their darling says or does? If not, why don’t they care?

It’d be hard to tell that your words upset him. With a watchful eye you’ll be able to pick up on the humanity that slips through his carefully crafted mask of indifference. Giorno’s hands shake, even if only the slightest bit when you detail your hatred for him. Beneath the surface is an abundance of hurt. Why is it so difficult for you to understand he’s made these hard decisions for your well being?

The Empress - Would this yandere want to have children with their darling in the future?

Family has never been a luxury he’s gotten to experience. He wrote off his parents at a young age due to their treatment of him. You presented a new opportunity to him, one of correcting the wrongs of the past with new beginnings. If you’d be willing, he’d love to have a family. Whether it be adoption or his own kin. Giorno would love to have a boy and a girl, spoiling them and giving all his love.

The Chariot - What freedoms would this yandere allow, and take away?

Contact with anyone other than Giorno is taken away. There are staff and bodyguards where you live, but they’ve received special instruction not to speak to you (unless there’s an emergency). He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but a dark part of him wants for you to depend solely upon him. He can provide you with anything, so he assumes it’s not like you need anyone else anyways.

Justice - Does this yandere ever feel conflicted about what they’re doing?

While Giorno isn’t as relentless as the previous Don, to be in his position means to have a muddied moral compass. It hurts to see you crying and upset, it truly does, but he reminds himself of the greater picture. He’ll never feel seriously split over what he’s doing, resolve too firm to budge. It’ll be impossible to ever convince him to stop.

The Devil - What taboo things would this yandere do to their darling?

Most times when you hurt yourself he’ll heal you up without any hesitation, hating the thought of you being in pain. It’s a different story if you injured yourself in an attempt to escape, or after you managed to escape. He’ll take care of anything life threatening, but other than that, you’re on your own. He’ll remind you with an icy gaze that this is what happens when you defy him, and his good intentions.

The Sun - When would this yandere feel content with their situation?

The day you wake up and return his affection wholeheartedly. He might be so ecstatic that it’ll bring him to tears honestly. Giorno will swear himself to you again, in a way remnant of wedding vows. He’ll dedicate every breath of the remainder of his life to making you happy, and protecting you, his most beloved.

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #giorno x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #yandere #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba imagine #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #my stuff

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