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rinharu-purple · 3 years

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About S2 PV CH 10-13

Yes, it is a belated post, since the chapters are out. But you still might enjoy reading this 😄😄

Starting with Kiro/Helios with a mullet (I can’t believe that he’s wearing a mullet).

He is in a seemingly abandoned venue with a fading microphone. Maybe he is imagining himself on the stage again? Someone has also pointed out that he might be deaf, because of the hear aid, but the singers always wear one on stage, so I don’t think that’s the case.

And then we switch to the embodiment of awesomeness goes by the name Gavin in a rooftop bar, chilling with a bottle of Tiger beer. Greeting MC with a “I am not here for you”, which is ironic, because in the previous PV 6-9 he said the exact opposite:

The way I see it, Gavin is giving us the good old push and pull treatment. Thanks babe :/

---

Victor is probably overseas (San Francisco maybe, it looks like the Golden Gate bridge in the background) and is buying a New CLA? (the letters on the background). But its a Maybach you’re leaning on Vic (and nobody buys them with the Mercedes star anymore btw, its too old school, but because it's a Maybach I'll let it slide unnecessary info)

His smile while texting with MC is very cute (probably his inside voice his calling her dummy but as long as it cant be heard from the outside we’re cool).

And the way the picture suits to the melody in those 4 single piano notes is really nice.

Lucien is back to his assassin mode, stealing stuff and going behind people’s backs, playing all sides against each other, scheming and such. Same old same old. Gotta admit though, that I like him like this the most. especially when he gets caught by the MC and keeps his composure like “Haven’t you heard? I am the lizard king in this no horse town” Smooth.

Nothing on Shaw. Sorry.

Joker is finally getting a sprite and is out there to get our LIs. Gathering proof on them etc. Let’s see where it goes.

Enter the angst:

Victor warns MC about pretending not to know him. Probably because he is already aware of the facht, that they are being watched, so he might be trying to conceal his relationship to MC, but I have no idea, how he is planning to do that, when they are both working for the BS.

But more importantly. Victor, a beige suit, with a black/brown shirt and a blue tie?!! You are an extremely rich guy, don’t you think that you should have the fashion sense which goes with it? Just because it looks good on Gavin doesn’t mean, it would look good on you too. Try something like this maybe?

While I am busy criticizing Victor’s Printemps ‘21 prét á porter look, this scene pops up out of nowhere accompanied by the melody going all crescendo, hitting me HARD:

I don’t even know where to start in this 4,5 seconds of heartbreak. Bullet points help:

- Symbolism is very strong with this scene. MC is shown falling into an inferno-like abyss with all red-fiery colors. And Gavin is responsible for it.

- Gavin is wearing his trench coat from S1 CH1, reminiscence to the start of the story. Also the red ribbon part of MC’s pullover might have been put there to symbolize the red string of fate. Having read @cheri-translate s translation on Gavin’s R&S earlier today about their inevitable attraction, it doesn’t feel like a far fetched speculation. Their souls are bound together and yet their hands are pulled apart in a way. We are so used to seeing Gavin and MC hand in hand or embracing, this feels like being hit by a truck. It also gives me some break-up vibes. Specifically because MC is reaching out for his hand but Gavin doesn’t move an inch.

- I need to say this though, his body and his face tell us two different stories. His body is stiff and doesn’t move, but look at his face:

Two things that stand out is 1) Ohmaygadheissohandsomeitmustbeillegal just kidding, not Gavin-stan gotta Gavin-stan swh 1) He is slightly biting his lip (the down curve on the edge of his mouth), so he is restraining himself from holding her (though I am almost certain that he would still subtly soften her fall with his evol). And 2) His eyes are filled with mixed emotions and his brows are furrowed very very little. He is showing only micro mimics so I am guessing that he is also trying to hide his relationship to MC, much like Victor.

Helios cutting MCs hair makes me only think about the Halloween 2020 event. No other comment on this. Again, PG is giving us some good throwbacks.

And the final blow with Lucien. The way its shown and the filter thats put on the scene hints towards a dream sequence. I don’t think it happens in the real world. Because for Lucien to lose the only source of color in his life is probably his worst fear. So having such a nightmare will probably lead to him distancing himself from MC even more.

OR, MC is going S1 CH11 all over again but this time around with Lucien. OR OR S2 CH 10-13 is S1 11-14 all over again, thus history repeats itself. Victor and MCs’ scene reminds me of this:

Helios threatening MC is much like MC finding out about Ares and as Areas threatens her not to be caught by him again.

MC falls again, but this time Gavin doesn’t catch her mid air.

Pretty sure its such my mind going to odd places, but the parallels are there, right? RIGHT?

Anyways this post didn’t come out as I desired it to be, probably because I took my sweet time contemplating it and the new chapter are out, so many of you must already know where I am wrong lol.

But above all CH32 falls tomorrow!!!!The most anticipated moment is right around to corner guys and gals!!!!

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #mlqc gavin #mlqc victor #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc bai qi #mlqc haku #mr. love queen's choice #pv 10-13 #PV 11-14 #mlqc second season

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tea-and-conspiracy · 3 years

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Prompt 17: Destruct

“I’ve not seen you since you were five!” Eliane laughed, taking Odette by the hand. “’Twoud seem you’ve had your growth spurt recently, too. Graces, what a strange feeling, to see you so tall!”

“Not tall enough! I’m still looking up at you.” Odette laughed, idly shaking a wisp of hair from her eyes. “It’s strange for me to be able to tell the difference between you and Juleaux now. You two were identical back in the day.”

“Oh believe me, we hear that often.” Eliane waved for her to have a seat as she reached for her customary tea. “And we took ample advantage of it.”

“I can only imagine! How fun that must have been.”

Eliane smirked, reaching to slide her a tiny dish of sugar cubes. “Speaking of Jules, he’s told me some of Sharlayan, from the time he spent there. Thank you, by the by, for allowing him to stay with you.”

Odette laughed. “It was hardly my decision. But we got along famously! I’m simply glad he was able to mend things with Uncle Em.”

“’Twas a process. And still is, to a large extent.” Eliane sighed softly.

Odette nodded, lifting her cup to blow on it. “But you were going to ask what it’s like back home?”

Eliane arched a brow. It would seem her little cousin was sharp indeed.

Odette had grown into a darling young woman: still petite despite the infamous elezen growth spurt, but not necessarily fragile looking. She had the ‘fey’ facial features that Eliane had also inherited from the Lachansseau side of the family: the pert, upturned nose, the bright, full lips, the large, curious green eyes. It was the veil of thin, silky black hair that set the two starkly apart; Odette currently wore it in a short, not-quite-a-bob, parted such that a good portion of it continuously fell over – and into – one eye.

She was also dressed identical to her father: billowing shirt beneath a tight fitting vest, loose slacks, calf-high boots, and most important -- a scholar’s jacket worn as a dramatic cape about the shoulders. Did she admire her sire that much, Eliane wondered, or was this simply the style in Sharlayan currently?

“It’s lovely, really, but I’m not sure what to compare it to. I barely have any memories of the colony…just the last two times you and Jules visited, and of course the night we had to leave. It took…a long time to recover from that.”

Eliane frowned. “Did you have to leave everything?”

“Near enough as made no matter. At the time I was upset I couldn’t have my dolls, but now?” Odette leaned in, eyes wide. “Do you have any idea how much research was left behind? And never retrieved! Imagine what’s been lost in all this time, destroyed by the weather, or looters, or Thaliak knows what else. That’s a crime against all spokenkind!”

Eliane knew her own family well enough to be able to put two and two together. Her teacup paused halfway to her painted lips, a brow arching skeptically. “…You didn’t come out here early just to deliver the passports, did you?”

Odette made a show of covering her heart in pain. “How you doubt your own kin, dear cousin! It wounds me! Buuuuuuut, now that you mention it...” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “It was part of the provision we got you all approved on. We have to bring back everything we can, in what little time we have, if any of you are to be allowed to set foot upon the island.”

Eliane arched a brow. “…So you told them we’d be bringing back a shipment of tomes from Dravania? And you volunteered us for this without consulting us first?”

“We had no choice! We were rather forced to defend you on the spot. Ishgard has a reputation for…well…war. We had to convince the Powers That Be that your interest in traveling to Sharlayan was of a high-minded purpose.”

In truth, even Eliane wasn’t certain why it was suddenly critical they all travel to Sharlayan – but Mother insisted on it, and she wasn’t about to deny Mother anything after all these years.

“…Why?”

“I…” Odette shifted in her chair. “I’m not allowed to speak on it to outsiders.”

“Fury’s breath, Odette! I’m not an outsider, I’m family!”

“I know, I just…I’m sorry. We’ll be able to fill you in on everything once we’re all safely home. Of that I’m absolutely certain!”

Eliane sighed, falling back into her chair. “…So let me guess. Our house is to be the main source of funding and protection for this little expedition of yours.”

“Weeeeeeelllllll…” Odette turned sheepish.

“Absolutely not!” roared father’s voice from downstairs. “Not even if you setting foot in that library meant I could walk again!”

“Gods be good.” Eliane pressed her face into her palm. It would seem whatever peace the household had enjoyed these past few moons was well on its way out the door.

#ffxivwrite2021 #my writing #eliane requingris #odette lachansseau #house requingris #lots of things destructing here #mostly ellie's father #rip emmereaux's blood pressure

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leomitchellart · 4 years

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So… about this latest Inktober controversy….

Time to begrudgingly chuck in my two penneth… (Remeber you can always press “J” to skip this post altogether)

As most of you may or may not know, Alphonso Dunn released a Youtube video wherein he publicly accused Jake Parker, and creator of the Inktober challenge, of plagiarising his book. Both of these men are public figures, artists specialising in pen & ink. In the video Dunn looks at the preview pages and flip through footage of Parker’s “Inktober All Year Round” and says they draw many similarities in the illustrations, language and layout that he used in his own book, “Pen & Ink Drawing”. Parker’s book was set to this month. Hense why Dunn only used footage and not a physical copy.

Since the video’s release, the art community has been very spilt down the middle. The book’s publisher has halted the launch of Parker’s book until the matter can be investigated. Even DeviantArt cancelled their own Inktober event thing (I’ll admit I don’t keep up with these things DA keeps doing). Parker has since released a statement in the matter. Now it’s up to the courts to decide what’s happening next. The video itself is an hour long, but it’s crucial to see it yourself.

People are, understandably, outraged after seeing it. This seems like a shitty thing to rip-off Dunn - not to mention stupid. Since Dunn is the more popular pen & ink artist with more social media followers and name recognition. Many have called to boycott inktober and condemn Parker. I’ll admit, I was right alongside them at first, at least for feeling outraged. The similarities are there. But if YMS’s Kimba video has taught me anything, it’s that, even if an accusation of plagiarism may be obvious at a cursory glance, sometimes it’s important to take a more critical eye and do more research to learn that things aren’t as cut and dry as they first seem. If there’s a lesson I can take away from the internet as a whole, it’s that no one thinks about the consequences of mob mentality.

The most common defence of Parker is that because they’re both books about pen and ink drawing, then they’re inevitably going to be similar. I’ll admit that, when you pick-up so many art books, a lot of them will cover the same basic grounds of materials, tutorials, strokes, techniques etc. The parts about rendering textures on spheres and cubes isnt new. Look up “texture study” and you’ll see so many examples of artists rendering these kinds of things digitally. I’ve also noticed a common theme of people more formally educated in art pointing out how none of these are original. Everything down to the steps and illustrations are things they’ve learned from years ago. Since I'm a pen & ink artist, inspired by my love of comics, I have quite a few books about inking: Dunn’s included. I own both his books and still highly recommend them. I didn't even preorder Parker’s book. Ironically because I didn't think it could offer anything new that my other books hadn’t already.

While Ethan Becker took the time to cross-examine Dunn and Parker’s books with several others, there weren’t many of the ones I actually owned. So I looked to my shelves to see what I could find. Books like:

“The Art of Comic Book Inking” by Gary Martin & Steve Rude

“How Comics Work” by Dave Gibbons & Tim Pilcher

“The DC Comics guide to Inking Comics” by Klaus Janson

“Making Comics” by Scott McCloud

“Stan Lee’s How to Draw Comics”

I’m sure there’s plenty more examples out there. I was planning to go through all of these and take pictures. But ultimately that’s not the core point of these post. Plus it would’ve taken WAY too long and this post itself, is long enough.

Of course, none of the them are 100% close to Dunn’s in the way they’re displayed. Not as close as Parker’s could be considered. That being said, I know Dunn is trying to claim that he invented these techniques. The nucleus of the issue is how similar they are in terms of order and how these pages are displayed. Some I can chock-up to standard practice, while others seem more coincidental.

If there’s one thing I’m adamant about, it’s that I think that Dunn should’ve messaged Parker first before making the accusation public. Some try to dispute that this would've made it easier for Dunn to be “silenced”, whatever that means; but that sounds a bit conspiratorial to me. Ideally, you confront him about it in private, if he makes any threats or blows you off, get your lawyer on the phone and then make the video. Not only is it the more civil thing to do - but it’s the smarter thing to do. This is a serious legal matter, not just internet drama. While I’m sure Dunn had no intention of tearing Parker down or getting a mob onto him, that’s unfortunately what’s happened. A backlash both from the general artisan community and several companies. Wherein it was left to Parker himself to make this an official legal matter. If Parker’s found not guilty, then this could easily leave the gate open for him to sue Dunn for damages, loss of revenue, defamation of character or whatever else, should he see fit. As could the publishers, given how this affected their sales. Companies responded to the accusation of the video alone, before an investigation could be launched. Sure, it wouldn't be “acting the bigger man” but he’d be well within his right to do it. Dunn showed that Jake has mentioned him before, shown admiration for his career and referenced him in other posts. If it comes to light in court, that Dunn is even cited as an inspiration or source in the book itself, then it’s case closed.

Then there’s the other possibility that Parker might not have done this on his own, but that he has a team behind the book. If that’s the case, the most I can accuse Parker of is being a hack. I worry Dunn has kneecapped himself for just how badly he’s handled this situation. Made worse by him not having an actual physical copy to assess and just had footage of preview pages to go on. So far, the circumstances don’t seem on his favour.

I don’t think ill of Dunn. I do think he believes he’s been wronged and no malice in his intentions. I just think he’s made some critical errors on how to handled this. As for Parker himself, I couldn't give a donkey’s doo-dah about him. I’m sure you could accuse me of playing devil’s advocate earlier, but to me, he was the guy who released the annual prompt list. If it really does turn out that he’s a plagiarist and had malicious intent, then fuck ‘im. I never regarded him as an inspiration of mine or paid much attention to him outside of that. It was the community that made Inktober what it is. I’ve never met Parker. Maybe he’s a cool guy? Maybe he’s a bellend? I don’t know.

Granted this isn't the first time Parker has proved himself to be a controversial figure: - Last year people were upset about him trademarking (not copywriting, as many have erroneously claimed) the word “Inktober” and some artists were stopped from selling their related work or zines. Parker would issue a statement: claiming the takedowns were a mistake of “overzealous lawyers” and it’s just a matter of the logo being trademarked. People can sell their Inktober works and even mention they are Inktober-related. Just not use the official logo. On the one hand, from a business standpoint, I get it. It’s the bare minimum you need to do to protect your IP, especially when you have a store. BUT, like most people, I don’t like how, what’s intended as a community challenge, has slowly become more of a brand associated with one man. Hardly a surprise it left a bad taste in so many people’s mouths. But, since it doesn't actually effect anyone’s ability to take part in the challenge, outside of personal principle, I went ahead with it the previous year.

- The year before, when asked if one can do Inktober digitally, Parker said the following:

I know some are still bitter about that, but speaking as someone who inks traditionally and digitally, this came across as needless whinging and blowing things out of proportion. Claiming that Jake had derided digital artists and said they were invalid etc etc. Take it from me, challenging yourself to try out different methods to ink traditionally can greatly improve the work you do digitally. It’s like how learning traditional fundamentals of art can still be applied to digital. Plus he never said “No.” he just gave valid reasons about how it makes it a different experience. That said, if you’re someone who can’t afford any kind of inking equipment or pens and only have a selected application to draw on - then none of this applies to you. Just the aforementioned few who took it upon themselves to get angry over nothing. Recently I’ve heard from subscribers of his newsletter that he’s now embraced the idea of people doing inktober digitally, to the point of selling digital brushes for inktober. I’m sure some will call this “backsliding” or “money grubbing” because people aren’t allowed to change their minds or update their statements.

For weeks I’ve been torn on what to do, not being able to solidify one stance over another. One minute I thought #JusticeForAlphonsoDunn then I wonder “Wait maybe I should look again?” to “But wait, those are way too similar!” Having splinters in my arse from sitting on the fence for so long. The longer this went on, however, I began to realise that I can’t take one stance over another. This case is far too muddy and complicated. I don’t have enough sufficient knowledge or evidence. Nor do any of you. We literally only have Dunn’s video to go on. While it’s a good start, it’s not enough to be taken 100% as gospel when it’s the only thing to hand.

As previously mentioned, a lot of artists have decided to not take part in Inktober at all, or follow different prompt lists. That’s completely fine. A lot of them are based around a specific theme: halloween, kinky stuff, bears, transformers, OCs, Disney or whatever. That has massive appeal. I just can’d do it myself. I prefer the focus on random words, rather than all centred on a single subject; allowing me to be creative with my ideas and execution. I actually did try to make a list of my own random words. Problem is, I worried that because I was choosing my own, I might be subconsciously bias towards certain prompts and not truly challenging myself. Even narrowing down my options was taking too long. In the end…. I’ve decided to just do the official prompts again this year.

For me, that’s what it ultimately came down to. TIME. It’s the middle of September. I can’t afford to wait for the court case to be settled. No other prominent artists I respect have released their own prompt lists. I know there’s been some shitty people who are condemning this choice. Attacking others, accusing them of supporting plagiarism, looking to block anyone who does the official prompts. Even trying to make this a racial issue. Just…. no.

If someone doesn’t want to take part in Inktober, that’s fine. If someone wants to do the official prompts, that’s fine. If someone wants to do their own prompts, that’s fine.

Don’t go around aggressively making snap judgements or accusing people of taking a side. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. This has been a shit year, let people enjoy something.

If you look at this situation and it makes you feel angry, and you don’t feel comfortable in taking part in a challenge because of it’s creator. I get that, I literally get that. It’s why I haven't done Mermay. And please don’t mention Pinktober, I’m aware of it, but given his insta video on the subject and the things he said, I quickly came to the conclusion that I can’t take this person seriously. I’m sure this might make me seem hypocritical, but how this differs, if only for me, is the sheer amount Inktober means to me. It’s more than a simple challenge. Inktober's the one thing I’ve been most excited about all year. As it was ruined for me in 2019, when I lost my home and I didn't get to complete every prompt. (Long story, I’m okay now). As we all know, 2020, has been an AWFUL year. We’ve got to take whatever joy we can. As I’ve looked longer at the official prompts, I found ideas I’m really excited for.

Once I started to really dedicate myself to it, it became a massive event. I hype myself up as I prepare for the busy month. Buy in supplies, clean the house and workspace, cook and freeze meals in bulk to save time, printing off a sheet that allows me to jot down ideas as I plan ahead. Then once it’s done, after so much work, it makes the reward all the sweeter: Ordering a takeaway, celebrating a great halloween night and still rocking those vibes throughout November. Feeling proud of myself for doing it and seeing myself improve my technique, discipline and earning a few lie-ins to make up for the sleep I lost working. I’m like a kid waiting for Christmas. That said, don’t think that there’s something wrong with you when you understandably can’t dedicate that amount time for a simple art challenge. If anything that’s plenty of reason to why you’re smarter than me. You have a life and don’t push yourself too much.

Now, I need to crack on with the preparations. If you want to boycott Jake Parker, just not buying any of his products should be enough. Doing the inktober challenge doesn't bring attention to him, as I doubt most people even know him as the creator, nor does it even line his pockets. I just hate how cancel culture can do such serious damage like this and then try and put pressure on others to act accordingly without even doing any research themselves.

As long as you’re not harassing anybody. Just do what YOU want to do. That’s fine.

#Inktober #Inktober 2020 #My two penneth #Jake Parker #alphonso dunn

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calumance · 4 years

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okay hear me out..... an fbi 5sos au.... no? okay i’ll see myself out 😔

Oh fuck, okay this was actually quite a challenge for me. I do love me some true crime stories though, however I’m afraid this turned out to sound like an episode of Criminal Minds. That could be good or bad however you want to interpret that. Anyway, here’s some FBI!sos. 👀👀👀 Please note that this has sensitive subjects in it, please read at your own discretion!!!

Calum sat in the van, lights flashing as he watched as the officers escorted the assailant into the police car, ducking his head and then slamming the door. The case that his team had been working on for months, although solved, came to a crashing halt when they were notified of a hostage situation in the town next to theirs. Immediately, his team jumped into the fleet vehicles and sped to the location of the hostage situation. While Calum sat in the back of the van, he ran through the months and months of research that they had been doing.

Normally cases such as this one wouldn’t become and FBI problem, but as soon as the crimes started to cross state lines, the case caught the FBI’s attention. Almost thirty people had been reported missing during the time the assailant had been active, and nearly half of those people had gone missing within the past few months.

The first objective the team was given was to identify the assailant’s profile. Calum walked into the conference room with a cup of fresh coffee, something he thought was only done on TV shows, but after working for the FBI for ten years now, he’s come to realize that life can’t go on without coffee. There was a white board at the front of the room with pictures of all the victims, something that always made Calum’s stomach turn, no matter how many cases he’s worked on. He gulped and smiled down at his colleague Luke as he sat down. Luke has been on the same team as Calum for about five years. Luke worked for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service before he moved to the United States. After he moved he went through all of the American training to be a part of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Calum and Luke bonded over their Australian heritage, although Calum didn’t get into the service until he moved to America over fifteen years ago. Although Luke and Calum both knew Luke was smarter and more experienced, neither of them would admit it out loud. “Is there anything new I missed?” Calum asked after sitting down and taking a sip of the gloriously bitter liquid in his paper cup.

Luke shook his head and leaned his head into his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Dude went silent a month ago. Think he’s about to strike again, but not sure where.” Luke licked his lips and leaned towards Calum, pointing to the white board at the front of the room. “I’ve been trying to see if there’s a pattern with where he’s choosing his victims. Maybe if there’s a shape, or a commonality between the cities.” Luke shook his head and dropped his hand, “But I’ve got nothing.”

Calum stared at the whiteboard. The victims the assailant has chosen all have something in common, the most obvious is the fact they are all women. Maybe the assailant has something against women, maybe a childhood trauma, maybe some Norman Bates thing where he’s obsessed with his mother now he’s killing women. Calum raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his coffee again, he would need more fingers and toes to count how many times he’s crossed men like that.

The rest of their team made their way into the room, sitting around the table while the team director came last, shutting the door behind him. Calum nodded to the rest of the team, Ashton joined the team about three years ago after transferring from another branch. Michael joined the team four years ago after making his way up from the local police department, his previous title being a detective. Ava, who has a doctorate in psychology, has been working for the FBI longer than Calum has been in America. Ava was incredibly smart and knew everything there was when it came to the human mind, especially serial killers. Ava and Calum were put on the same team six years ago, Calum would never admit it out loud, but Ava was one of his favorite people to sit down and have a conversation with. Greyson was the newest member of their team, he joined about a year ago, and Calum honestly didn’t even know where he came from. The only thing he knew about the guy was that he was ridiculously smart with electronics, a critical component to the team in such a technologically advanced age.

The director of the team was a gentleman named Henry. He had a good fifteen years on the oldest member of the team, but somehow he managed to get along with every single one of the members of the team, and was able to connect with them on a personal level. Henry began to break down everything they knew, recapping to see if it could jog any type of “ah-ha” moment. Calum leaned back in his chair and pressed the lips of the paper coffee cup to his lips. His eyes danced from picture to picture, collecting all of his thoughts and hypotheses. Although Calum chuckled to himself for his crazy thoughts, something suddenly made sense.

As he leaned forward he set his coffee cup on the table next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Again, his eyes danced across the whiteboard, gathering every ounce of information he could. His thoughts became solidified and he sat back, scratching one finger over his cheek before he raised his hand. Henry stopped in the middle of his thought and motioned for Calum to speak. Calum cleared his throat, “Aside from the obvious fact that all of the assailant’s victims are female, and they all have brunette hair and blue eyes, something that I think we’ve been skipping over is the fact that they all came from the same city.” Everyone stayed silent and Calum stood and made his way to the whiteboard to point out his thoughts. “Victim number one, although he lived in New York City, she was originally born in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Same with all the victims afterwards. The assailant is travelling across the country, seemingly killing all the women with this physical description and come from Grand Rapids.”

Henry sat down and leaned against the table, giving Calum the floor to continue his thoughts and ideas. “We know that the assailant has been seen driving some beat up Volvo with no license plates. Maybe the Volvo is still registered in Michigan, we can narrow down the registrations in Grand Rapids and see if that can get us some names. Maybe the assailant went to school with all of these women, being brunette and blue eyed isn’t exactly uncommon. I think we should find out where these women went to school, and if there is an open registration on Volvo’s in the Grand Rapids area.” Calum was nearly out of breath trying to explain his thoughts, the excitement of figuring something out making his heart race.

Henry slapped his hand down on the table and nodded, “You all heard the man, start doing some research.” With that, the team scattered. Within a few days they narrowed down the list of names from hundreds, to just a handful. It wasn’t until they released the assailants profile to the press that everything spiraled out of control.

It took about a week and a half for the profile to spread across all media sources, and it was within hours of the team watching a press release that they got the call of the hostage. The guy who made the call was frantic, he was the owner of the local liquor store. The assailant grabbed the woman and clutched her to his chest as he pointed a gun at the owner. As he held the gun, it gently shook with how hard he was holding it. The assailant told him to leave the store, walk five miles and then call the cops. When the cops asked for a description of the woman, he answered, “She has brown hair, blue eyes, I had just checked her ID, she was from Michigan, and she had told me she was there on vacation.” After hearing that, the description was immediately sent to the FBI and the team scrambled their way to the cars.

Calum sat next to Luke in the van, and together they put on their bullet proof vests. Greyson frantically typed away at the computer, trying to tap into the security cameras. Ava, Michael and Ashton all strapped on their vest and took a deep breath, trying to ready themselves for whatever was going to happen when they finally got to this liquor store.

The van came to a screeching halt. Outside the fan was hordes of flashing lights, and multiple policeman perched on their car doors with their weapons pointed at the store. Henry got an update from the chief of police and Calum stood there, eyes scanning the entire front of the store. “He won’t come out knowing there’s so many weapons pointed at him.” Luke said with a sigh, tucking his golden curls behind his ear. Calum turned to him and Luke’s eyes widened. “He’s never done anything drastic in broad daylight. Sure, it’s night time, but there are so many eyes on him that he won’t do anything.” Luke was right, Calum knew he was right, but Calum didn’t know what to do next.

In one swift movement, Calum stripped out of his bullet proof vest, tossed it at Luke and ducked under the crime scene tape, sauntering his way towards the store front. Behind him, he could here Henry yelling at him, but before Henry could blow everything, Calum turned and shot him a look. Henry immediately became quiet, the only sound being the wind, and the heartbeats of all the nervous officers behind him. Calum raised his hands above his head as he stopped a few feet in front of the front door. “My name’s Calum, do you mind if we have a chat for a moment?” The silence was terrifying, Calum would never deny that, but silence all meant that nothing life threatening was happening. Calum kept his hands above his head as he closed the distance between him and the front door. All of the windows of the liquor store were mirrored, it was a common way for stores to combat the Los Angeles sun. As Calum reached down and rested his hand on the door handle, all he could was himself, and the flashing lights behind him. “I just want to talk, do you mind opening the door for me?” Calum said, waiting patiently for the click of the lock.

His heart dropped to his feet when he heard the click. Before making his way inside, he gulped. When he opened the door, the woman who was being held was sitting on the floor. Her ankles were tied with rope, and so were her wrists. Over her mouth was a strip of duct tape, mascara flowing down her porcelain cheeks, terror washed over her blue eyes. Calum rushed to her aide and untied her restraints as quickly as possible to ensure her safety. “As soon as I untie you, you run, don’t stop until someone on the other side of the caution tape grabs you, understand?” She nodded, sobbing still out of terror. The second she was free, she followed Calum’s instructions, running until Luke grabbed her, ushering her to the Ambulance and out of sight.

From behind Calum, he heard the gun cock. Slowly, he raised his hands above his head and turned to face the assailant. The guy was around the same age as him, but looked as if life had run over him more than a few times. His teeth were stained a blackish-green color for the amount of drugs he has injected into his body. His eyes were sunken into his head, his hair unwashed and matted. His clothes were dirty and stiff from the lack of washing. Calum looked into his glossy eyes and could tell how high he was based on the size of his pupils. Again, Calum repeated himself, “My name is Calum, why don’t we put the gun down and have a chat?”

“No!” the guy blurted out, holding the gun even tighter causing the weapon to shake. Calum has handled many guns throughout his career, but the way this guy was clutching the gun made him nervous. “You don’t even know what I’ve been through!” The assailant yelled at Calum.

“Oh, but I do, man.” Calum dropped his hands to be shoulder level. “I know that you were outcasted the second you got into high school. On top of that your mom passed away at a very young age. She was a beautiful woman, wasn’t she?” The guy gulped and nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Your dad was never around, so once your mom passed you had no one, isn’t that right?” The guy gulped again and frantically ran his hand under his eyes then clutched the gun even harder. “All of these women, you didn’t even know them, but they look just like your mother, don’t they?” Calum knew that’s what was going on, he didn’t need the assailant to confirm that. “If you drop the gun and come with me, I can help you.” It was such a cliché line, but most of the people who commit these kind of crimes just want help.

Calum took a step closer to him but the assailant took a step towards him, shaking the gun in his face. He gulped realizing that if he got any closer, Calum might end up swallowing the barrel of the gun. “I don’t need anyone’s help!” The assailant cried out, and in a split second he shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

Thinking quickly, Calum lunged at the gun, causing the gun to motion upwards, the bullet going through the ceiling. Within seconds of the assailant landing on the floor and the gun sliding three feet away from him, Luke and the other police officers busted through the front door. As Calum locked the handcuffs around the assailant’s wrists, Luke slapped Calum’s shoulder. The local police officers took him out the front door and Luke wrapped his arms around Calum, “I heard the shot and thought he got you. You’re a crazy son of a bitch aren’t you?” Together Luke and Calum laughed. You have to be a special kind of crazy to have a career in their field, but Calum loved being that special kind of crazy.

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

Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness @karajaynetoday @talkfastromance4

**If your URL has a strike through it’s because it won't let me tag you ☹️

Ko-fi

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davidmann95 · 3 years

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Got a handful of DC-solicit asks, so I’ll just write up my thoughts on the whole batch again.

Mister Miracle: The Source of Freedom #1: The BALLS to not only do the next Mister Miracle thing after King and Gerads, but to do it with Shilo Norman and therefore invite Seven Soldiers comparisons as well. I wouldn’t be that interested, but the preview art that came with the announcement looked fun so this is a maybe for me.

Wonder Girl #1: I got a Yara Flor ask so I’ll go more into detail with that, but this sounds...not good.

Future State: Gotham #1: Hahaha, thanks, call me in six months if the next team does something there’s a reason to give a shit about. Except...wait, Dennis Culver cowrote that E Is For Extinction Secret Wars mini, dammit this might be good. Either way though, god willing we get a Future State: Metropolis book by Dan Watters too.

Legends of the Dark Knight #1: Hopefully this going with Sensational Wonder Woman means there’s a similar Superman anthology in the cards too, but I won’t hold my breath. Darick Robertson doing Batman is enticing, but I’m not familiar with his work as a writer and the premise doesn’t sound that gripping so I’ll wait and see. That Francavilla variant though? DC, blow that up to poster size and you’d make a mint.

Milestone Returns: Infinite Edition #0: Hmm. I got love for Static, but I might wait for further announcements and/or buzz before taking the plunge on this one.

DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1: This is a SERIOUSLY stacked lineup, definite buy.

Stargirl Spring Break Special #1: Impeccable timing, DC. It feels like it must be some kind of statement that there are no Morrison members of the Seven Soldiers in the mix (even swapping out Ystin for the original version of Shining Knight no one cares bout) - we focus on the Moore fixation, but there’s enough tidbits that I really do feel like Johns probably flat-out hates Morrison. And what’s this ‘secret eighth soldier’ nonsense? There’ve always been eight soldiers, people have been joking about it forever!

Justice League: Last Ride #1: Discussed that announcement here.

Batman: Earth One Vol. 3: *blinks*

*blinks again*

*squints at the cover art*

...Geoff Johns are you seriously trying to step to Morrison and use the Miagani tribe? YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN PEOPLE

I Am Not Starfire: Interesting concept that seems like it pushes into indie-flavored territory as much as DC’s superhero output just about ever has, if word-of-mouth is good there’s a decent chance I’ll get this.

Action Comics #1031: Wonder if this is serious about the potential of Kryptonian refugees, given PKJ suggested the idea in Worlds of War and that could play a significant part in the New Krypton stuff from Bendis’s Legion (with Johnson being clear he’s following up on a lot of Bendis’s ideas with his own Superman run).

Superman #31: This sounds big-time like Johnson hammering Superman into a swords-and-sorcery shape for an arc since that’s his bag, but Superman’s malleable enough for that to work so I’m not complaining.

American Vampire 1976 #8: Still not getting, so.

Batman #108: Tynion’s well and truly figured out how to game the direct market’s dopiest instincts, hasn’t he? Well, as long as that’s in service of him getting to continue doing weird Batman stuff with Jorge Jimenez like introducing whatever the ‘Unsanity Collective’ is, that’s fine with me. And more Ghostmaker!

Batman: Black & White #6: Not as packed for the finale as some previous issues, but still looking good. And there’s really never gonna be a ‘last’ Scott Snyder Batman story, is there? Sure it’ll be good but that’s kind of a shame, his Detective #1027 feature really felt like a nice full circle.

Batman: The Detective #2: Guess I wasn’t the only one wondering if it was a stealth DKR prequel and they wanted to cut that notion out at the knees.

Batman/Catwoman #6: Still very down for it, but BOY that Batwoman costume Mann debuted on Twitter.

The Batman & Scooby Doo Mysteries #2: I recently finally started reading Sholly Fisch and companies’ Scooby-Doo Team-Up! recently after getting the whole run for free on ComiXology earlier this year and have fallen in love with it, so I’m totally grabbing this digitally.

Batman/Superman #18: “The Dark Knight and the Man of Steel are on a mission to stop the godlike Auteur.io from destroying the pocket worlds he’s created...but where on Earth did Auteur.io even come from? The answer starts not on Earth at all, but with an ancient cult of World Forger worshippers on a planet far away—and if our heroes are to have a prayer of stopping this mythic behemoth, they’ll need to get to the bottom of his power source, and quick! It’s a race against time as the parallel lives of entire worlds hang in the balance!”

Anonymous said: Haha is Yang really doing Superman & Batman vs. Zack Snyder and the Snyder Cult (look up “auter” if you don’t know what I mean)? That’s fucking hilarious, especially since he apparently comes from the World Forge which is where all the shitty Earths full of bad ideas are made. Pretty pointed criticism there if I’m reading it right.

I’ve seen two or three people other than this anon independently conclude this arc is about the Supermen and Batmen of the Multiverse teaming up to stop Zack Snyder from destroying them all and at this point I’m ready to ask my LCS owner if I’m allowed to pay more than cover price for this run.

Batman: Urban Legends #3: Much more into this after the Grifter and Outsiders stories in Future State.

Catwoman #31: No reason not to assume this’ll continue to be great.

Challenge of the Super Sons #2: Good for the folks who want this, and that Nick Bradshaw variant is fun.

Crime Syndicate #3: I wanna be convinced to get this book, but the interviews are not persuading me.

Detective Comics #1036: How long is Mora sticking around?!

The Dreaming: Waking Hours #10: Another one I’ve got nothing to say about because I’ve never been getting it.

The Flash #770: Actually really excited to hear about how bad this run will suck now that I know it’s by the mind behind that “Geoff Johns’ OC - do not steal - beats up the Grant Morrison DC future” catastrophe from Future State.

Green Lantern #2: Really couldn’t wait a month for Far Sector to wrap up, huh?

Harley Quinn #3: Still not interested, but that *is* a nice cover.

The Joker #3: There’s a very real possibility I’ll have dropped the book by this point if it turns out to be the illustrated editorial mandate I get the feeling it could be, but fingers crossed.

Justice League #61: Not complaining, but wow, this really is Naomi 2 since Campbell’s busy in order to provide the necessary material for the CW show.

Looney Toons #260/Mad #20: Were these grouped with the rest of the solicits before?

Man-Bat #4: Very curious how this’ll be received, given nobody much cares about Man-Bat but Wielgosz seems to be quickly becoming a favorite.

The Next Batman: Second Son #2: Hadn’t realized this was only 4 issues - guess for at least one of them it’ll be the Luke Fox book everyone expected in the first place.

Nightwing #80: Dick Grayson vs. Heartless, not how I expected the DC/Kingdom Hearts crossover to happen but I’ll take it. That variant though? ALL TIMER:

The Other History of the DC Universe #4: I was trying to figure out who the focus of #4 would be since we know #5 is about Thunder and Lightning, forgot Montoya was confirmed.

Robin #2: Wanna care, so don’t care.

Rorschach #8: I will get it and probably like it.

RWBY/Justice League #2: My thoughts here will be their own post because there’s something particularly notable, but:

Anonymous said: Have you seen the BATtleaxe from the new art for RWBY/Justice League?

Yes, anon. Yes I have.

Sensational Wonder Woman #3: Eh, premise doesn’t grab me but maybe.

Strange Adventures #10: God I love the book about how Adam Strange sucks.

Suicide Squad #3/Teen Titans Academy #3: Hahahahaha

Superman: Red and Blue #3: Fiffe and Stokoe doing Superman stories!!! And...Nick Spencer. With Christian Ward art?! Sigh, fine, hopefully it’ll be Nick Spencer doing a nice little comedy, and not having Grant Morrison Superman throwing his t-shirt away because he grew up and realized changing things is too hard. A horrible shame Pope is doing the main cover though, the allegations against him I guess never really got any attention. At least there’s this JPL variant:

The Swamp Thing #3: Swampy will never be my guy but very happy for those who dig him, because I imagine this’ll be terrific.

Truth & Justice #4: Normally I wouldn’t care at all, but what I’m hearing on Twitter about this is a crying shame - that Jeff Trammell is really talented and Red Hood is a favorite of his and this is likely to be one of Jason Todd’s few Actually Good comics, but that artist Rob Guillory is a bullying transphobic piece of shit. Sucks all around.

Wonder Woman #772: I was so excited for this run, and then Immortal Wonder Woman had to go and suck.

#DC Comics #Opinion

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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The Problem with Spidey as ‘Iron Man Junior’

Proponents of the MCU version of Peter Parker have often defended his characterization as logical and necessary in context. But is this really the case?

Tl:dr version: No it is not.

Forgive some laziness on my part because I’m going to be presuming everyone’s familiarity with the comic book iteration of Spider-Man and his MCU adaptation for the most part. To say there is a divide between many fans of former vs. the latter would be an understatement.

Detractors (which I count myself among) typically sum this up as the character being reduced to ‘Iron Man Junior’. In general this refers to MCU Peter Parker’s hero-worshipping of Tony Stark/Iron Man, their father/son relationship and the similar emphasis upon high technology in their hero identities. A connected point of contention is Peter’s aspiration to become an Avenger.

This was outright confirmed by Tom Holland himself in an interview for the then upcoming ‘Spider-Man: Homecoming’.

"I think the difference now is that Peter Parker finally has an all-time goal, and his goal is to become an Avenger…Everything he does, even though he's doing it for the right reasons, is done so that one day he can become an Avenger and prove himself to Tony Stark. And I think we've never really seen Spider-Man with that kind of motivation before."

Defenders of this take upon Spidey have argued that this portrayal makes sense in context.

After all, Peter Parker is a teenager who’s grown up in a world where the Avengers are beloved, especially Iron Man. Plus in the comics (under J. Michael Straczynski’s pen) there was a time when Peter and Tony shared a father/son relationship. Tony even equipped Peter with a high tech costume as he did in the MCU. Spider-Man early in his career attempted to join the Fantastic Four in ASM #1 and later the Avengers in ASM Annual #3.

The problem is these defences just don’t hold up to scrutiny.

Let me first be upfront about my philosophy towards adaptations.

I in no way shape or form demand nor expect adaptations to be 1:1 panel to screen translations of the source material. I fully respect that changes are a necessity.

One of many 22-page comic book stories put out every month in the 1960s inevitably needs to be altered when jumping to a 90+ minute live action film in the 2010s.

Even the characterizations need to be altered where necessary if the source material is found wanting. *side eyes Emma Stone’s Gwen Stacy*

However, my attitude is that adaptations should at minimum respect the spirit of the source material no matter what. To do otherwise defeats the object of adapting the work in the first place. If a film is just borrowing superficial traits (names, costumes, powers, etc.) and but not representing the spirit of the character, then creatively speaking it might as well be an original character.

This is the case with the MCU version of Spider-Man. A fundamental component of Stan Lee and Steve Ditko’s original vision for Spider-Man was that he was in essence the anti-Robin.

At a time when teenaged characters were sidekicks (Dick Grayson), supporting characters (Rick Jones) or the ‘kids’ in teams (Johnny Storm) Peter Parker was unique as a totally independent teen hero. Of course that independence only applied to his life as Spider-Man, but that was part of the point. Spider-Man was his escape and release from the pressures and hang ups of his regular life, which included his doting yet coddling aunt.

A critical part of this was that he was a self-made man. No elder mentor guided him in the use of his powers, helped him create his equipment or provided any sort of advice/accountability for Peter. He did it all himself. He was a loner.

On a meta level this is partially why Stan Lee (and for the longest time consequent writers) showcased Spidey not jiving with super teams. It was done to emphasis Peter’s independence and thereby his uniqueness within the genre. Even if that’s not so unique anymore (even in film), it’s still a baked in component of teen Spidey’s story. An essential aspect of who he is as a character.

As is his working class status.*

In fact these things go hand-in-hand. Just as Peter had to shoulder an ‘adult hero’s’ burden as Spider-Man (noticeably Lee didn’t dub him Spider-Boy or Lad as would’ve been common back then he also had to struggle for every penny. With the death of his uncle and his aunt’s poor health the burden of household provider fell on his shoulders.

When you take all this into account, having him fanboy over the Avengers and have a superhero mentor (let alone a billionaire one) is an aggressive misreading of the character.

The best way I can illustrate this is with an analogy from the opposite end of the spectrum. Imagine if you will a movie depicting Dick Grayson’s transformation into Robin. Except Batman was wholly absent. Not even an off-screen presence.

That is how poorly MCU has missed the point of Spider-Man.

And it was never necessary.

Contrary to defenders of the MCU, making Peter an Avengers/Iron Man fanboy was not the only logical direction to go with the character.**

Yes, in Peter’s world most kids would revere the Avengers and Iron Man. But in the real world not every kid or teen likes the Avengers characters or movies. Just as not every major pop culture phenomenon has ever been universally embraced by contemporary kids/teens. In the 1980s not every kid loved the Transformers or the Ninja Turtles. In the 1990s not ever kid loved the Power Rangers or Pokémon.

Of course, most kids did, just as most kids like the Avengers characters today. Similarly most kids in the MCU by extension would look up to the Avengers. However, if anything this could actually help generate a more spiritually faithful rendition of the character. Consider that on literally the first page of Amazing Fantasy #15 Peter Parker was mocked by his classmates for being an outsider. A bookworm who didn’t know the difference between a cha-cha and a waltz.

In the context of the MCU wouldn’t Peter’s lack of familiarity or interest in the Avengers make for an appropriate updating of that characterization?

Let’s also consider that in the context of the regular 616 universe Spidey held little reverence for any of the heroes who had preceded him. This included Captain America and other WWII heroes as well as the Fantastic Four and their leader, the world famous scientist Reed Richards. Peter would’ve surely known who Reed and Cap were but as originally depicted by Stan lee himself, he wasn’t falling over himself during any of their early encounters.

So there was already a precedent in the comics for Spidey to not be dazzled by famous A-list heroes, meaning it’d be totally believable in the context of the MCU. Indeed this was likely part of the point of the character. Just as being Spider-Man didn’t improve his outsider status within the high school hierarchy so too was he an outsider among his super hero peers. The nerd to the Avengers jocks if you will.

But what of those comic book sources that say otherwise? Surely ASM #1, ASM Annual #3 and JMS’ run on Amazing Spider-Man corroborate the MCU’s take upon the character.

Yes and no, let’s tackle them one by one.

In ASM #1 it was made explicit that Peter wanted to join the F4 for purely practical reasons. His family needed money so he hoped the F4 could provide and income. When he learned otherwise he departed as quickly as he’d arrived.

In ASM Annual #3 Peter was far from eager to join the Avengers and was equally unimpressed with them as a group.

He actively sabotaged his own chances to join at the issue’s conclusion.

As for Straczynski’s run…sigh…strap in.

At face value this run does indeed seem to support the MCU’s rendition of Spidey. However, the support it offers falls apart due to two factors.

The first is that, well…Peter and Tony’s relationship was pretty nonsensical.

I’m no Iron Man expert so I do not know how old the character would be roughly. From my impressions of the character though circa 2006 he wasn’t even in his 40s yet. Peter by contrast was 30 years old when you do the math. Unlike Tony he’d had several very serious romantic relationships and was back then happily married (barring a brief trial separation). He and his wife had lost a child and even believed one another dead at one point or another. Peter at the time was also working as a teacher to teenagers where he was clearly framed as their elder authority figure.

What I’m saying is that Peter was if anything more emotionally mature than Tony at this time. Or at least he was mature to the point where he was not going to view Tony as his father figure given the minor age discrepancy.

The relationship was clearly engineered with the pre-determined endgame in mind. That endgame being the ‘Civil War’ storyline wherein Peter would unmask upon Tony’s request and subsequently become a fugitive in defiance of Tony’s unethical practices. The latter would entail Tony threatening Peter and the pair coming to blows.

This brings me to the second factor. The totality of Peter/Tony’s relationship was designed to be a testament to how it was ultimately a bad thing.

Tony wasn’t the man Peter believed him to be.

Tony didn’t have Peter’s best interests at heart.

Tony was willing to spy, threaten and even attack Peter.

And along the way Peter and his family lost their home and the safety of Peter’s anonymity. The end result was Peter’s life becoming a shell of it’s former self, with his loved ones in serious danger. In fact you could view his fugitive status as a way to recreate the ‘good old days’ when Spider-Man was feared and hated by the public and authorities.

Had Peter retained his independence rather than surrendering any part of it to his ‘father figure’ Tony Stark, much of this could’ve been avoided. If nothing else Peter might’ve been able to unmask privately rather than publicly.

Whilst the MCU addresses the first factor via de-aging Peter, it has no answer for the second. It borrowed from the JMS run superficially and ditched the greater subtext regarding how Peter shouldn’t have formed a relationship with Tony.

I’d like to conclude by addressing the most obvious counterpoint to everything I’ve said.

If Spider-Man were more comic faithful wouldn’t it undermine the entire point of him being in the MCU? The appeal of the concept was seeing Spider-Man interact with the wider MCU. From the audience’s POV seeing yet another Spidey flick confined to using Spider-Man exclusive elements might as well have been produced solely by Sony.

The problem with this argument though is that it doesn’t consider the myriad of possibilities available. Spidey could interact with the wider MCU and still be in character.

I’m no writer but off the top of my head:

Spidey could have defied the Sokovia Accords and thus been wanted by the authorities (a neat updating of his traditional ‘outlaw’ status), consequently coming into conflict with Iron Man

Spidey might have still dueled the Vulture and interacted with Tony as he did in ‘Spider-Man: Homecoming’. However, instead of gradually realizing he should be a ‘friendly neighborhood’ hero, he could call Tony out for ignoring small scale crime which indirectly ‘created’ the Vulture in the first place

Following ‘Avengers: Endgame’ the dissolution of the Avengers combined with the huge uptick in the population and displacement of citizens might’ve caused far more street crime that Peter would have to deal with. The remnants of H.Y.D.R.A. might’ve exploited this to gain a foothold upon which to rebuild.*** That might’ve warrant an appearance from more grounded heroes like Hawkeye or Ant-Man

An environment like this could’ve been exploited by Quentin Beck to frame Spider-Man, exploiting his already shaky public reputation and make himself look more appealing by contrast

Or Hell just do ‘Nothing Can Stop the Juggernaut’ but with the Hulk as Roger Stern planned to do in the first place

I’m sure many of you could suggest infinitely better ideas.

In conclusion, no matter how you slice it, there were better options than rendering Peter Parker Iron Man Junior instead of Spider-Man.

*Peter, as depicted in ‘Captain America: Civil War’ was clearly not well off financially, yet consequent depictions of Peter in the MCU have de-emphasized this to the point where you could argue they are very probably not working class anymore.

This makes sense internally as a billionaire Tony Stark has no reason to take Peter under his wing but allow him to still dumpster dive for equipment. Giving the boy at least some modest financial stability would be a logical step in building a relationship with him and giving him more time and energy to put into his scientific and heroic pursuits.

Whilst I don’t exactly agree with everything said here, this post dives into the subject more deeply.

**And even if it was, if the context demands Peter be rendered so unrecognizable then maybe it was just creatively reductive to integrate him into the MCU the first place.

***They have after all had connections to organized crime in the comics.

#MCU #marvel cinematic universe #Tony Stark #Anthony Stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #captain america: civil war #Spider-Man: Far From Home #spider-man: homecoming #Captain America #pokemon #Power Rangers #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Transformers #Tom Holland #Avengers #The Avengers

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niuniente · 4 years

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My intuition has been screaming endlessly that the company I have been “working in” (like, 2h a week before this year’s 0 hours and lay off) is somehow very, very wrong. I just had a very eye opening chat with a coworker for 3 hours(!) of the things that are amiss or done wrong, even illegally, in the company.

Absolutely mind-blowing insane! Bullying, bad recruiting, bad leadership, illegal contracts, boss’s mentally unhealthy and needs help but doesn’t go getting it, overstepping employee’s privacy, different rules for different people, underpaying and not wanting to pay at all, screaming and cussing and name calling by bosses, shutting people off and literally BLOCKING them in social media and other work channels, no communication, favoring, no criticism allowed, promoting wrong people, kicking out “difficult” people from important positions, moving works to another country for cheaper salaries so that the boss and company earns more, overworking people, underworking others, complaining if people have sick leaves, bosses looking for the Next God who saves them all and when the person is just a person and not a God they are kicked out as a shitty asshole worker...

She was shocked to realize all this this year as she became a victim of it all! I was shocked that things were THAT BAD. Absolutely horrible. I told her everything I have encountered and what my colleagues before her encountered.

We were thinking if we could somehow take this further somehow but the thing is that many, many have things to say about this company, but because the way the world is now, people are afraid for losing their jobs so it’s the better to be quiet. It would be difficult just the two of us. She’s already contacted higher ups outside the company to ask help with legal things.

She told me that I should contact an outside source of occupational safety and health as there are some serious issues with my contract and work. She also recommended me go to the occupational health to speak about these wrong doings, perhaps get a sick leave due stress (which I honestly do have, and have had for the last 4 years). I wouldn’t be the only one doing that tbh...

I think I’ll just go to do that. Perhaps, if many go from the same employer to complain things, something happens.

#work #We’d have an annual work meeting soon but fuck I will not bother with it

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Welcome back to the POTC AU! Sorry for the day-long delay -- I was out and away from my computer almost all of yesterday, so I wasn’t able to finish this up until today! XD; But yeah, moving on to the notes...

The information about the Chest and its locking mechanisms, honestly, was all stuff I had to kind of surmise and research, since to my utter shock, there were just about no sources I could find online discussing the process of designing the original Dead Man’s Chest for the Pirates films. There is concept art for it, showing some possible decorative designs for the outside, and there are prop replicas showing the different angles and the inside of the lid -- but there is NO discussion made about the Chest’s construction/locking mechanism or what kind of 18th century or earlier chests may have inspired it. And that kind of blows me away as -- for all of the films’ flaws -- I have to applaud them on taking a lot of historical influences for things, especially in the costume and prop design. I apologize in advance if any of my research on 18th century locks and lock-picking is flawed or incomplete, but I did try my best. XD;

The song “Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest” was originally featured in the book Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, which was written in the late 1800′s, over a hundred years after the end of the Golden Age of Piracy, but it has since become entwined with the idea of pirates in pop culture, to the extent that it’s also referenced in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, where it’s sung by Joshamee Gibbs and of course it inspired the core concept that the movie is named after. The original song was likely about Blackbeard or a similar pirate marooning a bunch of his crewmates, but I changed the meaning slightly to better fit with this narrative.

This version of Davy Jones, who is in truth an AU!Finn McGarry, belongs to @theguythatdraws Ican’twaittotrydrawinghimsoon, while Juliette “Jules” Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier...and the previous part of this AU is here, while the entire tag is here! Hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Cutler Beckett did turn out to be just as unpleasant as Skye and Orion had suggested. Pretty quickly Carewyn could suss out that this so-called “businessman” had no loyalty to or caring for anyone or anything besides himself and his vested interests, namely his own wealth and status.

Unfortunately Percy was not as quick to catch onto that, presumably because of Beckett’s stated interest in supposedly bringing all pirates to justice and (Carewyn suspected) the fact that Beckett had spoken on Percy’s behalf before he was named a Captain himself. Part of Carewyn wanted to chastise Percy for letting himself be blinded by Beckett’s attempt to manipulate him, but she knew she couldn’t risk doing so. Not only would it make Percy and therefore Beckett suspicious that she was more sympathetic to their enemies (namely, Orion, Bill, and other pirates), but she also didn’t want to come down too hard on Percy. She knew that Percy, being the youngest Weasley brother in the Navy, had a lot to prove, especially considering that his “older brother” (namely, Carewyn) was a well-respected Commodore and war hero. Even his real older brothers had gotten their fair share of glory while they were enlisted in the Navy and now were seen as wanted criminals...so it was little wonder that Percy was determined to stand apart from them, not just as great in his own right, but ultimately better because he didn’t “fall from grace” like they did.

Cutler Beckett stayed at Governor Farrier’s mansion for the next week and visited the fort just about every day in that time. Whenever he was there, he pretty frequently sought Carewyn out, engaging her in conversation and asking her about her experiences fighting the Spanish and in escaping from the crew of the Revenge. Carewyn didn’t enjoy his rather pointed attention, but she hid her discomfort and mistrust as best as she was able. As much as she really found herself disliking the man, she knew that Beckett trying to get to know her better could give her the opportunity to get some information on him too. And ultimately, her polite, charming affect did help her learn a few things.

“From there, it was simply a matter of applying the proper pressure to the cylinder with one of the hat pins, while pushing the pins into the proper alignment with the other,” Carewyn explained. “Once the padlock on my chains was properly unlocked, I was then able to adjust enough to still look like I was locked up, wait for one of the enemy soldiers to enter my cell, and then overpower him so I could take his uniform, weapons, and keys and escape.”

“You truly are quite an escape artist, Commodore,” said Beckett, his eyebrows raising approvingly. “I’m impressed.”

Carewyn offered a casual smile. “Thank you -- but I only learned those things out of necessity, Lord Beckett.”

‘Jacob and I knew we’d both have to know how to pick locks, if we ever had to escape the Revenge’s brig. And even before that, it helped keep Grandfather happy, for us to be able to open chests of loot we didn’t have keys for.’

“It’s not a skill set I like to use if I can help it, considering I’d much prefer to be the one locking others up, not vice-versa.”

“Yes,” said Beckett, “I suppose for one with such a strong moral compass as yours, it would be only natural for you to wish to enforce justice, rather than fight against it.”

“Just as I’d say it’s only natural for a gentleman such as yourself to work toward the protection of our realm and interests -- am I right?”

“Of course,” said Beckett airily. “Someone has to make sure that people get what they pay for and that business remains profitable -- make sure the world turns properly, as it were.”

“A difficult proposition for any one man to do,” said Carewyn lowly, “considering this wild, untamed world we live in.”

Beckett smiled -- unlike Carewyn’s, however, there was no warmth in it at all.

“Fortunately, Commodore, the world we’ve been saddled with will soon be a thing of the past.”

He and Carewyn looked out over the wall of the fort. Down below, at the western dock, several rows of newly arrived red-garbed militia were disembarking from a Man o’ War and marching into Port Royal.

“As the map is filled in, our hold around this world becomes better defined,” said Beckett. “Its treasures are collected, its value assessed...and with that, a new sense of order begins to take hold.”

Carewyn looked down at the Man o’ War, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn’t seen such a strong military presence in Port Royal since the War against the Spanish -- and yet, here they were, being used not against foreign countries, but against individual people -- some of them even British citizens. As much as she knew that there were plenty of pirates that weren’t as goodhearted as Orion, it still seemed bizarre to her to unload all this firepower to destroy and kill, as opposed to capturing.

“And hopefully, peace,” said the Commodore softly.

Beckett glanced at Carewyn with a discerning eye. “Indeed. Peace and order do go hand-in-hand, wouldn’t you say?”

‘Not if the order is being instilled by a tyrant,’ she thought, as Charles Cromwell rippled over her mind.

“Definitely,” she lied instead.

Carewyn glanced at Beckett out the side of her eye, before turning her gaze out to the ocean.

“...I only profess as much knowledge to this matter as one can acquire, fighting against the likes of Orion Amari and being in the captivity of a pirate crew like the Revenge’s,” she said in the hardest, least sympathetic voice she could, “but it seems to me that pirates know their existence is unsustainable. Regardless of how renown they are and how much they can terrify merchant sailors, they’re still only men, facing off against Empires and kings. And as the world is plotted out -- as you yourself pointed out, Lord Beckett -- there will soon be less and less havens where such criminals can hide...”

She then looked at Beckett with a cold look in her eye.

“...From the way things stand...it seems to me that it would be in their best interest to stand down while they still can.”

'It would be, if there was any true justice for those who turned themselves in.’

Beckett’s lips spread into a slightly wider, cold smile as he inclined his head in agreement. “Well said. There could always be clemency, for those who embrace that wisdom -- it’s just good business.”

With this conversation, Carewyn had gotten a proper fix on Beckett, and it made her feel more disconcerted. It only got worse when later that week, both she and Percy were summoned into Carewyn’s own office at the fort for a meeting with Beckett. Some might have been offended at the idea of someone coming in and stealing their office just to demand a meeting with the office’s owner, but Carewyn honestly couldn’t make herself care too much about that. She couldn’t help but think that Beckett being so forceful could only be a bad thing, and when she arrived in her office, Percy right behind her dressed in his shiny new Captain’s uniform and powdered white wig, she immediately got the feeling she was right.

Beckett had already made himself very at home in Carewyn’s office. A crystal decanter filled with red wine and several glasses had been laid out and an entire map complete with tiny soldier pieces plotted in different positions covered nearly all of Carewyn’s desk. There was also an even larger map that had been applied to the back wall, which an employee was currently adding more details onto with his paintbrush. Standing in front of Carewyn’s desk across from Beckett was a middle-aged woman with hair as ginger red as Percy and Carewyn’s -- when the two officers first entered the room, her sharp-lidded dark blue eyes ran over both of them, lingering on Carewyn critically.

“Ah,” said Cutler Beckett, his lips spreading into a smile as his eyes narrowed upon Carewyn, “Commodore and Captain Weasley. Good of you to come.”

Carewyn and Percy both saluted.

“Lord Beckett,” Carewyn greeted formally.

She glanced at the older woman out the side of her eye, to find that she was likewise still looking her over with narrowed eyes. Carewyn couldn’t help but look at her suspiciously in return -- Percy had said Beckett had a female associate...and, if Charles Cromwell was to believed, then this woman had to be --

“Allow me to introduce my associate, Patricia Rakepick,” said Beckett smoothly. “Madam Rakepick -- this is Captain Percy Weasley, and his elder brother, Commodore Carey Weasley.”

Carewyn’s blood ran cold. Being face-to-face with the woman who tried to kill Jacob was like a dose of cold, shuddering poison to her system. It took everything in her to not look at Rakepick with wrathful, vengeful hatred -- instead, she tried to hide the bile she felt by bowing respectfully, her head slightly bowed to obscure her expression.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam,” she said softly. Somehow her voice came out levelly, despite the rage pulsing through her blood.

Rakepick’s eyes narrowed a bit more on Carewyn’s face.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Commodore,” she said, but she didn’t sound quite so convincing -- she almost immediately turned back to Beckett, looking noticeably impatient, “Lord Beckett, you can’t think that these -- ”

Beckett held up a hand to silence her and turned to the employee working on the map. “One moment -- Mr. Elliot, you may stop there, for today. On your way, now.”

The employee bowed his head respectfully, before descending from his ladder and quickly leaving the office. The door shut with a SNAP behind him.

“Now then,” said Beckett, as he rose to his feet, “Commodore...Captain...I invited you here to request a favor of you. Madam Rakepick has recently uncovered a rather unique and valuable artifact.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. Even Percy looked startled.

“What artifact is that, your Lordship?” he asked.

Beckett poured some red wine and offered a glass to Carewyn. She accepted it to be polite, but did not drink it. He then similarly offered a glass to Percy, who took a sip, even if he still looked a bit confused.

“How familiar are you both with the legend of Davy Jones?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The captain of the Flying Dutchman?”

“Well, I’ve...heard the stories, of course,” said Percy, glancing at Carewyn uncertainly. “We both have -- the silly things the soldiers would pass around, at sea...ghost stories, you know...”

Rakepick scoffed, crossing her arms. “‘Ghost stories’ -- and these two are supposed to be sailors? Any sailor worth their salt knows that these things are hardly just stories -- ”

“Madam, please,” Beckett cut her off very coolly, as Percy frowned deeply, clearly offended. “I’m afraid the stories are indeed real. We now have the Chest to prove it.”

He reached under his desk and placed an intricately carved iron treasure chest on top of Carewyn’s desk.

It looked older than anything Carewyn had ever seen, and yet also oddly beautiful -- the inset lock framed by the moon’s phases and stylized flames, and iron tentacles clutched at the lid as if keeping it shut.

Carewyn immediately put down her full wine glass on a side table so as to walk up to the chest, trailing a hand along the heart-shaped lock.

“This is the Dead Man’s Chest?” she whispered.

Percy glanced at Carewyn. “The Dead Man’s Chest? Like in the song?”

Carewyn shook her head. “‘Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest’ was about this Chest, Perce. It’s said that Jones was so determined that no one know where he buried this treasure chest that he abandoned the entire crew who knew of its existence on that island with nothing but a bottle of rum to sustain them.”

“Leaving them to take the secret of its location to their graves,” said Beckett. He was idly playing with a silver piece of eight in his right hand as he spoke, his eyes resting on Carewyn. “Alas, it seems that the key needed to open the Chest may be in a location we cannot reach -- ”

He shot a cool look at Rakepick, who looked very affronted and opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t before Beckett spoke again.

“ -- so I’d like to ask for your expertise on the matter, Commodore. Can this Chest be opened, without its key?”

Carewyn looked from Beckett to down at the Chest, unable to hide the trepidation completely from her face.

“...I can’t say for sure,” she said slowly. Her mind was working very fast as she regarded Beckett with a cautious look. “Were it an ordinary chest, I daresay it’d be easy enough to find a way to open it...but if there were any kind of curse placed on it or, more importantly, the treasure inside it...it might not be wise to try to break it open.”

“Curse?” repeated Percy disbelievingly. “Carey, you can’t be serious -- ”

“I saw the curse of Isle de Muerta with my own eyes, Percy,” she reminded him sharply. “If the Dead Man’s Chest has such a curse on it, it would not be worth the risk to open it, no matter how valuable its treasure is.”

Percy immediately quieted, looking a bit uncomfortable. Rakepick once again looked Carewyn over with a critical eye, even as she gave another light sniff.

“The treasure inside is not magical, so it would have no chance of hurting us, that is for certain,” said Rakepick dryly. “And from all the evidence I’ve gathered, I found nothing hinting that Finn McGarry -- pardon, Davy Jones -- was particularly adept at curses. All of the abilities he has now were a result of the role bestowed upon him by Calypso, as ferryman of the damned.”

Her face then turned much more serious.

“I will agree with the Commodore on one thing, though: Jones’s Chest will be too strong for the likes of a single man to break open. Look at the lid -- there are dead bolt locks around the entire Chest. The only way we’ll be able to unlock it is if I fetch the key from Jones myself -- ”

“And yet the Commodore thinks it’d be easy enough, to find a way to open the Chest without that key,” said Beckett rather coolly, raising his eyebrows as he once again shifted his gaze to Carewyn. “Commodore -- if you would?”

Carewyn looked from the Dead Man’s Chest to Beckett again, before glancing back at Percy. Percy gave her an encouraging nod, but it didn’t make Carewyn feel any better. She wished beyond reason that Charlie or Bill had been there instead -- they’d understand why she was so hesitant to help someone like Cutler Beckett.

But at the same time...she couldn’t refuse. She was put in the position that she had to open the Chest, if she wanted to stay on Beckett’s good side and keep the position that allowed her to protect Bill, Jules, Charlie, Jacob, and Orion. Even if she did refuse to open the Chest, then Beckett would no doubt find someone else who would...and would also likely not trust Carewyn enough to let her overhear any more information that could help her protect the others.

'If the treasure inside isn’t cursed, then there isn’t much reason to refuse,’ she thought grimly. ‘And lining Beckett’s pockets with a bit more gold would only help me help the others that bit more, by earning his trust.’

And so, swallowing back the ball of fear in her throat, Carewyn started looking over the Chest. She turned it around a few times, examining the hinges and the dead-bolts lining the base of the lid.

“What do you think, Carey?” asked Percy anxiously.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon the Chest as she ran a hand over the top and pushed down on each of the iron tentacles one at a time.

“Its construction most resembles an armada chest -- some of the Spanish captains used them to hold their valuables during the War, and I’ve seen some pirates use them too, to hold their loot,” she murmured to him, though she could feel Rakepick hovering over her other shoulder as she worked. “On armada chests, the locking mechanism is actually built into the inside of the lid -- that explains the dead bolts around the edges. It also would prevent you from just unscrewing the hinges on the back of the chest and opening it from the back, like you can on a lot of wooden chests. But armada chests usually have a false keyhole on the front, with the real keyhole being hidden under a flap on the lid. This one does not. Judging by the construction of the keyhole, there looks to be a double cylinder design -- one that requires pressure on both sides of the keyhole, as well as the pins inside both cylinders to be in the proper position...”

She looked up at Beckett.

“...It’s easily the most complicated locking system I’ve ever seen on any chest,” she said grimly.

“Can you open it?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn steadied her jaw, her face blanching slightly as she inclined her head in a short nod.

“I think so.”

Beckett got Carewyn the tools she needed. Due to the two-sided nature of the keyhole, she enlisted Percy to help her -- he had far less experience with opening locks, but he followed Carewyn’s directions as closely as he could.

After almost an hour, there was a loud, booming CLICK as all twelve of the dead bolts around the lid popped out and the lid opened a crack, letting off a small gasp of dust.

“You did it!” said Rakepick.

Despite the seriousness of her expression, there was a slight echo of excitement and awe at the back of her voice. She was clearly impressed.

Carewyn stared at the slightly open Chest. Her heart was slamming up against her rib cage anxiously.

Nothing had happened, when she’d opened it -- so had the Chest not been cursed, after all? That was a relief. And Rakepick had said the treasure inside wasn’t cursed, so...

Tentatively Carewyn reached out a hand and slowly eased the lid open.

When she saw what was inside, though, she couldn’t hold back a sharp intake of breath.

The Dead Man’s Chest was devoid of any of the gold or jewels she’d envisioned. Instead, all it held was a slimy, reddish, pulsing, thumping thing about the side of a coconut.

It was a human heart, still beating lowly despite no blood rushing through it.

Percy squeezed Carewyn’s shoulder as he looked down at it too, visibly taken aback.

“Is...that...?”

“The heart of Davy Jones,” finished Rakepick darkly, “first cut out when he was named captain of the Flying Dutchman -- for the Dutchman must always have a captain who’s left his heart behind in the world of the living. Only then can he truly be a subjective judge of the dead and dying at sea...and thus the souls of the damned will not haunt the seas and terrorize all those who sail it.”

Carewyn’s eyes were very wide. ‘Then...the treasure Jones locked away was his own heart?’

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes flickered down to the heart rather pitilessly.

“Not that Jones hasn’t done a fine job of terrorizing those who sail those seas all on his own, over the years,” she added very dryly.

“All the more reason for us to bring Jones into our enterprise.”

Beckett rose from his desk again. Taking a sip from his own glass of red wine, he came around to purposefully take a step between Percy and Carewyn and look down at the heart himself. His lips curled up in a dark smile as he reached out a hand and picked up the heart to get a better look at it.

“Whoever controls the heart of Davy Jones...controls the sea,” said Beckett.

He gave it a rather tight squeeze. Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from flinching.

‘If that thing is still beating,’ she couldn’t help but think, ‘then does that mean that it’s the only thing keeping Davy Jones alive? If so...’

She felt like her own chest was being squeezed.

‘...Beckett’s holding Davy Jones’s life in the palm of his hand.’

For all of the terrifying stories Carewyn had heard about Davy Jones over the years, both on the Revenge and in the Navy, she found herself feeling nothing but righteous anger and pain at this thought. What a disgusting, terrible thing to do to anyone -- no matter how awful a person they were...

There was a loud splash outside the window of Carewyn’s office.

Carewyn, Percy, Rakepick, and Beckett all looked up, to see a giant, terrifying ship erupting out of the waves just outside the fort. It was a sickly gray with torn sails and a bow cut into a set of massive, jagged jaws like a crocodile.

“The Flying Dutchman,” breathed Carewyn, hardly daring to believe it.

Beckett’s smile broadened, actually showing some teeth. “A rather fine addition to the fleet -- especially considering that it can go just about anywhere and travel in record time...”

Rakepick turned to Beckett sharply.

“If that’s the case, the first thing we should do is have him hunt down Black Jack Roberts. I know he made a deal with Jones -- he’ll have a way to track him down and kill him once and for all -- ”

Carewyn’s heart spasmed in horror, but fortunately no one else in the room noticed the fear flashing through her face.

“Didn’t you say you already destroyed the Tower Raven?” said Beckett coolly. “One can hardly see a pirate with no ship as a real threat.”

“Don’t underestimate Black Jack Roberts,” said Rakepick lowly. “By all accounts, he should’ve died, and he would have, if he hadn’t somehow managed to recruit a merman to his crew -- ”

Percy sputtered in disbelief. “‘Merman’ -- you mean, like mermaids? Those are real too?”

“Afraid so,” said Carewyn.

Her mind and heart were both racing, but she tried desperately to keep her cool. She couldn’t let them go after Jacob...or Duncan, either, if he was the merman who’d helped him like she suspected. Now that she knew the true power Beckett now had, thanks to her opening that Chest for him, she couldn’t stand by and let him use it to hurt her brother --

“...I can’t say I know much about Black Jack Roberts, aside from him being captain of the Tower Raven...” she said slowly, “...but it seems to me that attacking one man would be a poor way to use the weapon we’ve acquired.”

All three of the others looked at her. Beckett raised his eyebrows in keen interest.

“And what would you say would be a better way to use it, Commodore?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away from the others as she walked up to the window of her office and looked out, her arms crossed behind her back as she went. She tried to keep her face as stoic as possible, even with how scared she truly felt.

‘In order to pass up the chance to hunt down and kill one of the most wanted pirates in the world,’ she thought, ‘I have to offer an even more enticing option...’

The idea forming in her mind made her feel ill.

‘It’s been over two weeks since I saw Jules, Bill, and Charlie,’ she thought very quickly. ‘That’s more than enough time to have made the repairs to the Revolution and get some new crew members, especially if Orion and the crew of the Artemis is helping them. And...whether they’re just leaving or have already left...this way, they’ll know the true extent of the danger. All pirates will know what the Navy’s new weapon is...and can prepare for it.’

She closed her eyes solemnly.

“...I say we send a message to all pirates -- one that makes them tremble in their boots, the way they’ve made merchant sailors tremble at the sight of their black flags...by attacking them where they’ve always felt most safe. By arresting them somewhere they all gather together, in one place.”

She opened her eyes again, her gaze blazing as she turned back to Beckett.

“I say...we sack Tortuga.”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #carewyn cromwell #patricia rakepick #percy weasley #jacob cromwell #duncan ashe #charlie weasley #bill weasley #jules farrier #finn mcgarry #my art #my writing #my fanfiction #oooooh boy carey #this kind of feels like when you were stuck at the ministry under the death eaters in your canon #having to stay in line while secretly biding your time to try to find a way to defeat the enemy #and also trying to find a way to help the people you love at the same time #she's going to hate herself so much after this whole thing is over though given how paragon she is #she knows practically speaking this is the best way she can help #but it doesn't make it any easier for her to keep her head down even if it is ultimately to try to help others #carewyn has impossible standards for herself as the resident paragon slytherin #she'll hate herself no matter what path she takes honestly #of course rakepick's already giving carey the side eye #wonder why... >>#also percy isn't just wearing the wig because it's a symbol of the 'upper-class' status of his position #but also because remember redheads are considered bad luck at sea?#so he figures people will treat him slightly differently if they don't immediately know he's a ginger on first meeting #and -- yeah sad to say he's right

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voidcat · 3 years

Text

Intrusion

– 2: smiles & chatter (wc: 2.6k)

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a/n: i just copy pasted from ao3 so all italic and bold texts are most likely gone, sorry

The impromptu concert and the walk you had afterwards do not conclude your interaction with Iwaizumi, much to your dismay. You were hoping the next day the lot of you would go back to your respective old routines of not knowing each other but alas, it seems he wasn’t just being polite when he said he wanted to be friends.

Here starts a brand new day: You enter the classroom and walk straight to your desk, not sparing anyone a look. Taking out whatever you need from your bag and placing them on your desk in your preferred order, you're startled by a harsh “good morning” you were never greeted with. Hell, have I ever been greeted by any of the classmates upon arrival like that? Already knowing the answer to that, you don’t bother turning towards the source of the voice to confirm it's him. Letting out a faint breath, you place your needed notebooks at last, make a move to the door, say a couple of greetings to few fellow classmates as you leave and seek out your friends for your morning routine.

By the time you come back, barely a minute before your teacher arrives, you take your seat, pleased to see he doesn’t attempt to start another one-sided conversation.

But it seems universe wants to prove you wrong, because every following morning he’s there before you arrive, sparing a good morning to your direction or asking how you are. You try to turn a blind eye, act sleepless or ignore him at first. Because, really, when did you ask for new friends, since when did you ask him for his friendship. As rude and stupid as this sounds, you're stubborn when pushed. Yet nothing lasts forever and you slowly fall into a rhythm before you can even notice.

On the rare occasion, you nod to show him you’ve heard him, baby steps. Day by day, this turns into a "Morning." back from you. Some days, you see his lips curl to your reply, giving your face a faint smile as well.

Yet you can’t shake the feeling of being watched during class. He examines you, you can tell that much. Perks of sitting one row behind yours, you suppose. You're not even bothered by this, you'd do the same if given the chance.

There’s one seat between you and the window and that happens to be the one he sits behind, has a nice view of the classroom and the outside. You find the seats by the window distracting as you find him.

Every morning goes the same, you drop your bag and take out your school materials, leave the class to meet with your friends, always making sure the morning gathering does not take place at your classroom, hurry back to class, hear Iwaizumi greet you and you greet him in return. Classes come and go, some little breaks too. Lunch break starts and here’s you grabbing your lunch as fast as you can, to meet with your friends in one of your usual spots, not allowing the boy to say anything else.

Alas everything has an end, what begins with you greeting him in the mornings splashes into lunch breaks. "Enjoy your lunch." It's almost a whisper but it's there. He just raises his hand in a thanking manner, a smile decorating his face as the sun beams on his face.

Iwaizumi Hajime intruded into your solitary moment of music and has not left since. In fact, his intrusion is not limited with your music, that you do not realize until it's too late.

Just like you don’t realize yourself getting used to his presence.

He enters your thoughts more often than you gave him credit for. You catch yourself mindlessly doodling him in class a few times, trying your best not to rip the page off your notebook. However upon seeing the way you drew his hair, you fall back into a pit of thoughts focusing on him again. It is a boring class; that should be the only explanation of you thinking about his hair of all things, instead of listening to your teacher. Is it natural, or does he style it in the mornings with some awfully smelling hair gel? You never spot a stinging scent though so it must be the former. Some days, the sun hits just right and makes it seem softer, making you want to ruffle his hair a little.

What Iwaizumi Hajime first notices about you is your calm demeanor. You don’t speak much in class, always avoid raising your hand, you don’t even speak to your classmates until you settle down your belongings. You hold short conversations with them, it’s obvious all your friends are from other classes. Unless there’s a class happening, it’s difficult to find you in the classroom.

He often hears you making little snarky comments during class as quiet as you can, usually to mock something said by a student or a teacher or just to criticize the topic.

At first glance you’ll seem the type to take notes during class but observation shows they’re silly doodles most of the time. Some days you’ll move your head, shake your legs or tap your fingers slightly to a melody playing in your head. The movements are vague but perks of sitting close to one another makes him notice you.

And for some reason, you like to cross the dress code. Half the time you show up with eyeliner on, somehow making it look to natural on you, he has no idea how though; you wear the pants that are normally a part of the boy’s uniform and magically make them seem trendy, compared to the boring look he has.

What else doesn't seem to escape his atteniton is how you’ve grown so eager to leave the classroom ever since he interrupted you that day. You always rush out as fast as you can as if there's a fire on your desk. You avoid conversing if it's not in the morning.

Steadily but surely, your hard stance begins to melt off. There's an increase within your replies, you no longer avoid eye contact nor are twitchy to leave his presence when you're talking.

He wanders to the music room few times after his practice, in the hopes of finding you. Yet he ends up empty handed.

His best friend whines about him making him wait by the gates, even though Iwaizumi had told him not to wait for him.

As days pass and Iwaizumi’s efforts never die out, you start to get back into the classroom a few minutes earlier, (im)patiently waiting for him to say something. Just so you can say something back, anything. Your pride doesn’t allow you to be the one to initiate the conversation and he must've realized that too because he begins to say random stuff to no one in particular, hums to some of your silent commentaries during class (to say you were embarrassed when you realized he had been hearing them all along, would be a huge understatement.)

A month since the piano incident has passed.

As soon as the last class of the day ends, he stands by your desk.

“Do you ever go out?” You would laugh at the serious look on his face, if it wasn’t for the question. He looks more like someone forced to make small talk with their nemesis than a high school student asking the other a very usual question.

“What do you mean? I did walk with you after school once, didn’t I?” You say raising your eyebrows, a little smile decorating your face.

He scoffs at you taking his question in a literal sense.

“I meant as in going out in your spare time with people, you know, like hanging out.” His face softens a bit as he talks, maybe it’s the lighting feinting you.

You slowly realize where this conversation is going yet you’re not sure if you want to avoid it or not.

“Well I am a human being craving human contact once in a while, of course I go out with people, hang out with friends and spend time with them.” You reply, attempting to sound… what? Playful? Cynical? Honestly, you have no idea at this point.

“Then, would you like to meet up this weekend if you’re available?”

“Why.” It’s not a question leaving your lips, but a harsh statement.

He detects the slight change of tone your voice.

“I don’t know, to spend time? I think I’ve made that clear already. Look,-“ You hear a little huff coming out of his mouth.

“-We can go to a place of your choosing at a time you can decide. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. But if you do, I have morning practices on weekends, so I have the rest of the day free. And honestly? You don’t strike me as the type to wake up before 11am on the weekends.” A playful tint flickers in his eyes.

You cross your brows and pout a little at his last sentence. You meet his gaze, and there it is. The light entering the classroom just had to hit him so nicely and compliment his face as if he's a statue in the Piazza della Signoria. He looks somewhat amused with a smile, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so relaxed before. It’s refreshing.

Upon realizing what just crossed your mind, your pout starts to morph into a scowl. At last you let out a frustrated breath. “Okay fine, sure. I’ve got to ask to make sure we don’t have any last minute family plans but yes, I’d like to meet up this weekend.”

You don’t notice the way you copy his smile and breezy air as you answer. It’s just the two of you in the classroom, smiling at one another in a complete silence.

“So, where to today? Any plans of spending time in the music room or...?” His words trail off.

“Nothing else to do here, I’ll just leave now.”

“Would you like me to walk you to the gates?”

Another thing you notice about Iwaizumi Hajime is that he never gives up. And frankly, you don’t want him to.

“Yes, I’d like that.” You give him a small smile. “Who knows what dangers I may encounter on my way out without a mighty knight to accompany me?” You elbow him by the arm as you speak. You two grab your bags and leave the sunlit classroom behind. The light seems to die out as you two walk away.

Wind blows past your friend’s hair and hits you in the face, causing you to jolt awake, breaking out of your trance. Your friend gives you a side glance as the others keep talking, their words fell deaf to your ears.

“Hey. Where was that café you, Ayame and Koto went to recently?”

Okemia, the friend you just interrupted, gives you a look. “It’s right around the corner of Koto’s favorite coffee shop. Why would you ask?”

You just shrug. “I was planning on going there this weekend and I haven’t forgotten the way you guys talked about the desserts they had.” Her eyes beam at the mention of the desserts. She claps her hands in excitement. “You should DEFINITELY ask them the cake of the day! They bake fresh cakes every day and serve slices. Even the cream and fillings were all handmade!”

“Their macaroons are nice to have with coffee too.” Koto adds as Okemia opens her phone gallery to show you photos of the said baked goods. She stops mid air.

"Wait, I thought you preferred calmer, hidden places to go by yourself." A gasp follows. "Are you going with someone that is not us?" She has her empty hand over your head now, making a dramatic pose, looking like a kid at a silly school play rehersal. All you can do is roll your eyes. "I'll meet with someone from my class, I am not leaving you guys, don't worry."

"Oh the betrayal! How quickly you've replaced us right after that traitor." Everyone in the circle starts to laugh at this point.

"You are mistaken. Is' betrayal goes far back before the class rearrangement." Etsuko joins in on the conversation. Eyes closed, heads nodding, with your faces as if you're all humming in sync.

"On my defense; my shitty twin was a traitor long ago and you guys were sent into classes in pairs. I've got no one." Your voice tones down as you say the last sentence. Feeling something warm around your shoulders you look up to see Koto wrapping an arm around you and resting her head. You lean to her direction in response, feeling better now. You have never missed your former deskmate this much up until now.

"Anyway! Cakes!" Okemia speaks loudly and so you all fall back into a calming chatter of giggles and which baked goods are better.

First thing you do upon entering the classroom is to approach Iwaizumi. “Okay so I have a café in mind that we can go to. It’s in the main square so we can just meet there.” Your words met with a nod.

“What time should we meet?” Curling your lips at that, you divert your gaze to the trees outside. The leaves barely move, standing oh so still on the light blue canvas.

“Maybe we can exchange numbers. I can text you when I leave practice and even if you haven’t woken up by then, you’ll definitely wake up at that.” He has this little smile on his face again, painted by the sun, shining so brightly.

“Yeah, that should provide enough time for me. I-“ Pausing abruptly you reach out your hand to him, met with another one of his confused expressions, you just roll your eyes again.

“Give me your phone, I’ll add my contact info. No need to get suspicious.” Cracking a smile at your last word, you save your name under your full name and hand the device back to him. “You can just text me that day, I will know it’s you.” Hearing the door close, the both of you see your teacher and before he can say anything, you go back to your desk.

Another day comes to an end, he asks again to escort you to the gates, at which you playfully refuse this time. Walking to the choir rehersal you think about the last few weeks you've had.

Iwaizumi Hajime intruded into your life one day on a coincidence, saw you at a vulnerable moment of solitude and hasn’t left still.

He has started to linger around more and more, enter your thoughts more and more and you cannot find it in yourself to get mad at this. The feeling is unusual, new and equally scary, yet the excitement it gives makes you ache for more.

You want to thank him, really. You haven’t given much thought to it at first but ever since that day, it seems your hands have been warm. Your playing has improved in your eyes, you can feel yourself becoming a vessel for the pieces you play. Feeling the melody flow through your body, hearing all the hidden stories in them, watching all the ballroom dances made to them.

It’s hard to turn a blind eye to the idea starting to slowly form in your hand. It cannot be a coincidence. it’s as if, ever since Iwaizumi entered your life, the coldness of your hands has left your body, leaving you with a caressing warmth in its absence.

You make a mental note to thank him for that one day as you walk.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu!! x reader #iwa x reader #iwa x you #haikyuu fanfiction #slowburn #intrusion #im lazy to tag so ye

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the-pontiac-bandit · 3 years

Note

miri + sympathy

Miri had never quite gotten the hang of pranks, but she’d certainly improved in her years with the Riders. Her ideas tended to be less subtle and more absurd, aiming for shock that could elicit an entertaining reaction rather than finesse in the prank itself. While she could appreciate finesse in the pranks of others--Evin did have a particular talent for it, after all--she found that successful execution of such complicated plans required far more work than she had any desire to put in. Commanding Spiderdeath--and avoiding being pranked herself--took plenty of her time.

It was only the look on Evin’s face when she saw him last week in the mess hall that had persuaded her to try. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, which was hardly unusual in and of itself, but he’d snapped at three trainees in line for supper and had failed to clean up the ink stains he left splattered all over the table he sat at alone with his reports. His workload had steadily increased in the months since Buri had officially turned traitor on the Riders to ride with the Own, and she knew he must be losing his mind with all but three of the Rider groups stationed at the northern border in the middle of the largest war in more than a decade, but even she couldn’t deny after that that he deserved to be taken down a peg or two. As the leader of the only group currently in residence at the palace, she’d known it was her place to take the initiative.

She’d brainstormed frantically for days. For all her creativity in cursing her ponies when they didn’t comply--even more than a decade after her first day, she still had what her trainees called an “adversarial and tenuous” working relationship with horses--she’d struggled to think of the right prank to take down a new commander by approximately three notches without ruining any critical paperwork, destroying Crown property, or getting herself fired. She’d started to suspect that this was all an elaborate prank on her from her group members. After all, she found herself the victim of an elaborate joke that threatened to ruin her sanity once and for all at least six times a year, but when she asked for their help with Evin, they’d simply informed her that they’d, of course, do as their group commander told them and left her to her own devices on the planning. Although, she supposed, that might have something to do with how intimidating they found Evin--for all that she thought he was a silly player at heart, with hair that flopped in his eyes and a propensity for wild and poorly-thought out gestures of affection for his friends, she had to wonder if he seemed quite so non-threatening to the brand new Riders who had spent a summer watching him wage a unique brand of psychological warfare that might have scared even Sarge, although he’d never admit it.

As she sat on his desk, kicking her feet against one drawer while she lazed back on her hands against some reports, she wondered if she’d gone too far. Certainly, Kitten had thought the ice slide was a grand idea, but Kitten was a dragon, and a toddler, and Miri would never have trusted her opinion if she hadn’t been quite so desperate.

It took ages for Evin to return from his meeting with the queen. She’d checked his schedule carefully with one of the Rider clerks, and he was expected back by the fourth bell after lunch, but the fifth was rapidly approaching by the time she heard footsteps in the corridor leading to his office. She used one of the last moments she had as he turned a key in the latch to check that the door to the courtyard behind her was still fully shut, apparently locked, and snapped around to face front as he entered the room.

“You’re on my desk because...?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Because last time I sat in one of the chairs, and you failed to notice my presence for a full twenty minutes.”

He’d been nose-deep in a sheaf of papers when he’d come in, a brisk fall breeze blowing leaves in behind him from the courtyard, and he’d walked straight past her. She’d been entertained at first, but it took a kick to the shins under the desk, after she’d cleared her throat several times, to make him realize he was not alone.

“It wasn’t twenty minutes! It couldn’t have been more than five before you left a bruise so bad my leg throbbed for weeks!”

“Weeks? My sources tell me you were fully healed not three days later when you met Sera Gladstone behind the merchants’ day-stables.”

“How’d you hear about that one?” Evin demanded, a hint of awe in his voice.

“I have my sources,” she replied with a pert shrug and a grin.

“I’d commit murder for your sources, Miri. You still won’t turn spy for me?”

“Wherever would I find the time? My commander gets fussy if I don’t have my Riders fully trained and ready to move at his slightest whim,” she shot back. “I thought your side job was a secret from the Riders, anyway.”

“If I can keep it that way.” Evin rubbed his eyes hard, smudging a bit of ink on one temple and leaving his cheeks ruddy. “Sometimes I think I’m one more late night away from cracking and telling the whole palace, just so George will kill me quick.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. I’ve got nearly ten daily reports to read and condense for George now, plus, you know, the actual war going on that Buri dumped me straight in the middle of, plus finding recruits for next spring when not a parent in the kingdom wants their child in military service, plus--”

Miri cut him off before he could get going. “Let’s take a walk then,” she said, perhaps a bit too quickly, with a prayer to the Trickster that he hadn’t noticed.

“With what time?”

“With the time before dinner. You look like you need it.”

“It’s below freezing.”

“You love the cold.”

“And you hate it.”

Miri almost sighed before she caught herself. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten herself in this mess, but there were three gallons of purple paint strung up above his door and Riders waiting with very precise instructions on the roof, so she figured she’d best get moving before something came crashing down.

“I’d brave the cold for you, sir,” she said, with her best, most casual eye roll. “My Commander requires a break, and I’m proud to be of service.” She took on some of his own airs in her reply. She’d discovered in their years of friendship that nothing amused him so much as her attempts to put on his Player airs, and she had a vested interest in getting him outside before the sparrows who had agreed to participate left for the page’s wing and their evening meal.

He sighed as he pushed his chair back from his desk. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

“What?” Miri asked, doing her best to feign innocence. “Is a walk with your oldest friend that intolerable?”

“Miri, you have the worst poker face of anyone I’ve ever met. I’d actually like to rescind my earlier job offer, based solely on this performance. But if I’m going to get pranked, I’d at least like to make it quick so I can get at the reports you’re currently sitting on.”

His eyes darkened as he looked at the stack of papers beneath her, and he rubbed his eyes again. Close to him for the first time in more than two weeks, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the new wrinkles at their corners.

“You really are exhausted,” she commented, a twinge of sympathy turning into guilt in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the large quantities of bread dough waiting to cushion his fall at the foot of Kitten’s ice slide.

“I really am.” Evin was moving towards the door to the courtyard, steeling himself with a deep breath while he removed his tunic and folded it carefully on the chair behind his desk that Miri had avoided.

The twinge of sympathy she’d felt was now a wave, engulfing her and threatening to make her do something she’d never have considered even a half-hour before: back down.

“Wait! Maybe don’t...open that yet.” She hopped off his desk, wincing as several of the top papers follow her down. Evin paused, one hand on the door’s latch.

She looked around the room frantically for something long enough and found a poker, propped against the small fireplace in one wall. She grabbed it and leaped over the arm onto the chair where Evin’s tunic sat. She spared a quick giggle at his dramatic wince and then tapped the ceiling above her firmly, twice fast and three times slow. She counted to five and repeated the code for good measure--any good Rider plan, they’d been taught, has an out.

When she looked back down, Evin was smiling. There was a familiar glimmer of amusement in his eyes, one that had been missing for weeks. “What was going to happen?”

“Kitten had made an ice slide, and Johanssen and Norris are on the roof with some purple paint, and I had the bakers set dough at the bottom to cushion you, and, well, things escalate from there. The sparrows are probably gone by now, anyway, and I’m not sure that Onua ever set up the wooden horses, she looked so annoyed when I asked...”

Miri trailed off, as Evin started to laugh. She let out a chuckle or two herself as she watched him lose control in fits of giggles, relieved to find that her friend was still there, under the stress and paperwork.

“You’re going to be great at this, you know,” she commented casually, hoping he knew how much she meant the rare compliment.

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes as he caught his breath. “Anyway, could we actually go on a walk, now? I’d gotten rather excited to have an excuse to avoid my paperwork. I’ll even bathe in some of the purple paint, if it’ll make Spiderdeath respect your pranks, which are still absolutely terrible, by the way.”

“No purple paint necessary, but I do know the best spot in the night market for a good pasty, if you’re interested.”

Evin was nodding vigorously as he opened the door before he was promptly doused by several gallons of bright lavender paint. Miri groaned, realizing that her Riders must have rigged the buckets to the door and left for their own evening in the city.

Evin, though, was still smiling. “I’d still love a pasty, if you don’t mind the color,” he commented, holding a dripping arm out to her while he used the other hand to wipe his face.

Miri spared a moment’s thought for her clothes--she did like this shirt--but swallowed it as she took the offered arm and linked her elbow in his. After all, he seemed like he needed the night out.

#carrie answers #tortall #tamora pierce #the immortals #evin larse #miri fisher #my writing #anonymous #y'all i'm so sorry this is the longest one yet #and we have not proofread we die on our continuity and tense errors like men #(or women #as the case may be)#anyway hope this was vaguely in character guess who hasn't read the immortals quartet in years #also #in case you could not tell #this was TEN THOUSAND percent inspired by ben wyatt human disaster

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allforhader · 4 years

Text

Coffee or Tea

Bill Hader x (F) Reader

Warnings: N/A

“Guys guys!” John smiles walking into the SNL set catching all his friends’ attention. “I’d like to introduce you guys to a close friend of mine”

“And mine. Don’t exclude me like last time Mulaney” Kristen smiles joining them with said friend, Y/N. “This is Y/N, and she’s the newest member to our SNL family”

“Hey” Y/N smiles waving at the ones she doesn’t know.

“Go ahead and introduce yourself to people Y/N, I gotta go check the schedule for this upcoming Saturday”

“Alright” Y/N smiles as Kristen left her but John was still around in case she needed a buffer of some sorts.

Bill quickly pulled John over before Y/N can introduce herself to him. John was confused with what Bill was doing but thinking ahead-

“Do you not like her already?” Okay, not exactly what Bill expected to come out of John’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t assume John”

“Then. What other reason did you pull me away for?”

“I-...God I don’t even know” Bill let go of John’s arm as Y/N headed over to the two with a smile on her face.

“Hey uh. John I’m gonna step out for a quick minute. Call me if you need me” Y/N was about to just walk passed Bill when she stops. “Uh. They’ve always introduce me to new people instead of having me do it myself so. Hey” she smiles at Bill as he couldn’t help but return it.

“Bill Hader”

“Yeah, I know you from a mile away Hader” Y/N smirks before going to do her thing.

Bill felt his heart racing as John watches the tips of his ears turn red. He snickers to himself getting a death stare from Bill.

“What? Do you want me to tell you she’s a fan of your work or something? Jesus Bill” John laughs going to find Kristen to go over a skit he had in mind.

After a while they were all sat around the table pitching ideas and agreeing on most. Y/N was the newest and mainly was only going to be placed where she needed to be. Bill kept watch her nursing her drink as she wrote down notes on the skits that had him in it. John sat with her looking over what she was writing and he agreed with a few things. Bill wouldn’t stop thinking about what kind of character Y/N is. A fan? Another critic? Or just a person he’s got his eyes set on? Honestly could be all three. Since he knows she’s an actor or writer. A friend of friends. A sweet person just by aura. When the meeting was over, Kristen walked Y/N out as Bill once again grabbed John pulling him over and this time John tried to fight back by grabbing onto Fred who instantly gave in.

“John I swear-“

“Bill you need to stop pulling me over. You’re not a cop and I’m not a speeder”

“You does that one time with me in the car-“

“FRED SHUT UP” John lets go of Fred as he turns around to see Bill freaking out a bit.

“Is this about Y/N?”

“OH THANK GOD” John pushes Bill off of him before forcing Fred in front of him. “Talk to him about it”

As John left, Bill gave Fred one of those looks as he rolls his eyes.

“You can get her coffee and start a conversation Bill. It’s not that hard”

“But it is that hard. It’s been a while since I’ve asked anybody out, let alone flirt. I’m just one big goof ball”

“And you think she...doesn’t like goof balls? And not everybody knows how to flirt Bill. Honestly” Fred laughs walking away as Bill quickly follows beside him not understand what he’s about to do.

“We’ll see you Saturday Y/N” Kristen cheers before leaving as Y/N grabs her bag about to go when Fred tapped her shoulder.

Y/N turns around with a smile. “Sup guys”

“Hey Y/N, would you like to get coffee with Bill and I tomorrow when we discuss a skit?”

“I uh. Don’t drink coffee-“

“Hmm. Well the nearest coffee house probably has tea”

“Well that sounds good to me. Cool if we meet...around 10?”

“Sounds good to us!” Fred smiles as Y/N looks over at a nervous Bill before reassuring with a smile.

“See you tomorrow” Y/N leaves the two as Fred pats Bill’s back.

“Don’t flake. Because I am” Fred smiles patting Bill’s shoulder before leaving him alone to process.

The next day came quickly as Bill didn’t know how to dress besides his usual button down with his sleeves rolled up and jeans. As he got closer to the coffee house he spots Y/N in a deep red flannel and skinny jeans. Jesus. The observation he has.

“Hey Hader”

“Hey Y/N, you look...nice”

“Thanks. So do you”

“Bringing back flannels into fashion?”

“Excuse me? Who said they ever left” Y/N smiles catching a laugh from Bill which made her blush a bit.

“So, Uh shall we?” Bill smiles watching her nod, he got the door for her taking a deep breath as she walks in.

The two stood in front of the counter as Y/N smiles nudging Bill.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Well coffee for me...and tea for you?”

“Yeah, um. I’ll take a green tea and what’ll you have?” Y/N looks at Bill after giving her order to the barista.

“Uh a cappuccino, and I’ll pay”

“Hey no, I got it. You can take care of the next time” Y/N smiles paying for them both as Bill walks over to where they get handed off.

Y/N was about to join him when her phone was blowing up. She waved for Bill’s attention catching it and pointing at her phone to take a call. He smiles to reassure that he knows what she’s doing. As Y/N walks out she immediately took the call and Bill watches her look annoyed for a second before laughing. Someone is making her happy.

“KRISTEN I SWEAR TO GOD”

“What?! I was curious how it’s going!”

“Well—I just bought our drinks”

“Y/N WHY DID YOU PAY!”

“Because I got nervous and said I would”

“Oh my god. You are so dumb” Kristen laughs on the other line looking at Fred across from her as he was texting Bill.

Bill: Someone is making her smile

Fred: And you automatically think it’s her boyfriend or some shit? She’s single

Bill: How do you know??

Fred: Uh

Fred: Sources

Bill: Fred

Fred: What? I don’t reveal my sources

Bill: THEN WHY IS SHE LAUGHING AND SHIT

Fred: I don’t know!

Kristen looks at the texts before laughing making Y/N even more confused which lead to her eventually ending the call.

“Oh shit. She hung up”

“Okay okay hold on” Fred finishes a text to Bill with the ending of you’re on your own and then setting his phone down. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because. I think they look cute together. But they both need a push into the deep end”

“If they panic you know they’ll call us”

“Mm. Bill would call me and Y/N wouldn’t call anybody. How much you want to bet on that?”

“Ten bucks”

“Ah hell no. Fifty”

“That’s an extreme for a blind first date”

“But you have the fifty”

“Fine fine” Fred shakes Kristen’s hand.

Meanwhile...

“So, Fred is obviously not coming” Y/N laughs before taking a sip of her tea.

“Yeah, he also kinda had the paper copy of the skit” Bill says calmly as he held his coffee.

“Uh Huh” Y/N smiles. “Glad he’s not coming...”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Uh Sorry if that sounded weird”

“If we’re being honest, I uh. Kinda wish I just had the guts to ask you out instead of having Fred help me”

“Well...” Y/N smiles as she started blushing over the fact that he said that. “If you...ever want to ask me out, without saying anything. You could just bring me tea. Whenever”

“I’ll keep that noted” Bill smiles.

——

“That was a successful night for SNL, now I’m tired as hell so I’ll catch you all later” John laughs grabbing his bag as Bill looked around for Y/N before stopping John. “Yeah?”

“You seen Y/N?”

“She usually hangs outside after acting. It gets hot in the building Bill” Kristen answers for John as he only agreed.

“It’s also...very cold out” John smiles adding that before leaving.

After getting a few things, Y/N flinches to the sudden noise to the back door opening. She looks over seeing Bill which always brought a smile to her face.

“Hey Hader”

“Hey Y/N”

Y/N moves over so Bill could sit with her, and when he did, he handed her a cup. She laughs a bit opening the lid and taking a sip.

“They only got Irish Breakfast here, sorry if it’s not exactly the green tea of your liking”

“It’s the thought that counts right?”

“Right”

Y/N looks over at Bill before leaning in and kissing his cheek. She smiles watching his face turn red as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“So, can I take you out tomorrow?”

“Yeah, you can”

#bill hader #bill hader gifs #bill hader x reader

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

Wokeness has not simply taken over the CIA, as the entire foreign policy establishment has moved in the same direction. A particularly sinister aspect of this shift is that we are seeing a merger between a fanatical new faith and long-standing institutions specializing in manipulating populations.

Spreading democracy is an important part of American foreign policy. While it’s fashionable to brush off concerns with democracy as hypocritical or just a cover for power politics (“look at Saudi Arabia!”), I believe that outside of the Middle East, where pretty much everyone is non-democratic, American foreign policy is driven by ideological goals that aren’t reducible to material interests.

In this worldview, all countries called “democracies” have reached the end of history, while all others are candidates for regime change, if not today then when the time is right. When countries fight back against this, it’s considered aggression on their part. Hillary Clinton believes that Putin interfered against her in the 2016 election because she spoke out against his government as Secretary of State. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s certainly what I would do if I were Putin, and the lady who tried to overthrow me was running for president.

It seems strange that such a concept would drive US foreign policy, given how little Americans themselves agree on what is or isn’t “democratic.” Was Trump casting doubt on the legitimacy of 2020 “undemocratic”? How about when Democrats did the same in 2016? What about gerrymandering? Court packing?

These are silly debates, and I feel sorry for people who have strong opinions on them, which always boil down to “what my side does is democracy, what the other side does isn’t.”

…

Nonetheless, the American government clearly has something in mind when it uses the term, and it often relies on non-governmental institutions (NGOs) as supposedly objective sources of information. One of the most important of these is Freedom House, and it is therefore worth looking at the organization in some depth.

According to its financial report, in the fiscal year that ended in 2019, Freedom House raised $48 million. Of that, $45 million, or 94%, came from the American government. Its current President is Morton Abramowitz, a lifelong American diplomat. The Chair of the Board is Michael Chertoff, who was Secretary of Homeland Security under the second Bush.

Looking at the 12 members of the Executive Board, and just going off their bios on the Freedom House website, it appears that 6 have had jobs for the federal government, with at least one other appearing to have worked as a government contractor.

You might think that an organization that is funded almost completely by the American government, and staffed by former American officials, wouldn’t have much credibility as an “independent non-governmental organization.” Yet it is called an NGO, and regularly cited by the press as an objective authority on which government actions are legitimate.

Much of what is called “civil society” functions this way. The American government then uses the work of “independent” organizations to justify its own policies, as you can see by going to the State Department website and searching for “Freedom House.”

…

Freedom House has represented the American foreign policy establishment as long as it has existed. According to its own website, the organization at its founding in 1941 had among its leaders Eleanor Roosevelt and Wendell Willkie, the Republican who lost to FDR in 1940. So imagine a “non-governmental organization” today being founded by an alliance of Jill Biden and Donald Trump.

After advocating for American entry into World War II, Freedom House supported the Cold War. Although the website mentions these facts, it tends to downplay or ignore its more recent history, which has involved cheerleading for disastrous wars in the Middle East.

…

So it is this organization, run by former American officials and funded by the US government, whose former Chairman was also the director of the CIA and helped lie the country into Iraq, that is the nation’s most important source for deciding who is or isn’t free.

Recently, Freedom House released its annual report on the state of democracy in the world. It would be one thing if the organization simply declared some countries “democracies” and others not. Instead, it gives a number to each country on a scale that goes up to 100, updating the scores on a yearly basis. So in 2020, Ethiopia gets a 24, Switzerland is a 96, and North Korea is a 3. After 20 years of war, the US has managed to get Afghanistan to 27.

Here’s an interactive map where you can find out how well your country is doing.

There’s actually a formula that they use to calculate each score, although it’s not always clear what causes a country to gain or lose points. 40% of the score is determined by how well a country does on “Political Rights,” and 60% on “Civil Rights,” with subsections under each of these headings.

The 2021 report tells us that 2020 saw “the 15th consecutive year of decline in global freedom.” Sounds really bad. But it’s one thing to say, that for example, the US is freer than China, or that the coup in Myanmar was a blow against democracy. It’s quite another to pretend to have a neutral formula that can compare the state of democracy in say Hungary versus France, the US versus Canada, or Syria versus Cuba. But that’s what Freedom House gets tens of millions of dollars a year from the American government to do.

…

In Europe, Freedom House tells us that “Hungary has undergone the biggest decline ever measured in Nations in Transit, plummeting through two categorical boundaries to become a Transitional/Hybrid Regime last year. Poland is still categorized as a Semiconsolidated Democracy.”

That’s a nice coincidence, how the two European countries that have moved in the most conservative policy direction are the ones also becoming more “authoritarian.” Looking in more detail, it appears that Freedom House classifies conservative countries as authoritarian in two ways

1) Portraying things that would otherwise be considered normal politics as “authoritarian”, while ignoring things that are similar or worse when done by non-right wing governments; and

2) Just directly penalizing countries for conservative policies.

…

This map gives the game away.

…

The connection between how many genders a government acknowledges and its level of democracy is never explained. The report also mentions the Polish government’s opposition to abortion and Slovenia reducing funding for its public broadcaster.

Many conservatives in the United States criticize the media and would like to ban abortion, cut funding for NPR, and not have schools teach that gender is a social construct. They may be surprised to learn that they are engaging in “anti-democratic” activities.

To show the kind of hackery at work, here’s the report on Poland for 2020. We are told that the Archbishop of Kraków describes “LGBT as a ‘rainbow plague’ bearing similarities to communism.” So apparently countries are judged based on the wokeness of their clergy, so Poland loses a point in part for that, and appears to get another point deducted for some combination of the government’s positions on birth control, abortion, and gay adoption.

You can really tell that American conservatives annoy Freedom House analysts more than any other people in the world. In the US, not only are conservatives’ views on abortion and gay marriage undemocratic, but so are their positions on organized labor, with Freedom House mentioning a Supreme Court ruling that government employees could not be forced against their will to contribute to public sector unions.

…

Not only does Freedom House portray the behavior of conservative governments in an unflattering light, but it looks past what are much clearer violations of individual liberty and democratic norms when they are committed in the service of left-wing social or political goals.

Sweden, for example, is one of only three countries to receive a perfect score of 100. This is despite having hate speech laws, which have in the past been used to arrest Christian preachers for their interpretation of the Bible. Norway, another “perfect democracy,” in 2020 expanded its hate speech laws to cover gender identity, with punishments of up to three years in prison for violators.

“Whether a country arrests people for speech” seems like it could be a clear criterion an organization interested in democracy can use, but Freedom House prefers a vague points system that allows it to penalize countries for everything it doesn’t like.*

…

As seen above, Freedom House doesn’t mind criticizing the United States; the country after all only gets an 83, making it a not very good democracy. Yet it’s notable what the US doesn’t lose points for: NSA spying programs, and the prosecution of journalists who have brought them to light. Julian Assange is, in the words of Glenn Greenwald, “responsible for breaking more major stories about the actions of top US officials than virtually all US journalists employed in the corporate press combined,” and he’s now facing life in prison. Yet Assange goes unmentioned in the 2020 report, along with Edward Snowden.

On the question “Are there free and independent media?” the US only gets a 3 out of 4, because “Fox News in particular grew unusually close to the Trump administration” and “Trump was harshly critical of the mainstream media throughout his presidency, routinely using inflammatory language to accuse them of bias and mendacity.” The US gets 4/4 on the question “Are individuals free to express their personal views on political or other sensitive topics without fear of surveillance or retribution?” Surveillance programs are mentioned, but here no points are deducted (the US also gets 4/4 on academic freedom).

It’s a strange algorithm that deducts points for criticizing journalists, but not for putting them in jail. It’s the algorithm you’d expect, however, from an organization run by former American government officials.

…

If the US government and the NGOs it relies on define conservatism as undemocratic, we will in the coming years find ourselves having hostile relations with nations that do not threaten American interests and whose only crime is offending the sensibilities of a liberal elite that holds positions that are far from universally accepted within the United States itself.

The potential implications for liberty at home are no less catastrophic. If conservatives are not only wrong, but “undemocratic,” it becomes easier for the other side to justify attempts to silence dissent and take extreme steps to prevent them from coming to power.

The media, when it advocates censorship or government suppression of its enemies, never says that it’s going about silencing dissenting views. Rather, the propaganda it uses involves classifying what the target is saying as “hate,” “disinformation,” or “foreign propaganda” to delegitimize the speech as unworthy of either First Amendment protection or respect from non-government institutions.

…

It’s fine to disagree with many aspects of American conservatism, as I certainly do. And it wouldn’t be correct to say that there is no objective measure of democracy one can use; certainly, some countries pick their leaders through fair elections, and others don’t. But democracy is supposed to involve a respect for various segments of society, and a consideration of their views. A definition of the concept that delegitimizes what large swaths of the population believe about economic and social issues, while overlooking the prosecution of journalists disfavored by American foreign policy elites, is little more than a tool of propaganda and potentially oppression.

Luckily, it’s easier to know what to do about Woke Imperialism than Woke Capital, or Woke Institutions more generally. The national security establishment does not survive by its ability to bring in voluntary donations or make money through selling products and services people want. Freedom House, like many other similar institutions, is almost exclusively dependent on the American taxpayer, despite the NGO label.

Given how much contempt the organization clearly has for a large portion of the public, and the threat to political liberty that can result from identifying democracy with one side of the political spectrum, there is no reason for that support to continue. While cutting it off would certainly be seen as “undemocratic” by Freedom House, it would remain at liberty to continue writing reports at its own expense.

#richard hanania #read the whole thing #freedom house #woke imperialism

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cloudy-coyote · 3 years

Text

Necessity

(A/N): Hi! It’s been a while. Hope you like the chapter!! Leave a comment if you do (if you want to) image is not mine i found it on google. Also learned all my information about police procedure from tv lol so I’m sure it’s a bit inaccurate my apologies.

xoxo.

Ch. 6 Inconclusive

"Wait, are you guys going?"

"Well, we have a theory," Sam answers.

He's at the couch, picking up his discarded jacket. Dean doing the same.

"A theory?" She repeats.

"If we're right, we know where your necklace is."

Of course. That waitress must've taken it. Where else would've it gone? But, does that mean the necklace killed her? She feels a cold shiver run up her spine.

Even though the police radio said homicide, not animal attack, she's not an idiot. She can put two and two together. The necklace has to be the source of all this chaos.

Eva's nearly died 2 times. She thinks of Marlene in this exact moment. She visions her bright, blue eyes now lifeless. The idea that that could've been her—Eva, dead on the ground. The thought deepens in the pit of her stomach. It slithers down her throat and makes her nauseous.

She looks to Sam. His large hands unlock a little metal box. He shuffles around in the masses of what looks like ID cards.

She looks to Dean. She sees his cold eyes trained on the disengaged pistol in his hands, loading it.

And then she finally looks to the room. She observes the same mess of papers scattered around. But she also notices nothing else. No guns, no other people.

She'd be dammed if she didn't go with them. What's she gonna do all by herself? Sit and drown in silence? She knows for a fact that the moment she's alone, there will be nothing to stop the fears, thoughts, doubts and miserable heartbreak from flooding her mind. Not to mention, she'd be dead meat if she was attacked again. Screw the aching bones and pulsing wounds.

"Here we go," She grumbles to herself as she rotates her body to the end of the bed.

Slowly, and very reluctantly, she lowers her legs to the ground.

"Woah woah woah," Dean puts a hand out, halting her in place.

His green eyes were aimed straight at hers. The look emitting almost a parental scold.

"And where do you think you're going, missy?"

She narrows her eyes. She knows what he's trying to say, and she doesn't want to have it. "Umm...with you guys?" Her voice drips with sarcasm.

"Oh, I don't think so," Dean laughs, "Take a look at yourself."

"What exactly am I looking for?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're crippled...or that you're frickin' kid,"

"First of all, I'm 18. Second, I'm fine. "

"Oh really? Why don't we just toss you out the car and see how fast you can run with those broken legs?"

The tips of her ears turn a furious red. She does not have the energy to put up with this after what she's been through all night---or actually, all day.

These last 24 hours she's been through hell and he wants to leave her here? Are you kidding me? Does this man only think for himself? I mean, it's not like she's asking to run in guns blazing fighting whatever type of monsters they fight. She just doesn't want to be by herself!

The elder Winchester holds his ground. His face was slightly entertained due to her silence. He took it as a win. She wanted to smack his stupid confident smirk right off. But, she couldn't for the life of her, calm down and come up with a smart retaliation. The only thing she could think about was his bullish ignorance.

"Uh-Dean," Sam cuts in.

Both Eva's and his brother's eyes reluctantly glance toward him. He stands by the coffee table, gently cleaning out his own pistol and loading it.

"Just a few minutes ago she was on our asses for leaving her at the hospital. Just a suggestion, but maybe we should take her with us?"

"You're not even wearing your fed suits. I wouldn't look out of place!" She adds desperately.

"Sweetheart, you're not goin' anywhere outside these motel walls, capeesh? "

"No! No capeesh," She exclaims, "She has my necklace, I deserve to go. I mean, this is my life we're talking about here! That--that could've been me on the police scanner."

"Exactly! That's why you're staying here, where it's safe."

"No, I'm staying with you two, where it's actually safe."

"Well, sweetheart, doesn't really sound like you're asking," His voice a dangerous tone, his eyes narrowing.

"Never was, sweetheart." She spits back.

Just as Dean takes a threatening step closer to her. About to hand her ass to her, and then some. Sam jumps up from the table.

"Listen, Eva, it's fine. You're coming with us, just stay in the car, okay?" His hazel eyes connect with hers. She nods at his offer, happy with his understanding.

He turns to his brother.

"And really, Dean? Arguing with a teenager?"

"She started it!"

"Right, and I'm the kid."

Dean's hand turns the keys and the soft hum of the Impala shuts off. Sam gives his brother an I.D, Sturon Hometech Security. He's quick to stick it in his wallet.

Eva looks out the window as the boys begin to discuss some details. It was a fairly long drive here. So by the time they arrived, there was a multitude of civilians piled around the street. They were held off by officers and police tape of course, but she could hear the nervous chatter from inside the car.

She saw that the street was eerily dark. The only illumination coming from the blue and red flashers. You could see little dots of yellow in the horizon of porch lights being flicked on, a single lightbulb brightening up the patio. This incident seemed to have shocked the neighborhood for sure, she could tell that much.

The cold, night air blows harshly against the glass windows. And despite there being nothing open, with the car off she begins to feel a chill.

"-You think you could turn the car on for me?"

Sam pauses, mid-sentence. He clenches his jaw and lowers his gaze toward Eva.

They didn't know what to expect walking in there. Everything from this case is becoming less and less predictable. And realistically speaking, it's becoming less and less 'huntable'.

He'd hate to say it, but his fears of dying are weighing out his usual feelings of compassion for helping victims. Not to mention, neither he or Dean know what the hell is going on with these "psychic visions". Or why this Demon came after all the children like him. To say the least...he's on edge.

Sam answers before even giving Dean the opportunity to open his mouth.

"Sure," He turns back to the girl. His eyes were stern and his tone was short, "Stay in the car."

The last thing he needs right now is for her to be wandering around. Her life is important, of course, like any other human's. But her relevance to solving this case... that's much more critical. They lose her, they lose any chance of ganking this thing. With a harsh tug of his hair, he takes in a deep breath and leaves the car.

He's...tense, she thinks to herself.

She nods slowly to Dean, indicating she'll stay inside. Dean turns the engine on and leaves the car without a word. The abrasive shut of the door stinging loud in her ears.

She releases a big sigh, welcoming the overwhelming scent of leather, "Silence, again."

As soon as the boys leave the Impala, they're met with the cool, midnight wind.

"So, what were you saying?" Dean looks to his brother. They make their way towards the crowd and blaring police lights.

He clears his throat, "Earlier, I was looking into local missing persons and I read about this guy named Viktor Judoc,"

"He went missing on April 5th, 1994. Which at the time I didn't think anything of it until I realized that was the same day Eva was attacked, only a whole different year,"

"And get this," he reached into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, "He was a professor at Bartley University, last seen in the history building during a heavy storm."

"Well, it sure does match up."

"Also, Eva said there was no record of her family or herself existing here. I think that professor might be our only overlap."

"Whether or not he is, it's some type of lead."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"Sammy with a guy named Viktor, we're bound to find out some nasty business," Dean snorts. He looks back again to his brother and sees him sigh heavily.

"Look, we'll figure this out, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam laughs dryly.

The absurdity of not only the Demon but, now with Eva, it's seeming hopeless at this point, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

They approach the cluttered townspeople. All gossiping and whispering their fears.

"Did you know her?" He hears one woman mutter to a young man. Dean weaves through the crowd, Sam not far behind him.

"Pretty damn well, I'd say. Considering I'm her boyfriend."

Sam turns his head swiftly. Looking for the man's face. Her boyfriend?

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the older lady frowns, "Why aren't you up there talking to the police?"

Sam's eyes land on him. He notices his coal-black hair sat in natural curls. He sees a great, big tattoo on his neck. But, due to the night sky, he can't really tell what the design is.

"I will...soon. I just don't think I can right now," he mumbles.

The older woman nods in sympathy. But, Sam's gaze flies to something else. The man's hand nervously hovering over his hip, like to keep checking for something. He sees his body shift for a moment and in the darkness, he can just barely see the outline of what looks like a gun.

"--C'mon, we need to get in there," Dean's voice startles him causing him to jump a little. He looks to his brother and then to the police tape only a couple of feet from them.

"Why do you look so spooked?" Dean asks.

"Well, I just overheard Marlene's boyfriend talking..." He turns his head, pointing Dean in the direction before noticing—he's gone. Sam quickly searched the pool of strangers, looking for a black-haired, tatted-up man. But, he couldn't find him. He'd run out of there pretty damn fast.

"He's gone..." Sam mumbles.

"Well didn't you say he was just here? He couldn't have gone that far."

"Yeah, well, he also seemed pretty hesitant to talk to the police,"

"We'll pin him down later. C'mon," He motions toward the house.

"Dean, he had a gun, and he looked off."

"Well he's gone now, there's not much we can do," Dean nudges Sam's shoulder, "Now, c'mon."

They weave through the crowd a bit more. Making their way up to the tape that everyone is being kept behind and nod to an officer.

"Sorry boys, can't let you though," The man clicks his tongue.

"We're actually apart of the alarm company Ms. Woods had set up in her home," The both of them casually flip their I.D's.

"Yeah? Well damn good job you guys did, those alarms never went off."

"Yes, we heard," Sam eyes the house in the distance. It's swarmed with forensics teams, the local coroner, and many officers, "We were sent here to come identify the error, so we can make sure this won't happen to anyone else."

The officer nods, slightly tugging his lip up in distaste. He reluctantly pulls up the tape for them to pass.

"Thank you, officer."

They walk under and through. Making their way toward Marlene's home.

~~~

Eva's eyes are glued to the scene. The car was parked a bit far down the street, so everything was blurred together. But, she couldn't pull herself away. She followed Sam and Dean's footsteps as long as she could until their bodies got lost in the crowd. Occasionally she could see their faces pop up in the sea of heads, but...then she'd lost them.

She'd notice a few bystanders walk back to their homes in various directions. Or sometimes see more people flood into the street.

But, one man, in particular, caught her eye. She saw him slip away from the crowd-- he didn't seem to be heading towards any of the houses. No... he started speeding down the sidewalk away from the scene, constantly checking behind him. His behavior put her off so much that she felt she had to watch him. The paranoid glancing back and forth was something she was all too familiar with.

But then she realized, he was making his way straight in the direction of the car. His figure kept getting closer and closer. His nervous eyes quickly peering into the cars he passed. Shit, he's going to see me.

Despite her aching body, she's fast to get on the floor. Crouching low enough she could smell the rubber of the ground padding. At his alarmingly fast walking pace, she sees his shadow approaching the car. He stays on the sidewalk because it seems as if he's only checking the cars to make sure no one sees him.

Then she remembers... the car is running. How could I forget that? Jesus!

He's only a second away, he most likely noticed that the car was on already. But, she prayed he was too caught up in his head that he hadn't seen it yet. She swiftly crawls over the front seat. Her torso screaming in pain as it bears most of her weight. Her hand flies to the key and shuts it off. The interior of the car going pitch black and the hum of the engine falling to a rest.

She holds her breath. Now able to hear the hasty, stressed footsteps from the sidewalk—loud and clear.

For a moment she hears him hover. His frantic feet pause and he stares deeply into the window. Her stomach in her throat, she prays that he can't see her.

And as if she had a little angel on her shoulder, the man stepped away. She hears him shuffle around for a second...and then continues walking down the street.

She breathes out heavily. Now letting her lungs catch up to her racing heart. She decides she'll still wait a few moments. At least until she can no longer hear his footsteps. When it seems like he's far enough away, she tries to sit up.

She lets out a great, big breath of relief and slumps into the leather seat. Since she had to crawl over, she now gets a clear view through the windshield.

As she begins to settle into the comfort of the driver's seat, she entertains herself with staring up to the moonlit sky. With all the mayhem that she's encountered for the last 24 or more hours, it wouldn't hurt to take a load off-- relax for just one minute,

Ring!

She jolts up.

Ring!

She hears it again and shuffles around in the seat, trying to see where the sound was coming from. The ringing was almost muffled like it was beneath something. She opens the glove box and sees an old, silver flip-phone light up. She looks to the I.D number and it reads,

Dad.

~~~

"You two from the alarm company?" A detective asks. He has pale, blue eyes and short, chestnut hair. He was around his mid 40's and had a deep raspy voice.

"Yes, sir," Sam answers.

He drinks up the environment around him. Most of the house was in pristine condition. There was no mess, no fallen lamps or pictures, almost like there was no foul play. This realization sent shivers down his spine. It had to have been the necklace, he thinks.

"Do what you gotta' do, just don't get in any of my officer's way," He eyes them both up and down, his blue gaze colder than the night air, "Are we understood, boys?"

"Yes, sir. You'll be getting no problems from us, Detective...?"

"Murke, Detective Murke," He holds out his hand in a polite gesture. Both Sam and Dean shake it, half-smiling back.

A younger, much kinder-looking officer runs up to the detective. He nervously taps his shoulder. And when he whispers something in his ear, he frowns— a perplexed look on his face.

Dean waves him goodbye silently. He and Sam turn and walk towards the kitchen, where the back door is.

They make their way through the forensic photographers, through the policeman swabbing and sweeping the house for any DNA. Once they reach the kitchen they notice the scene.

They don't stare long. Not wanting to be deemed suspicious, they casually walk towards the alarm system set up by the back door.

"—Well that's just it, isn't it?" An old man's voice hollers. He's hunched over the young woman's body wearing a jacket marked 'Coroner'.

The Winchester's eye the scene. They see Marlene. She's lifeless. They've seen many dead bodies in their day, but it was an oddly unsettling encounter they could never get used to. Her skin was turning a bit grey and there was a swamp of blood around her body. They could make out the wound— what looks like to be a stabbing.

"Huh," Sam whispers.

"Yeah, I don't remember weapons being apart of this thing's M.O."

"—With no sign of forced entry, it's not that shocking to me," A particularly bulky, female police officer comments.

"Yeah, the knife's right there. It just doesn't look like a homicide," Another one adds.

Sam's eyes look to the ground near Marlene. His stomach twists when he sees her empty eyes again, but he quickly diverts his gaze. He looks in the pool of blood, and there lay a kitchen knife. But, it's when he looks to her hand—he sees none other than that uncanny, silver chain.

"Found the necklace," Sam murmurs. He nods subtly towards the girl, Dean's eyes landing on her hand.

"Well, that's weird."

"What do you mean?"

Dean shifts awkwardly. He takes a casual look around the two of them, making sure no one was catching on to them.

"She's not wearing it. I mean, what made her take it off?"

Sam sighs, "I don't know, maybe she never put it on?"

"Or, she put it on. But, the moment she took it off, she bit the dust."

"—No! Don't you hear a word I'm saying? Jeez, what is it with you, bush leaguers?" The old man wails.

"What? You seriously think someone had the key to her place, stabbed her, left no prints, and took nothing?"

"Yeah, not to question you, Warren, but it's a single stab wound. It doesn't look like a crime of passion, it looks self-inflicted," Another chimes in.

"Why don't you two shut up for a minute while I explain it to you, hm? I'll put it simply so maybe you can understand."

Sam notices he's beginning to feel a bit dizzy, his hand flying up to his head.

"You good?" Dean whispers.

His little brother grimaces, feeling as if all the blood in his body is flushing from his brain to his toes, "Yeah...uh, I don't know."

"It's been a while since we've eaten, just try and hold it together," He nods assuringly.

The coroner stands up with a heavy grunt pulling Sam and Dean's attention away. Still wearing his rubber gloves, he swings open a drawer. Lazily grabbing another knife, he positions it over his body.

"If I was going to stab myself, tell me...where would I do it?"

The female officer rolls her eyes, "In the stomach."

"Right," He rotates to his side, so they can see his profile. The tip of the blade held right to his torso, "Now tell me what angle I'm holding the knife at right now."

It was at that moment that everything seemed to click in their heads. The interns looking down in embarrassment. He takes their silence as confirmation to continue.

"Nearly straight, but downwards, right?" He asks rhetorically. They all nod feverishly. He places the knife back into the drawer and squats back down to the body.

"So, tell me how this woman killed herself when the angle of the wound is directly upwards? It's impossible to achieve a self-inflicted wound of this inclination."

"That means... that we have a very smart killer on the loose," The female officer says, her voice laced with concern, "There's no prints, no evidence left tying the attacker to themself."

"Someone better go tell Murke,"

Sam and Dean both look to each other. There was a clear worry in both of their eyes. Just another god damn thing to add to the list of reasons why this case makes no sense. Not to mention, now they're going to have the police sniffing around for a killer.

Sam pulls out a black bag from his jacket, unzipping it. He reveals some small tools and screwdrivers and begins to toy with the security system.

"Any ideas of how we're gonna get that necklace?" Sam whispers.

"Zilch."

They quickly quiet down when they see the head Detective enter the room. His blue eyes were narrowed as the Coroner began to fill him in.

"—We're going to need a profile," Murke comments as he circles Marlene's body, his eyes analyzing the room.

"Still no prints?" He asks. They all shake their heads.

"Detective, have you ever dealt with a guy like this in Willow?" An intern speaks up.

"Once."

Sam and Dean both look at each other, a knowing look in their eye. Sure, it could've been some random psycho—but if they're lucky, there is some type of connection here. There's a multitude of factors and crazy happenings but, possibly, they're related after all.

"—Wait a minute, I think I've got something here," The old Coroner interrupts.

All eyes fly to him as he remains crouched over the body. His latex-covered hands hovering over her neck. His fingers trail over the skin, finding a little bump.

"She seems to have something...uh, lodged in her throat," He turns to his case in search of a pair of forceps. He slowly extracts the object.

Sam's eyes bulge out of his head as he sees a tiny cloth. The man unwraps it to reveal satanic writing and a fragment of bone. Hex bag?

"God," A police officer comments, "What a sicko."

Dean mumbles to his brother, "Witches, after all."

Sam slowly lowers his hand to his pocket. His fingers sliding along his silver phone and peeking it out, taking a quick snap—keeping the device low to his hip. Hoping he got a good picture of the hex bag laying open...

"—Hey, you two," An officer startles them. They turn around, Sam hastily shoving his phone in his pocket without looking suspicious, "Are you done, yet? We need to know if this guy hacked this system or if she let him in."

"Oh," Sam clears his throat, gathering his thoughts. He didn't look much into the alarm, not that he knows much about the mechanism, anyway. But, its witches, right?

"She let 'em in," Dean answers.

"Is that right?" Detective Murke pops up behind them.

Sam nods accordingly and notices the multiple officers scribbling down the information.

"Well, then your work is done here, boys. I trust you can see yourselves out?" He raises his eyebrows.

Sam's eyes immediately fly to the necklace, still on the ground. They can't leave yet. They only have a matter of time before it's bagged as evidence. Then it will be physically impossible to get it.

"Uh-yes, sir," Sam answers.

Detective Murke turns away with a couple of officers, discussing in private. Forensic photographers began to make their rounds in the kitchen.

Sam casually zips up his black bag, murmuring to his brother, "What now?"

"Well, Sammy, right now this room's crawling with five-0. I don't really see us getting within 1 foot of that chain before getting booked."

He picks up the bag and begins to walk towards the front door. Sam hot on his tail.

"We can't just leave it," He whispers.

"Alright Einstein, what do you suggest?"

Sam sighs. He eyes the house around him, looking for any opportunity he can get. He had what—less than a minute to come up with a good plan before the photographers are finished in the kitchen, and the necklace is taken for good? His nerves were on fire and no matter where he looked or what he thought of, nothing worked.

"C'mon, we gotta leave it," Dean nudges.

"Fine. But, what about Eva?"

They continue to walk and their eyes reluctantly watch the kitchen scene as they pass.

"We'll figure it out, we always do."

Sam sees someone drop the dainty, silver chain into a plastic bag before handing it off to another officer. Chewing on his lip, he prays he didn't just let their only hope get taken from them right in front of their eyes.

When they take their first steps outside the house, the cold air whips them hard. Their ears are met with anxious chatter of the citizens.

Sam still feels that subtle ache from earlier, his head a tad dizzy.

"So," Dean fills the silence as they walk back to the car, "We got this Viktor shmuck, the boyfriend, and now some old case Murke worked on to look into,"

"Don't forget the witches." Sam means to flash a mocking smile-- but instead feels his head pulse with pain. What the hell?

"Ah, how could I forget the witches!" Dean grinds his teeth, "Gotta love witches."

He swings open the door to reveal Eva sitting up front.

"Witches?" She repeats.

Dean jerks his head to the side, his green eyes glaring.

"Oh," She looks down, realizing her location, "—Sorry."

Once she scrambles into the back seat, Dean drops onto the leather with a huff. Sam swings open his door and sits down. His fingers massaging his temples, a cramping expression on his face. Dean quickly glances over to him, them both eyeing each other and thinking the same thing, 'let this please not be another damn psychic vision.'

Then Dean takes a moment to recognize the cool air inside the car wasn't right—he had left it running.

"Why's the car off?"

"Uh-Some dude came toward the car and I was worried he was gonna see me. He looked pretty freaked out."

It explained why she was sitting up front, Dean thought.

"What'd this guy look like?" Sam asks.

"It was hard to tell, honestly...black hair, a tattoo maybe?"

Sam's head darts around to look at her, "Was he carrying a gun?"

"I don't know," She shakes her head, "All I remember was how paranoid he was. He was checking every car."

"Why, what is it?" She asks.

"I think that's Marlene's boyfriend. I saw him in the crowd, he disappeared pretty fast."

"And he has a gun? That's a charming thought," She snorts.

Dean turns the key and the engine roars. He takes off down the highway.

Her eyes wander back outside the window to the night sky. She tried to gather her thoughts, first, she hears witches, then she hears 'crazy guy with a gun', what's next? An angel in a prom dress?

"What the...?" Sam shifts in his seat awkwardly, like he was trying to get rid of a wedgie without using his hands. Eventually, amongst his shuffling around, he pulls out a phone from the seat.

"What's this burner doing here?" He directs to Eva. Oh, that's right. She'd completely forgotten.

"Oh...your Dad called."

Both of the boys' heads turn so fast they nearly snap off their bodies. Dean swerving the car a bit before being forced to look back at the road. Sam's eyes widen with surprise as he hastily glances at his brother then back to Eva.

"Did you answer it?" His hands fiddle with the phone.

"No," She responds nervously, "I didn't think you'd want me to..."

She was completely befuddled by their reaction, to say the least. Her voice was small and she had a million questions running through her head, but she wasn't entirely sure right now was the time to ask them. She continued to anxiously fidget with her hands awaiting any more information.

Sam's fingers finally dial him back. It's silent for a moment. The tension was so thick, you couldn't even cut it with a knife, you'd need an axe, surely. It was completely quiet except for the sound of the Impala cruising down the road, she could hear the soft rings of the phone.

"—Hello?"

"Dad," Sam smiles in disbelief.

#dean winchester #supernatural #Sam Winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #eventual smut #winchester #fanfiction

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erikthedead · 3 years

Text

entry #1

I have finally acquired Microsoft Word! I really didn’t want to pay a monthly subscription for it, but it is the best writing software out there. Every time I mention myself spending money, a small prayer goes out to all the tax-paying members of the nation, since all my money comes from Universal Credit, which is the United Kingdom’s cute name for a type of welfare money. I much prefer just calling it ‘welfare,’ or even better ‘NEETbux,’ which I discovered used in online forums as a word for the money people receive when they are not in education, employment, or training (N.E.E.T), which has been my status for about two years now. Then ‘bux’ is just ‘bucks,’ obviously. Bucks is just money, obviously. Many people receiving Universal Credit also work as well; they just receive less - enough to supplement their wages if they aren’t getting enough money from their jobs.

My last job was working in a busy restaurant for just about a year. Before that I was in university, but I dropped out after only completing the first year out of three. Before that, I worked as a carer for elderly people for just under a year. Before that, I was in college for two years, and I actually passed the course. I only passed it because the subject was forensic science, which included lots of writing about psychology, criminology and lab reports. I was never that good in the lab practically. I got flustered and bewildered in such a bright, sanitary environment that required precision and organisation to achieve the desired results. When it came to scrambling together a report to submit the next day though, I was pretty golden. I only dropped out of university because I had a mental break down as a result of poor mental health and just the fact that going outside and interacting with people was and still is incredibly exhausting for me. After a year of doing that consistently it seems, I get fatigued. In the end I got an average grade for the college course because some of the work was difficult, or boring, and that fatigue was hitting me by the second year. However, the grades I was getting on my university assignments for psychology and sociology were anywhere between top marks and good marks (Between 1st – 2:2 in UK student language). I never once read the feedback from the tutors who marked my work. All I needed to know was the mark was okay and moved on to the next assignment, firstly because I was arrogant and secondly, I couldn’t handle criticism. The mental break down itself involved me walking through the campus one day only to find myself slipping into a dissociative state. Nothing had happened immediately prior to trigger this, it just happened. It felt strange, like I wasn’t really real, and neither was anyone else. Everything felt distant and off, both externally and internally. It was frightening and strangely peaceful, as if at any moment someone could come in and blow the building up and I wouldn’t even react to it. That wasn’t normal. The only way to snap out of it was to lock myself in a toilet cubicle and lightly slice my arm with a tiny knife I had on my keys. It worked, but now I was in floods of tears and a state of distress, so I went to the student welfare services to see if they could help me or at least let me sit somewhere nicer than a toilet while I calmed down. It was an open office waiting area at the side of the bottom floor of a building that matched the layout of a prison ward with the stairs and the upper floors creating a square boarder of classrooms, that would have been cells for a prison. More for practical purposes than for aesthetic reasons, I’m sure. Still sobbing, and hiding my self-inflicted cuts, I asked the person behind the desk if I could ‘see someone,’ which is one polite British way of asking for help. After waiting a little while, a plump middle-aged lady appeared and brought me into her own little private office to ask me what had happened. She gave me her sympathy and asked me about my life and my history, and gave me some more sympathy, while relating her own experiences to mine. She was a good counsellor, basically. But having a good counsellor on site wasn’t enough to keep me on the course after that incident. Getting a degree just wasn’t worth it at the time. Being such a depressed and pessimistic person, I was only actually doing the course for ‘fun’ anyway, not for the hope that it will bring me a better future. Until recently, I never saw a future for myself. It wasn’t even a bleak future I imagined; it was just blank. I couldn’t even conceptualise it.

It’s not a mystery where all my misery came from. My childhood was a bit inconsistent to start, and from what I’ve observed, children need consistency more than anything to develop promisingly. I remember reading a study once that found children raised by parents who were consistently abusive to them were in fact more mentally stable than those raised by parents who could be lovely one day and nasty the next. It was not knowing what treatment they were going to get that did them in. It makes sense because if you’re always expecting to face a thrashing or a shouting at every day, you can at least prepare for it and train yourself to deal with it. We’re very adaptable creatures, but we need to be able to recognise patterns around us to do that. If there is no pattern, then how can we possibly make predictions? Without predictions, how can we possibly feel secure about our future? Having said all that, I was never abused in any way growing up, but I was sometimes neglected by my young mother, who was only 16 when she gave birth to me. Of course, it’s understandable now, but from a child’s perspective all you think is ‘why doesn’t my mum want me?’ When she sends you to your room for no reason and tells you not to come down for hours at a time. I asked ‘why’ a lot. Never got a good reason. I’m sure plenty of people who were raised by a drug-addicted parent can relate to this. She herself was a good mother, not amazing, but good. She told me she loved plenty of times, she gave me what she could, including a little sister when I was three years old. I think it was shortly after her birth that mum started taking heroin. It was only during drug education in year five of school (I would have been about 11) that I put the pieces together. She hid her addiction pretty well from us, but I sometimes found pieces of tin foil lying around the living room with lines of black residue on them, and once or twice witnessed her junkie friends ‘nodding off.’ There’s also a clear memory in my mind of being taken along by her and my nan to score some brown out of town and I can picture in my head the massive set of old-fashioned scales this drug dealer had sat on his coffee table right in front of me. I was too young to understand any of their lingo, though. Yes, I mentioned my nan, my mum’s mum. They got smacked up together, and they eventually got clean together. I’ll never know the details of how that came about because neither of them are alive anymore to ask. Mum died when I was 14 by taking an overdose of her methadone, then nan died when was 21 of a heart attack, likely due to the COPD she had developed from years of smoking.

My nan was so full of love for my mum, my sister and me. Some of my favourite childhood memories are being snuggled up in bed listening to her read me stories, which she did with flare and enthusiasm. She would affectionately call us her ‘wobblies,’ and give us more hugs kisses than we ever wanted. My mum definitely inherited her loving nature from her. But love on its own isn’t enough to keep kids clothed and fed and able to go out and do things. This is where the legend that is my grandad comes in. He is still going strong at 66 years old as of writing. God knows where I’d be without him. He’s been my father figure all my life since I never knew who or where my real dad was. He’s hard-working, reliable, responsible and strong. He supported us immensely despite not relating to him biologically. My biological grandfather was a free-spirited busker who liked to smoke and drink a lot, who I only met a hand full of times before he hanged himself when I was 19. His death did not affect me, but my mum’s and nan’s certainly did. I’ll probably have to see my grandad die as well eventually, and I don’t dread anything more.

Although I started off describing my family background by saying it’s obvious where my source of misery comes from, I must emphasise that my family is not the source of my misery. My childhood overall was pretty forgettable. I only have a few memories and they’re fond memories, despite the unfortunate situation I just described. Even getting my face ripped open by the neighbour’s dog when I was six didn’t faze me. It was only when puberty hit me that life started to feel horrible, and it just got worse.

I was an early bloomer, if blooming is what you call it. I call it mutating. I started getting hairy and growing tits when I was 10, and got my period about a year later. Now THAT is a traumatic memory. Waking up and going for a morning wee as usual, sitting down on the toilet and being overcome with horror at the sight of blood covering my pyjamas, realising there’s only one place that could have come from, then investigating the source only to confirm ‘Oh shit, I’m bleeding from between my legs!’ I was living with my nan and grandad at the time and I stayed there (or here, since I’m still living in the same house as of writing) under their guardianship while mum sorted herself out. After the shocking discovery of blood, I immediately ran into nan’s bedroom to wake her up. I vividly remember what and how she responded to me. With a sigh of what seemed like unsettling disappointment she said “Oh, darling, I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ve got your period.’ I wonder now if she said it like that because she felt guilty for not warning me about this, as she should have. Someone should have. In all fairness I was young, but the other kids in my year at school were soon popping into adolescence alongside me, so I thought that soon enough everyone else would be going through what I was going through, but that wasn’t the case. I was bullied for having chronic acne. I was also a bit of a chubby boffin, but it was mostly the acne that people targeted me for. The girls shaved their legs once they started to get hairy, and I remember thinking ‘Damn, I suppose I’ve got to do that too,’ despite never wearing a skirt. They also seemed to relish in showing off and comparing their bras in the changing rooms, while I hid away as very best as I could. Make-up was a constant battle between students and teachers because they all wanted to look pretty, but it wasn’t allowed in middle school (Year 5-8), so luckily, I had an excuse for not wearing it. I’d regularly complain to my family about hating going to school, and how depressed I was, but it was all put down to teenage blues. ‘You’ll be alright once your hormones settle down,’ I was told more than once. I remember my nan telling me I would miss going to school when I was older and so far she’s been proven wrong.

#life #life 1 #ramblings #transgender #diary

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