#its hard to explain to them that i require alone time in order to function properly

[whats-it-mean]

just had every single one of my cousins parade into my room unannounced to shame me for not wanting to go on a walk with them..... i suppose they had good intentions but that didnt feel great

#⤥ mairu rambles ! #i love them and all but #its hard to explain to them that i require alone time in order to function properly #introvert in a family of extroverts lifestyle aint goin so hard rn

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 136

This chapter was a chance to explore some more science-based tropes that I absolutely love in stories.  The truth is, when I’m working at my day job, I love listening to documentaries on Curiosity and YouTube channels like Answers with Joe or Kurzgesagt. My love of science fiction actually comes from my love of space and astronomy, not the other way around.

In no way, shape, or form, does this chapter cover any of the concepts in question in full. It’s just a quick convo between Sophia and a good friend ;)

My thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname. Plus all of YOU!

Even as my mind wandered, I couldn’t help but grin a bit as I took my weekly stroll through the corridors of the Ark with Miys in tow.  For several years now, we had a standing appointment on my calendar that both Alistair and Tyche treated as sacrosanct - just some time for me to spend with our host, my friend, and learn more about each other.  When I had originally arrived on the Ark, any time I was seen walking with them, other humans would give me odd looks, but never approach.  Now, people would recognize me, smile, and wave, but still never interrupted the strolls.

It was nice. Like my weekly family dinners, it was a routine, pleasant part of my life. Especially days like today, when we were entering the dawn-cycle and each day became a little brighter. It made me wonder about other civilizations, ones that would have evolved in conditions like the ones we were adapting ourselves for. How did it affect them? How would it affect us as generations passed? Future generations were certainly going to be shorter, due to the high gravity. Would it change our technological advances as well - 

“Wisdom, why are you thinking so hard about Gestrcht Clusters?” Miys interrupted my thoughts.

“Hm?” I asked absently. “What’s a Jestrick Cluster?”

“Gestrcht,” they corrected mildly. “Gestrcht clusters are a type of civilization that has adapted to live in artificial platforms surrounding their sun, in order to better harness the solar energy, radiation, or heat needed.”

“You mean a Dyson swarm?” I tried to clarify, confused.

“All of the galaxy calls them Gestrcht clusters, therefore I think that is what you mean.”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, holding my hands up in defeat. “The reason I was thinking about Gestruck clusters - “

“Gestrcht”

“I will work on it. The reason I was thinking about those is… I was wondering how living on Von will change our priorities. In our history, those constructions were something that fascinated both imagination and science - something several people thought was our launching pad to a Kardashev Type II civilization, or the singularity point. Maybe both.”

“Kardashev…” they hummed for a moment, thinking. “Only humanity would create goals of technological advancement that required destruction on a multi-planetary scale.”

I desperately wanted to object, but strongly suspected they were right. “So we were wrong, again? There are no civilizations out there that would fit what we imagined for a Kardashev I or II race?”

“I will concede to the existence of species that you would consider both. However, it is not how you believe it to be - humanity would never have been able to accomplish it without greater sacrifice than they have ever known.”

Oh boy. “Tell me? I want to understand why other species could do it, but we could not.” My curiosity needed to know.

They held up one of their liw, rocking it back and forth in imitation of a human head tilt. “Species that have managed to harness all of the energy produced by their planet, and not destroy their environments, have historically been those who had very little power to harness to begin with. These civilizations come from either very harsh, or very gentle worlds - never anything in between. Abundant wind energy scouring a planetary desert can greatly benefit a species who can harness that wind to temper it and create a paradise. A planet with no atmosphere, but incredible amounts of geothermal energy runs little risk in being able to direct all of that volcanic activity to its benefit. But Earth?”

“Is a deathworld,” I pointed out. “You said so yourself.”

“This is true, but it is not a deathworld in the way So’Kn is, for example. Preeyar and So’kn are planets that are lethal for very singular reasons: So’Kn is a frozen waste of permanent night and eternal wind. It is so harsh that only So’Knor can truly survive there with without significant technological assistance. Preeyar only has atmosphere in its valleys, and that is thinner than most species can survive, much less the fact that there are no liquids on Preeyar. None. The air pressure is too low to allow it for any chemicals that are naturally occurring, and the atmosphere violently reacts with any elements that could exist in liquid form. It is, in fact, believed that the rift valleys were caused by simply an icy meteor impacting the planet.”

“Ho-lee shit,” I whispered.

“I doubt many cultures would find it holy at all,” they joked drily. “Whereas Earth… There is no one singular quality about Earth that classifies it as a deathworld. Instead, there are several, each stemming from the abundant forms of energy offered by your home world.”

“Seriously!?”

“Indeed. And the combinations thereof. The length of natural disasters that are possible, alone, is unique to Earth. Tornadoes and earthquakes. Flooding and wildfires. Volcanoes and hurricanes. Methane just rising from your lakes to kill large swathes of people. Lakes below your oceans, Wisdom! Volcanoes below your oceans! It is insanity to the entirety of the Galaxy, and yet humans consider that just a normal aspect of existence.”

“And… what exactly does that have to do with being able to harness all the energy of our planet, exactly?” To say I was confused was an understatement.

To their credit, Miys only reached with one vomu to make a ‘nose pinching’ gesture against its head. “Earth, somehow, is only habitable and so abundant in life because everything exists in a precarious balance. Surely, the last two centuries of your own history demonstrated that. Attempting to harness all of the admittedly prodigious energy of your planet would have ended up destroying that balance beyond compare.”

I tried to comprehend it. I really did. Focusing on what little I knew, I thought about dams. Those were familiar to me - I had grown up in an area that dammed every river and creek possible for everything from grain mills and fruit presses, to artificial fish ponds, to electricity. “Starting there…” it was faster not to explain out loud when I knew Miys was following along with the home game, “Damming a river creates a lake. That floods an area that already has a habitat, and dries out another area that already has an aquatic habitat.”

“And prevents floods that fertilize fields and redistribute minerals from erosion, yes.”

“Right. Times every river, creek, and faint trickle on Earth…” I stopped myself. Every river. The Amazon. The Nile. “And we just washed out what’s left of the largest rainforest on Earth.”

“Leaving more carbon in the air…” they encouraged.

“And increasing the greenhouse effect, increasing heat on the surface, melting more ice, which - hey, more wind, amirite? - but changing planetary albedo, more water, wetter Sahara, no dust to fertilize… South America? Dammit, are we back to killing the Amazon again?”

“That is just one form of energy, Wisdom. But I feel you are understanding the issue.”

“Yeahhhh…” I trailed off. “Okay, so. Kardashev I is no bueno tacos for Earth. What if we skipped straight to Kardashev II slash singularity?” I made a point to focus on the concept of technological singularity very hard, so there would be less need for research on their part. You know, spare myself half a minute or so. “The Gestrkt clusters.”

“Closer,” they admitted, although I was suspicious they meant my pronunciation and not the idea that humanity would ever get there. “Humanity is not… suited, for Gestrcht clusters.”

“Wait, what?”

“Humanity is too curious, too social, and too exploratory. Your fiction abounds with every variation of different worlds and strange universes you could possibly conceive of. And it constantly expanded - your oldest texts involve travelling to your moon, and when you actually reached it, you looked further out - other systems, other galaxies, other dimensions. Gestrcht clusters require such substantial resources and maintenance, there is little left over for exploration.”

“There are humans who would be perfectly content living in such a structure,” I argued, although my heart wasn’t in it. I wouldn’t have been, knowing that other worlds were out there.

“Not enough to sustain it, unfortunately. Not even in what you call the Before.” Lightly resting one vomu on my shoulder, they squeezed gently. “Wisdom, humanity has always wanted to see other worlds. Gestrcht clusters are all or nothing.”

“And singularity?” I asked, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

“It is true that there have been some singleton species that have achieved what you term singularity with technology. Fewer have been successful.” When I glanced at them, all six upper appendages were held up in defense. “Hive minds are uniquely suited to it, and even some of us,” they waved those same six appendages at their torso, “would never accept it. I could never imagine not having the chance to travel the galaxy, to be with other races as they experience it. Add to that, humanity is somehow both individual and social. Removing that line, that choice? I doubt your kind would thrive. Postulate this: Derek, in a hive mind.”

“Absolutely not,” came my unhesitating response, disgust and violence trembling in every limb before I calmed myself. “And I see your point. Integrating technology in our lives, into how we function…” I tapped my head for emphasis, “that’s one thing. It makes our lives better, by making sure that Derek, and others, can have their personal space protected.” The more I thought about it… I never considered the idea in reference to ‘now’, only ‘eventually’. What if we did it now, and I was one of the people - suddenly never alone, always connected to every thought of strangers via technology. What if Tyche was? Or Maverick? Hell, Charly? “I think I need a shower, now,” I admitted, skin crawling.

“Humanity could achieve both,” Miys confirmed, although it didn’t feel as reassuring as I had hoped it would at the beginning of our conversation. “But I don’t think humanity would truly want to live in Gestrcht clusters or singularity, given any other choice but extinction.”

Laughing, I wiped a tear from one eye.  It was a bitter truth, but still true. “I think you’re right.”

“I may be wrong,” they countered. “As I said, there are singleton species who have made those transitions and the entire galaxy is better for it.”

“Some hope that we weren’t entirely wrong would be nice right about now,” I mumbled as I scuffed my shoe at the floor. There wasn’t anything to kick except Else-puffs, and that was just mean as fuck.

“Most species that made a transition to Gestrcht clusters early in their development are belligerent, insular species. The fact that they must focus all their efforts and resources on maintaining their platforms prevents them from becoming actively warlike. As far as ‘singularity’... singleton species who thrive in that transition are often species who cannot thrive on a galactic scale otherwise.”

Huh? I craned my neck to try to look up at them in the perpetual-dawn light. “What do you mean?”

Miys flicked a datapad open - one I know they only wore for our sakes, seeing as they could not actually see anything on the purely-optical screen, I had learned. They could only navigate it if interacting with a human, so they could ‘see’ what they needed to tap out.

Needless to say, Charly and Grey had been working for years on one that responded to sonic commands.

Eventually, a seven-fingered flick caused my own databand to chirp. I flicked it open to see the file. “They… Noah, this looks like sentient pollen… or feathers…” Realistically, any description I tried to create fell devastatingly short. The being on my datapad moved as though it was floating on wind, with tens of thousands of filament-fine tendrils swaying and navigating. The sound it created reminded me of the sound of snowfall, if snowflakes could sing opera. “They’re beautiful,” I sniffed, driving back tears at knowing something so breathtaking existed.

“They also cannot survive off their planet, unfortunately. Even the transition out of their atmosphere is lethal to them.”

My heart shattered into a million pieces. “What is their name?”

“No one knows for certain. But they have achieved a sort of singularity - once they have matured and reproduced, they upload themselves at the end of their very brief lifecycles. In the Galactic Community, they are known as Odvub.”

“Odvub…” I whispered, holding out my fingers like I could actually touch the screen.

“Outside of a Hujylsogox rescue ship, it is nearly impossible to avoid encountering Odvub. Most believe they are some sort of galactic artificial intelligence, and they prefer to allow that belief.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?”

“They have permitted it, when these sort of questions are asked. To show what desperation is required for a singleton species to thrive in singularity.”

I sniffed, desperately trying not to cry at their situation. “Do they know about humans?”

“They may be the only species who could not avoid knowing about it. But Odvub believes your people are hearty, and adaptable, and should never suffer their fate. They advised, in the event that your people ever ask about singularity, to do this…” Miys gently cupped my cheek in one liw and patted it, “and tell you that you will never need to resort to what they had to do, and that they look forward to meeting your people one day.”

“Obviously not face to face,” I admitted quietly. “I have allergens that are more substantial than they are.”

“It is considered a great honor in the Galactic Community for this icon to display when  you interact with Odvub.” Miys gestured at the vicinity of the image on my datapad. “Only those who know why, know why it is an honor.”

“We’ll take it,” I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. “All of humanity may never know why, but we’ll take it. If I may tell Arthur, we probably will know why.” He would see to it. Loudly, angrily, derisive of anyone who mocked it. “Regardless, we’ll take it, all the same.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

[flickeringart]

The Megxit Drama

A peek at Meghan Markle’s chart

The British Royal Family has certainly been the subject of dramatic events recently – Prince Harry and Meghan Markle doing an interview with Oprah in order to explain their break with “family”, royal duties and royal life – revealing quite unsavory things sufficient to depict the firm, staff and members of the family in a bad light. Essentially, Meghan was retelling her traumatic experiences of being treated unfairly, feeling trapped, being subjected to racism, getting no help in times of emotional crisis and robbed of freedom, while her husband Harry passively went along confirming all of it. Whatever the truth is, they certainly painted themselves as victims – compassionate and good-natured. They attempted to remain respectful to the people involved in the story, yet if actions speak louder than words, they certainly weren’t particularly “respectful” by throwing the Royal Family under the bus with this interview. The couple has gotten a lot of backlash as people are disinclined to buy their narrative, partly because both seem to be quite self-serving under the guise of selflessness. Meghan made it clear during the interview that she didn’t know much about life as royalty and went into it all surprisingly clueless, almost setting herself up for disappointment. One could assume that by committing to such a structured existence as becoming a royal, that one would do the homework and at the very least expect to give up the privilege of being “an ordinary person” in favor of being of service. The British Monarchy obviously has symbolic value more than anything else, which is not to say that it’s unimportant or trivial. Symbols carry meaning and the Royal Family upholds that meaning through attempting to embody it physically. The members are not supposed to be inflated and begin to believe that they in and of themselves are princes and princesses or whatever titles they are given. They are supposed to serve the titles rather than the titles serving them.  In becoming a part of this symbol of divine reign, one merges with something far greater than the limited self. One serves to uphold an image that is immortal, ancient and has a function in the psyche of the British people. I dare assume that Meghan didn’t fully grasp this concept and went into it all with far more attitude than people would like – perhaps understandably so considering her lack of experience of monarchy. Prince Harry seemingly got pulled along with it all, presumably wanting to rescue his wife from that which killed his mother while piggybacking on the momentum of the situation and metaphorically breaking free from the “limiting container” of the institution. Harry said in the interview that he felt sorry for his father and his brother being trapped by their roles, which seems like a desperate attempt to try to gain some significance, to end up in the role of the hero and avoid living in the “shadow” of more prominent members of the family. People generally seek significance in some way and will come up with the most creative attempts to cast themselves in the role of superiority, whether it’s through victimhood, humility, bravery, sacrifice or anything else that elevates the self in some way. Whether someone’s behavior stems from an attempt to make up for the lack within or not can be hard to spot, but considering the skepticism the interview has been met with – and the scrutiny (and ridicule) that it has been exposed to – it is safe to say that people’s gut feeling tells them that something is not quite right.

(The chart of Meghan Markle on astrotheme.com)

Meghan Markle has been accused of a lot of things, of twisting the truth, of exaggerating in order to further her own agenda, of being self-serving and manipulative. Some call her “narcissistic” – which is the “usual” label thrown at anyone who lacks genuine care for others, stirs up drama and drags other people through the mud in order to benefit themselves. However, her behavior might not be intentional, but compulsive. After all, no one is 100% sure of why they’re the way they are, whether it’s deemed good or bad by society at large. Where the line is drawn between intentional and unintentional is unclear, yet the odors of shady business and dishonorable motives can be sensed – and people don’t usually like being “sold” something that isn’t what it seems. Generally people don’t appreciate being deceived, which is obviously why the backlash has been so extreme.

She has quite a charming and radiating outer appearance, which is typical of someone with their Sun in the 1st, and in its domicile at that. She also has the sweet and innocent “puppy eyed” look of a Cancer Rising, which displays emotion and vulnerability. It’s not surprising that she pursued an acting career before meeting Harry. The spotlight-seeking Leo Sun in the 1st house of self, the Moon-Saturn-Jupiter stellium in the artistic sign of Libra in the 3rd house of communication and (inter)action, as well as the boundless imaginative Neptune in the 5th house of creativity all contribute to the personality of the actress. Considering that she has an emphasis on Leo and Libra, it’s safe to say that she was in it for the refinement, admiration and class that being an actress could provide. She thrives on positive attention, and is undoubtedly sensitive to discord. With a Cancer Rising and a Libra Moon, she craves gentility and fairness, for everything to be “ok” socially. Cancer is a cardinal sign, and although it’s quite emotional, it’s also very active and motivated to create safety for the self. It does this by avoiding direct confrontation, of appealing to people’s caring side. There’s nothing wrong with this, but people might feel as if the Cancer Rising person’s innocence is “put on”. In the interview, Meghan had no problem displaying her own weakness and emphasizing her own vulnerability. She used these attributes to gain esteem, whereas another person of a different nature, with different archetypes protruding, would’ve felt humiliated leading life with that energy. Her Moon is her chart ruler, which makes her emotions the primary focus – in other words her subjective experiences, mutual care, needs and requirements is particularly emphasized in her life. The Moon is in Libra, the cardinal air sign that strives for balance and justice and awareness - especially as it relates to interpersonal relationships. Libra is famous for wanting to keep everything “civilized” and “respectful”. The tight Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction in this sign points to emotional exaggeration (Jupiter) and restriction (Saturn). By entering into a relationship/business deal (Libra) she experienced harshness around her emotions (Moon-Saturn) on a grand scale (Jupiter). On a side note, Capricorn rules the 7th house, indicating that she encounters discipline and structure through partnership. The institution and structure (Saturn) that she entered into through her marriage with Harry (Capricorn in the 7th) would challenge her emotions (Moon) and it put limits on her freedom (Jupiter-Saturn) and affected her overall health (Sagittarius in the 6th).

Meghan has an Aries Midheaven, indicating that her career involves breaking new territory, doing her own thing, leading her own way. This usually doesn’t go over very well when attempting to work for authority. The person usually becomes frustrated and eager to venture out on his or her own. This is exactly what has happened. Her Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction in Libra opposes her MC in Aries, which perfectly points to her attempts to keep things civil and non-aggressive (Libra), while coming off as selfish and individualistic to the public (Aries). Aries as a sign is famous for not listening to anyone and moving into unpaved territory, which she certainly has accomplished. The public now sees her as someone who goes her own way – doing her own thing and standing up for herself, for better or for worse. Her Mars is in Cancer, which is why her aggression isn’t direct and rather passively expressed. She has the stereotypical female aggressiveness that implies playing on one’s weakness and hurt in order to wear down the target. It’s also in the 12th house, which hints to it being disowned by the conscious personality. Meghan might have a hard time conceptualizing of herself as a force of impact and might not see how her pent up frustration might become an enemy to herself. She has complained about feeling attacked by the media and this is classic of a 12th house Mars attributing aggressiveness to anything but the self. Attack and unpleasantness seem to flood the person from the unspecified sources, and it can arguable be a horrific experience. In the interview she mentioned feeling suicidal at one point and desperate to not be alone with the threat coming from the outside, her own mind, or both. It’s difficult to attribute the cause to any single factor with planets in the 12th. Mars squares her MC and her Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction which indicates struggle in the psyche concerning her emotional involvement with structure and beliefs, vs. her public image vs. her own fighting spirit. She certainly has confronted and challenged established structure (Mars square Saturn), albeit with an attempt to be “respectful” resulting in a passive-aggressive understanding of everyone’s difficulties and struggles.

The thing that drew her to The Royal Family in the first place must’ve been her Libran urge for class, style, aestheticism and beauty. She undoubtedly found it glamorous and exciting to get to be in the spotlight, to be respected as part of something elevated and glamorous in nature. She probably has a need for spiritual meaning, indicated by her Moon-Jupiter contact – and to have her daily work based on sharing “truth” and “generous” disposal of knowledge gained through experience (Sagittarius in the 6th). She also craves structure and order indicated by her Moon-Saturn contact, which she pursued through partnership (Capricorn in the 7th) with a member of a family with unparalleled saturnian streaks of tradition, custom and regulations. To establish herself within the family would not have been such a terrible idea for her because it could’ve met all of her needs for purpose and order. However, her Mars in the 12th house didn’t allow for this plan to work. One could say that her own self-serving function rebelled after having yielded to outside influences for too long. Planets in the 12th house are usually “given up” to whatever circumstance one is in – which often results in the person acting through being “overcome” by something - pushed into a position of having to act. Meghan declared feeling imposed on by the outside, emotionally unsafe and unwell. The 12th house is the house of self-undoing after all, and her actions might’ve proven to be quite detrimental - perhaps continuing to be. Square aspects, as that between her Mars and Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction stimulates action because it’s indicative of friction. She had to fight (Mars) for her needs (Moon), control and integrity (Saturn) and for her beliefs (Jupiter).

#astrology #meghan markle #astrology analysis #megxit #cancer rising #libra moon #leo sun #sun 1st house #neptune 5th house #saturn conjunct moon #jupiter conjunct moon #meghan markle natal chart #natal chart #natal chart analysis #mars in 12th house #cancer mars #moon 3rd house #jupiter 3rd house #saturn 3rd house

[whump-town]

Without A Word

Hotch sits with Emily right after her death.

She spends every Saturday night on his couch, tangled in his unusually long limbs and the blanket he keeps draped across the back just for these nights. Drinking whatever cheap beer she finds at the corner store a few blocks from his apartment until he’s had enough and gets out the wine. Between them, there is no need for long-winded conversations or many words at all.  The night turns in and she finds that since stepping into the room neither of them has said a word. Not when he ordered their dinner. Not when she finished his discarded beer.

Not a word.

Those Saturdays are her favorite.

Were.

They were her favorite and they were something she used to do.

She’s no longer allowed these things.

She watches him from the stiff, unforgiving mattress beneath her sore body. Her arm aches where the IV has sat for so long in the crook of her elbow and she knows all she needs to do is say something and they’ll likely move it but she’s afraid of how she’ll sound. To her own ears, all she will hear is the pathetic rasps and whines of such a silly complaint. To the staff, it’s the way they’ll soften and she’ll be forced to see the pity they have for a dead woman.

And, more than anything else, she’s afraid of what Aaron will hear.

To see the quirks of his face as he reasons through what it is that he, himself, thinks. Will he disapprovingly narrow his eyes, tightening his lips as he thinks about his own nightmare. George Foyet and the many nights he spent in the hospital recovering from not just one impalement but nine brutally drawn-out stab wounds. Will he look at her with soft eyes and force her to watch him avoid her eye so she won’t see the pity. Will there be guilt? The hardening of his jaw as he clenches his teeth and cast his eyes anywhere but at her.

It makes her wish she’d never known him.

Not to surpass the worry she feels about his perception of her (deep down she can acknowledge that he must love her to be here now) but to prevent all of this. To pull him from the stiff-backed chair he has restlessly has fallen asleep in and send him home to his son. Go back to a time when she didn’t know what it was like to be hurt -- physically, emotionally, and sexually. To be seventeen again gulping down coffee with no cream or sugar because she thought the bitterness would make her stronger, more of an adult. But life requires one to be greedy about the things in life that feel good.

Reid taught her that, watching him pour mountains of sugar in his coffee. Bitterness is not the measure of adulthood or success. It’s one ability to take one more longing glance at the mug in their hands and decide whatever body part might shut down in a few years is not worth the disgusting sludge in their mug. Indulge while you can before you find there is nothing but bitterness and no sugar to sweeten the mess.

Indulge before it’s too late.

She never indulged herself enough.

“You’re awake.”

She watches the micro-expressions (pain from sitting in that chair, happiness that eats up a dimple, guilt that pulls down his eyebrows like a bar with too much weight on its ends) slip across his face before it settles on passive worry. There’s an intensity to his eyes that makes her aware that she’s being watched, not by Aaron and his soft edges but by Hotch who will fight with nurses and get himself kicked out of the hospital. She wishes she could feel something past the numb itchiness of her nose and the distance of her hands, then she might be able to worm her way into his brain. So she might live alongside his thoughts.

She thinks she’d probably enjoy herself there.

“Emily?”

She looks down where his hand touches her own. Emily. She can’t feel the warmth of his fingers sitting over the top of her own but then he’s always been cold. Blankest always tucked around his broad shoulders. Hands tucked into his pockets. Her favorite part is that he hates summer, despite what could be assumed about its escape from the dreaded winter. But people have a tendency to overcompensate with air conditioners. He fucking hates the summer.

She won’t see that this year.

She’s dead.

“I’m sorry.”

She wonders how it is that he steals the words right out of her mouth. Because it should be her apologizing. For not trusting him despite how many times he’s leaned into her. For running away when she’d called him a coward for wanting to do the same thing. For getting herself killed and hurting him, for making his worst nightmares come true once again.

She opens her mouth and he rises with deep groans from his lower back and his knees old hinges from door frames older than them combined to stretch and get her water. She didn’t even realize how much her throat hurt until she’s greedily pulling from the straw he’s bent to allow her access to the content of the little cup. “Not too much,” he warns softly, pulling away. “Water doesn’t mix well with the meds.” A lesson he learned the hard way when she’d done the same for him when it was him in the bed and her sleeping in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair.

She couldn’t save him from the nausea of her good intentions but he can spare her the pain of too fresh stitches being tugged by a heaving stomach.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Between them, there is no miscommunication. She knows him as she might know her own hand or her favorite book -- as an extension of something past herself. More than Emily Prentiss. He knows her the same. So, there is no need to clarify and even less of a need for her to have to say the words at all.

She’s right, of course. His being here disrupts the flow, it’s a wedge in the crack of the team’s trust, and each time he finds himself here that wedge sinks a little further.

He repeats back to her the words she’d whispered to him only a year ago. “You shouldn’t be alone.” She’s surprised he can remember that at all. There had been only a small debate about who it was that could stay with him that night, but she was glad it was her answering his questions when he woke drowsily with the drugs and when he’d tried to send her home. But insubordinate is a word that perfectly explains their friendship and she’s never been afraid to toe at his “firm” line of what he’s willing to deal with.

She narrows her eyes at him and he does it right back, both baiting the other. He’s right and so is she. She hates it when he’s right.

“Sit.” She croaks pulling her arms up to put weight on them and inch her body to the left so that he can sit.

He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t,” he commands softly. “You’ll pull your stitches.” Another hard lesson to learn, one he can spare her. He’d done the same for her in the hospital but powered on despite the feeling of the stitches pulling at his skin. The nurses had not liked him very much, he wasn’t very good at sitting still.

Without a word he carefully leans onto the bed, sitting right where her hip is. Close like she wants without actually needing her to move. His eyes wander and he finds himself glued to the heavy gauze wrapped around her abdomen. His mixed feelings are met with a smile from her, “we’ll match.”

He grimaces, “you don’t want that.”

He won’t be there to talk her through healing. The way things burn and itch and ache and that she’ll get so light-headed she’ll nearly pass out. That she might need iron supplements like him and that they taste like death and he’s seen and smelt enough of that to know that it’s a very correct description. How the nightmares ignite the pain and if she thinks the anxiety and the panic are too much she’ll be floored the first time she feels the attack again.

He can still feel Foyet’s hands all over his body. He’d take any punishment, as many tactile nightmares as his body could handle, to save her these things. The betrays of mind and body.

Her body is heavy and she can feel the pain returning. “Aaron?” She needs to say it now because when she wakes up after this she’s going to be in too much pain to think about what she’s left unsaid.

“I know,” he whispers. He knows that she loves him. That she thinks he’s the biggest dickhead she’s ever met in her entire life and no one is as insufferably annoying as he is to her. That someone, preferably Garcia, needs to take care of Sergio and to take care of her plants. That she’s going to miss him so fucking much and she’s not sure how to function when he’s not there anymore.

He knows. God, he knows.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I have other places to be,” he states, uncharacteristically trying at something playful. She narrows her eyes at him and he caves. “I’ll be here.”

Eyes closed she hums, “it’s not like you have other friends.” The comment is meant to be light but it... hurts. He’s burring his friend. He can’t tell Dave how he really feels. Can’t accept Garcia’s attempts at comfort. He’s sending her away and the false hope that she’ll ever return is more damning than if she’d died.

“No,” he replies thickly. “I suppose not.” Next time, he vows, he will die with her because he won’t survive this again.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss #but not hotchniss

[albino-whumpee]

WIJ Day 6: Mistake

This aren´t new ocs, exactly, but here´s some more of that one thingie about a pet whumpee who doesn´t know they´ve been saved and visits whumper´s home accidentally.  For @whumpmasinjuly day 6 “mistake“

Taglist: @liliability @newbornwhumperfly @boxboysandotherwhump @haro-whumps

CW// Pet whump, sci-fi whump, lab whump, ableism, mass production of humans for selling, dehumanization, manhandling, creepy whumper, syringes, implied euthanasia. Ask to tag!   

The samples that hadn´t been released yet slept in their tubes peacefully. Their bodies floated curled tight in the greenish water, silicone cords going down their throats for oxygen tangling around their limbs. 

They were supposed to be finished and shipped to their respective owners in a week, when their bodies had absorbed the last few doses of the cocktail of chemicals in the water surrounding them. The person verifying the status in the tube´s holographic glass and passing the required paperwork on their tablet was a certified technician at the lab. They had seen thousands of assets grow from embryos to adulthood in those tubes in their two years in the field. 

If it had been the luxurious, beautiful assets the scientist prided themself on making, they wouldn´t have clocked out before checking in the back corner, far from the light where the cheapest and rushed assets rested. Where one large tube containing the asset Z0-954, had been leaking for a week now. 

By the time the technician noticed, the asset was already in process to pop out of its tube. 

A mechanic arm held the asset below the armpits as a hatch on the ground drained the dubious water. When the asset hung from the mechanic arms, slowly, the tubes buried in its body began retreating into their hatches on the ceiling, coming out their orifices with a wet pop. 

“Initiate reanimation” the Technician´s boss told them as they broke in a sweat.

They looked at the asset for a moment. They could notice just by the asset´s vibrant green hair, that there was something wrong. But, there had been cases they had to dye the asset´s hair or they came out with a funny pattern in their skin. 

Praying that was the case with Z0-054, they pressed the button to initialize the process of reanimation. 

“Reanimation in process” a mechanic voice beamed, followed by the strident sound of an alarm going off. The arms holding the asset extended two black pads, previously rubbed together before setting them in the asset´s bare chest. 

“Clear” The asset´s body violently jerked forward. 

“Clear” their boss repeated, watching closely the way the asset´s pulse began racing. 

“Eye movement detected” the technician said before another wave of electricity made the asset swat the glass with its hands. “Motor skills status: Normal. Proceed to breaching, sir?” they asked the man before them as the asset lazily began trying to open its eyes and tossed its head around.

“Proceed. Call the hatching team and run an extra diagnostic exam on Z0-054, Collins”

Collin´s heart skipped a beat as their finger strayed from the pad in their hands. “I-Is there something wrong with it, Sir?”

The man´s eyes pierced through them “You tell me, Collins. What is this asset missing?” 

Collins took a deep breathe. Of course their boss had noticed. The older man hadn´t been in that position for ten years for nothing. They gulped before looking back at the asset.

“It´s lacking a 30% of the expected muscle mass and brain activity had a decay during last week´s checkup...” Collins could feel their boss´ eyes drilling him to the ground “Despite the counter measures to fill the gap, the asset still grades 3% lower in brain and muscular functions. I-I would request an extension for its caring after breaching, sir. In order to verify its quality before being shipped” Collins quickly tried to bargain to their boss.

“Read to me again why this asset took only a month to produce, Collins” the man said severely, not bothering to look down at his subordinate as the crystal enclosures opened wide. The hatching team already positioned right in front of them to receive them. 

The mechanical arms gently settled the assets in the floor of the tubes. As procedure dictated, the assets would instinctively try to stand by themselves once the arms retired into their hatches. Trembly figures of all sizes and colors managed to stand up in wobbly knees and lost looking eyes. 

Then the hatch team member in front of them would open their arms wide and call for them by their serial number. 

Collins whipped their head up at the green haired asset before them when the mechanical arm retreated and it fell to its knees and then slapped its head against the cold floor. 

The hatching team member in their white hazard uniform rushed to pick it up when the asset stayed in the ground, but was interrupted by the boss himself. 

“Leave it. If it doesn´t incorporate, follow protocol 13″ the man ordered. 

“Y-Yes, sir” they replied, turning their eyes at the asset. 

A thick worry began spreading through Collin´s body. They had never had to dispose of a mistake like this and the guilt of not having seen their error before began nibbling at their consciousness and pride. 

The asset´s green hair flopped over their face as they pulled its arms on either side. It groaned as they tried to put strength into them to push itself up, but when its face fell again into the ground with a groan, Collin´s fingers tightened around their tablet. 

“Stand up, Z0-954″ they tried, a tremble to their voice that made evident their fear.

Z0-954 turned its head to Collins, green hair sticking to its mouth before it dragged its wobbly limbs to the front again. Whimpering slobbery as it successfully pushed its chest up and kept its head high. Brown, glassy eyes fixed on Collin´s sighing in relief expression. 

“Make it stand” the boss told the hatching team member, pulling on the knot forming on Collin´s gut. 

“Yes, sir. C´mon here” the member said, slowly standing up with palms extended to the asset, just a few centimeters out of reach. The asset observed carefully how to incorporate and in a messy attempt to lift itself up it slammed it’s back against the tube. 

Collin jumped when their boss walked past them and threw them back to the ground. The asset yelped in surprise, but this time, it put its hands before hitting the floor. 

“Stand up by yourself” the man ordered the limping creature at his feet. It whined scared at him, before the man took a deep breath and fisted on its hair, lifting them a few centimeters off the ground before he hissed “Stand”

They let go and the asset attempted to curl into itself before the man kicked its arms away. 

“Trust me the last thing I want is to put you down. Stand. Up” he snarled, drilling the asset with his glare alone. 

The asset looked down at its hands before pulling strength into its limbs. Sniveling as drool dripped from its mouth, the asset pulled its butt up, extending its limbs fully before groping if it could separate its fingers to straighten. Slowly, fingertip by fingertip, it curved its back to standing, swaying back and forth and putting its hands in front for balance, before finally, it stood up. 

Collins sighed in relief at the asset, smile widening when the asset smiled back. They couldn´t hold the gasp they made when the asset stumbled forward. Luckily, the hatching member´s job was to catch them when they attempted to take their first step. 

“Well done, Z0-954. Good job” the guy cooed as they put a face mask with pump to the asset´s face. They usually swatted before finally the sudden abundance of oxygen made them light headed and easy to handle into a gurney. “The asset leaned into its handler´s hand and fell unconscious almost immediately as it was taken to another room, where it would be washed and dressed to observe its mental and physical development. 

As the doors closed taking the last of the assets, another team emerged to clean the tubes for the next batch of embryos. 

“S-Sir?” Collins timidly asked their superior as they followed him to the back of the tube. They saw him crouch and then tap the glass of the tube. Probing with his pen the width of the hole that provoked the leak. Barely a few millimeters in diameter. But even one was unforgivable. 

“This section is also under your jurisdiction, Collins. Any leaking should have been reported immediately”

“I-I know, I take full responsibility for Z0-954. I´ll personally supervise its development to meet its owner needs”

The man snorted “It will be a miracle if it passes the first round of evaluations”

“Engineered humans were a miracle when they first started, but now they can be produced in mass. They´ve stopped being called human because they´ve been specially designed to perfectly fulfill different purposes no ordinary human could. I promise Z0-954´s development will be the closest to ideal as possible” Collin´s refuted, lowering their head to their boss´ silence. 

The only noise in the room, the cleaning team´s hoses streaming against the hard glass of the tubes. 

“Don´t promise impossible things, Collins” the man said “Even if Z0-954 passes, there will be unavoidable mistakes to explain its owner. Don´t expect them to take lightly that their money was wasted in a mistake”

Collins gritted their teeth “Yes, sir. If...If they ask to return the asset and ask for a refund then what should-?”

“That´s gonna be a problem you will have to handle yourself, Collins. As the technician responsible, the company won´t cover you on this one” the man turned on its heels towards the door “Be sure to mend your mistake. You don´t have authorization to run protocol 14 either. This time, I want you to prove to me you can do your job”

  Collins stood there in the middle of empty tubes and watched the cleaning team hose scurrying green liquid down the drains in silence, before taking a deep breath and walking out to the development wing.

One stain wouldn´t destroy their career. One defective asset was nothing in comparison to the deluxe assets they had provided to satisfied clients. Besides, this one was designed to be effective in a fight ring, it didn´t need anything else but know how to move.

Its owner was known among laboratories for asking for quicker, smaller and stronger assets for dog fights in the underground. Collins was sure the man would just place another request in a month for a new asset to replace the last one anyways. 

If the asset was gonna be set up to lose, then they didn´t have to worry about anything. They could shove their mistake under the rug and pass it as the asset´s inability to fight against better, stronger ones. 

With a devilish grin, Collins stepped into the room where the asset was now sitting in the metal table wearing its white uniform, big brown eyes locked on him that softened when the asset smiled dumbly at them. 

Collins smiled back before pushing it down. It whined and began babbling in panic when the technician strapped it with the thick leather belts. The asset´s breathing quickened, but slowed down when Collins patted the asset´s head, shushing it softly. 

“It´s gonna be alright, mutt” they said as they reached to a little table by the side and prepared a syringe with an orange liquid. The asset only looked with wide, frightened eyes as Collins cleaned the inside of its arm with alcohol “As you are, it will be too evident that you´re just a mistake. But don´t worry, I´ll make sure you last just long enough to be useful to your owner. Fighting doesn´t suit you little one. That´s why I´ll make you durable at least” Collins said stroking the asset’s face before pinching their arm. The asset cried, but went ignored as Collins prepared for the liquid to spread. “If you´re gonna die anyways, at least, give a show worthy of your price”

Collins then took a sharp scalpel from the tool table and cut its wrist. It took a moment for the asset to notice it its cut. 

Delaying its reactions to injuries would make it fight longer, giving the illusion it was far more resistant than it was. It would collapse eventually, but at that point, it would be too injured for someone to realize the truth. 

Collins carded their fingers through the mop of the asset´s green hair.

“Happy birthday, Z0-954″ they sing-songed as they prepared the tools for the real tests to begin. 

#whump #writing #pet whump #captivity #sci-fi whump #lab whump #tw ableism #human farm(??) #tw dehumanization #manhandling #creepy whumper #tw syringes #tw implied euthanasia #fighting pits #nonhuman whumpee #(ok im having trouble tagging this im so sorry) #wijday6 #whumpmas in july #whumpmasinjuly2021 #Collins #the lab rat

[c-c-cherry]

HELL YEAH I HAVE SOME BRUNO :D

I fuckin love Bruno. Can’t really explain it, stoic/parental characters and found family tropes are just drawn to me and writing it just gives me immense joy! It’s time to dive right in this, babey >:)

Also I’m sorry for the recent inactivity. School’s been kicking my fucking ASS and I need to put in more time for that right now, so things might be slower until Holiday break. Hope y’all can bear with me a bit :)

//content warning for whump-related shit (sickness, major injury, drugs etc..)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Pain Tolerance

-When it comes to physical injury, he can handle almost anything with grace

-With a job like his, it always helps to be quick on your feet and resourceful enough to save your life

-He’s not stupid, either. When he’s hurt in a way that he can’t fix himself, he doesn’t hesitate asking someone who actually can help

-He doesn’t particularly like it when people help him out because he’s supposed to be this omnipotent leader figure, but he won’t be stubborn when it comes down to it. He hates wasting time more than he hates showing weakness

-No one can tell him that Sticky Fingers ≠ instant stitches because that stand can get shit done

-Is it sanitary? Not really. Does it hurt a shit ton? Yeah. Does he care? Take a fucking guess y’all >:)

-This man is used to putting up with shit in order to survive and trained himself to take pain in waves. If he can just ride through it, he’ll eventually be able to function again

-Sometimes hesitating isn’t an option. Neither is acknowledging that the bullet wound in your side is bleeding out and logically you should be unconscious from how painful it is

-It takes a certain person to quite literally hold off on their own pain to help others (partly because they aren’t ready to acknowledge it) but Bruno is definitely that saviour-complex, martyr type

-He could have a fucking bullet still in his side but he’s too busy to worry about it because Narancia might have a concussion or Fugo’s arm is broken or they can’t find Giorno amid the stand battle the possibilities are endless

-The one thing he can’t seem to shake off? Getting drugged.

-He almost always has control over his surroundings with any other mishap but once his brain is messed with like that, he’s basically done for

-It doesn’t really help that he’s a lightweight with recreational things in general, but heavy stuff used for spiking or kidnapping absolutely fucks with him

-His stand completely shuts down, he loses control of all his surroundings,,,basically everything he relied on to get through stuff in the past is off the table

-It doesn’t happen very often, but when the gang has had to deal with him like that, its like watching someone’s entire self completely break down

-Suddenly any kind of feeling or pain is amplified and it’s unbearable. It’s awful seeing someone who’s usually so stoic act in such a manner, but it’s almost,,,,cathartic? It reminds all of them that he’s human and his stoicism shouldn’t be taken lightly

Injury

Rule #1 of Bruno’s moral code that doesn’t really make sense but you can’t really argue with him on it: DO NOT BRING HIM TO A FUCKING HOSPITAL.

-He’ll flat-out refuse to go

-Things are much easier now that Giorno is on their team, but things used to be borderline nightmarish during pre-canon missions that went awry

-He’ll have no problem recommending getting professional medical help to anyone else on the team, but there’s no way in hell you could make him go himself

-He hasn’t set foot in a hospital since his father was in one, and and plans to never go in one again

-To him, the medical system failed him (even though there was nothing they could virtually do)

-It’s an irrational way of thinking, but he refuses to talk about it either way

-Even when he is injured enough to require going to a doctor he can usually repress it, usually because he’s in shock, and his mind convinces him that he’s absolutely fine

-His refusal to acknowledge when he’s injured sometimes can get him in deep shit though

-Abbacchio is beyond counting on his fingers how many times a mission will be over and Bruno will be cooking dinner or reading a book and suddenly stop and get this look and Leone will be like “you good?”

-And Bruno just sets his book down and says:

“I fractured my arm and dislocated my elbow earlier today. I should probably look at it now, shouldn’t I?”

in the calmest fucking voice on the planet.

-Sometimes Bruno will just go on about his day and won’t have the chance to tell them calmly because suddenly blood is leaking out of the side of his head or they find him passed out oN THE FLOOR INSTEAD

-Needless to say it gives them all fucking heart attacks all the damn time

-Its actually so common post-canon that the gang has to do routine checks on each other to make sure no one is “withholding any injuries” (but they all know who the rule was really created for)

Sickness

-The. Most. STUBBORN MOTHERFUCKER

-Extremely irritable and hates not being able to do anything. Most people when they’re sick either get very clingy or very bitchy and we all know which one he’d be

-This is nothing like injury. He’ll KNOW he’ll be fine because it's just a fever, so to him that automatically means that no one is obligated to know and/or care regardless of how shit he’s feeling

-He either pretends it’s not happening at all, or he hides away in his room or some zipper dimension until he’s totally fine again

-Hates, and I mean HATES it when people try to take care of him

-Maybe he wants it. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he feels too selfless to “make someone do all that” for him

-Though Abbacchio and Fugo would refer to it more as self-destructive than selfless (but they aren’t exactly ones to talk)

-Seriously high fever? It’s just really hot in here, better turn the heat down.

-Can’t fucking breathe because he’s coughing so hard? No no, they still have another mission today to get through. Just have some tea and you’ll be fine

-So nauseous that he can barely stand up on his own? Probably just need to drink some more water today

-The KING of sick denial. The embodiment of the “parents don’t get sick because they don’t have time to” myth

-The times when they do catch him before he can disappear is when stuff is really bad. He’s gotta be too weak to move for them to pounce on him and force him to take care of himself, and even then he will only let Abbacchio do things for him because he doesn’t want to seem like a weak role model for the rest of them ;-;

-Bruno makes the best soup for when the rest of the gang catches something but Mista pulls out the good shit and makes the best fucking food for sick Bruno and it’s very wholesome and nice :)

Emotional Stress

-Bottles up everything, and I mean EVERYTHING until his limbs are fucking shaking and he’s unable to do anything else but sit there and cry

-He feels like he has to be stoic and emotionless most of the time, and although everyone knows that Bruno’s a bleeding heart, he’s also very reserved when it comes to what he really needs

-Things like nightmares or his father or things that happened to him in the past or things that you need to talk about to get off your chest are things that he keeps to himself

-Taking on too much and overworking himself is how he distracts himself from most things. He’d rather just pretend that things aren’t happening then confront it and end up breaking down

-It always comes out in the worst ways. He’ll start snapping at people when he normally would never, stops sleeping and eating, drinks too much even though he knows that it does nothing for him

-He hates the fact that he doesn’t tell people when he’s hurting, but he can’t bring himself to do it without thinking about how weak it would look on his part

-He zips himself away and cries in secret, but everyone can always tell when his nose is too red or the light is gone from his eyes later that day

-When things get bad, his hands will shake. It's almost an unconscious action that happens when he’s thinking too much about things or when he hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as he should, but it's extremely noticeable and he despises the fact that he can’t do anything to stop it

-His face and body will look completely put-together but the gang’s eyes will drift to the trembling paperwork that his hands are holding

-Fugo or Abbacchio will usually pull him aside and ask him if everything’s alright and the answer is always arguably a no

-It usually ends up with Leone dragging Bruno somewhere alone or kicking the rest of them out and just letting him let everything out

-Sometimes it’ll take hours and these giant “blow-ups” happen more often than they should, but Leone’s just glad that he’s communicating, even just a little bit

-Once things blow over, they actually talk. They find solutions as much as Bruno doesn’t want to, and things really don’t seem as bad once he starts actually talking about them

-The rest of the fam comes home and makes dinner/finishes up his paperwork for him and they all watch a warm-hearted movie together :3

-He loves giving people hugs because he’s all about that family love, but asking for one is a whole other story (good thing Narancia and his impeccable emotional intelligence always swoop in for a hug when Bruno looks like he’s on his last legs) :))))

-No one said opening up was going to be easy, but he’s got his supportive Passione fam to help him out when he needs it most :’)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

I actually had some fics in mind while writing this list! If you want some Bruno whump to inhale, here’s what I was thinking of while writing this: 

The Mighty Fall by @lady-wallace​

Only Bend When It Breaks  and Night go Slower by roktavor

and Yet here he was by Your’s Truly!!

#bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #jjba #jjba headcanons #ask-c-c-cherry #hurt/comfort #whump #jojos's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #vento aureo #bucci gang

[goldenagewebnovel]

Volume 1 Prologue

Virtual Reality. 

The ever sought after paradise for everyone who loves video games. 

The first virtual reality developments came in the beginning of the century, but they were all based on external hardware. Awkward remotes and gloves, bulky goggles. The hardware became smaller, sleeker, more immersive over time. But in the end, all they were was an entertaining trick — limited by what it could show and who could even physically use it. 

They brought the player closer to the screen then ever before. But they could never bridge the gap between the real world and the game. The true holy grail of gaming would lie in fully immersive virtual reality; that would take you to the very edge of the screen, and then pull you inside. To wake up inside your favorite game, whenever you wanted. It was the dream that could never be.

And then came the Digital Mind Project.

A private think tank based in the city of Seattle. They gathered the world’s best programers, neurologists, biologists, and psychologists. After working for over a decade, they did it. They mapped and named every possible neural pathway in the human brain and explained it’s function. They created the first complete, digital model of the mind, and it could think like one.

Overnight, the processing speed of all technology in the world skyrocketed. Data could be processed faster and more efficiently then ever imagined. Brain diseases that seemed incurable now had mapped explanations and accessible cures.

The digital and physical revolution that resulted led some people to question where the limit really was. If you can put the human mind in a machine, couldn’t it work the other way around?

Countries, governments, armies, corporations — they all fought to develop and control this untouched potential. But the leaders of the Digital Mind Project had decided to join the race, and, just like before, they won. They developed a full scanning pod, that only required a user to sit in it. The pod would sync to the electric signals of the nerves pathways and, upon triggering sleep, allowed the person to fully connect to the machine.

They sold the design for the pods to every business that could afford it, all at the same time. In the middle of the 21st century the age of Virtual Reality had truly begun.

The first games to come out were… disappointing, to say the least. Barely more then tech demos. Allowing the player to get a unique experience but hardly qualifying as a true game. A rushed attempt at formatting a classic MMORPG as the VR game, Fields of Fighting, was a disaster. It was riddled with horribly coded AI, clunky, unnatural movements, invisible walls everywhere that could physically trap players by accident. It was unplayable.

All the technology you could ever need for VR was available, but game designers were struggling to catch up. They had to learn to think and create in a whole new dimension. The old techniques wouldn’t cut it.

That learning curve led to a drought in Full VR games. Most companies stuck to their tried and true dimension of game design, and if people were lucky they might see a halfway decent Full VR game release once or twice a year.

Then, without any warning, two of the biggest games to hit the market were released in the same year.

The first was a sprawling, open world RPG called, Record of the Ancients. Set in the fantasy genre, this was a single player game that offered its players absolute freedom of choice to explore the world and affect it however they wanted. The game held its own share of bugs and the occasional empty plain or lack of detail, but there was nothing else like it.

The second game was a massive multiplayer sci-fi battle called, Solar Forge. Players could freely participate in large scale, solar system spanning battles. Anything from piloting a ship, to organizing a galactic cruiser, to dropping into and storming an enemy vessel with your squad. Two teams ranging anywhere from 50 to 300 participants all fighting a space war to decide a victor. The largest scale fights could even span days, and a lot of people became addicted to acting as a space marine.

These two games sold more then anyone dared to dream, proving just how unique Full VR gaming could really be. They also set the trend for how these games would be approached. Either broad, if shallow, experiences in a large environment or the chance for rich world building but in a very narrow and strict environment. No one would even attempt to make up for the failed promises made by the flopped Fields of Fighting experience.

Things stayed this way for over a decade. New games came and fell, but Record of the Ancients and Solar Forge remained on top. 

One day, without any big press releases or industry fanfare, a new game started putting up commercials and advertisement. It promised to revolutionize Full VR and offer an experience greater then any of it’s predecessors. Deeper, more detailed worlds. No restrictions on player freedom. An MMORPG that could support millions of players across the world, all at the same time. 

These claims were so preposterously huge that no one believed it. Especially because they were being made by a brand new games company called Aurum Productions, that no one had even heard of before.  

But the ads kept coming.

And once people started looking into the game, and more specifically, Aurum Productions, they learned that this new game had some shocking secret weapons going for it. The founder of Aurum Productions was a man named Mike Wirth, one of the former lead programers of the Digital Mind Project. He had brought a gift for this new game: a new piece of technology called, Player Perception Tuning (PPT). 

In order to allow the most robust, flexible, and realistic experience possible a machine alone couldn’t cut it. Instead, PPT allows the players own brain, already synced with their pod, to process the game’s data for them on the spot. 

Instead of having to code every aspect of the game to recreate reality, they instead offer the brain a very convincing framework of reality, and allow the individual brain to fill in all the pieces. Instead of realism, the programers were going for impressionism. 

What they got was more realistic then any game ever made before it. 

Since every player was acting as their own processor, it made it much easier to have everyone play at once. Since they only had to design the framework, the game team at Aurum had that much more freedom to create a real, enriched world.

In the summer of the year 2076, the groundbreaking Full VR, fantasy MMORPG, Golden Age, released.

__________________________________

In the void of space, above an endless fog, floats an island of gold and riches. There are artifacts, weapons, and sculptures — all crafted from precious metals and rare gems. Priceless artworks and fine clothing are lazily scattered about. The ground is made up of gold bars and golden coins. They drip from the bottom of the island into the void of the fog, but the island never grows smaller.

At the center of the island, purple strands of energy gather together to construct a humanoid wireframe. 

From nowhere and everywhere at once, the Overvoice of the game speaks.

Hello, would you like to customize your character, or would you like a randomly generated one?

A voice from the wireframe responds.

“I’d like to customize.”

Very well.

From all over the island, wisps of light gather together to form a giant ball of light in front of the wireframe.

First, please select what race you would like your character to be. You can chose from Human, Dwarf, Orc, or Elf. You may also choose a ratio, of two of the previously mentioned.

“Human.”

Very well.

Some of the light gets shaved away, scattering into space. The ball of light has now roughly taken the size and shape of a human.

Please select what sex you would like your character to be.

“Um, I’ll take male for me.”

Very well.

Barely any light is shaved away but the figure of light now resembles a blank human male. 

Please select your body type.

“How about we go with svelte but athletic. Like a martial artist kind of build, maybe?���

Very well.

This time, more light is shaved away and the figure now resembles a fit, athletic human man.

Would you like to move on to face sculpting, body sculpting, or voice sculpting next?

“You know what, just have everything else look like my real body.”

Very well.

Light flew away from the human figure in spirals of light until everything burst out. In the place of the light was a tan skinned, human man. The body was still athletic, decently tall, had long sideburns, stubble on it’s chin, gray eyes, and streaks of gray hair at the temples and the front. It had on a set of cotton pants and a cotton shirt, tied down by a coarse rope, and simple leather shoes. The body stared lifelessly at the wireframe in front of it.

In front of the wireframe, a hologram of a keyboard appeared.

Please spell the name of your character.

The wireframe reached out with a hand and pressed: D, 0, n. And hit enter.

Please pronounce how to say the name of your character.

“You pronounce it like you would for an Italian mob boss. Or like the dawn of a new day.”

Very well. Please step forward into your character to initiate syncing.

The wireframe took clumsy steps towards the human body in front of it. On contact, the purple lines of energy that made up the wireframe fused into the human body.

I could suddenly feel everything. The clothes against my skin. The shifting, hard coins that made up the ground under my feet. The cool breeze that started to blow across my face.

In front of my eyes I could see that the endless sky of space, littered with stars and streaks of purple throughout. Streams of the gold coins that made up the island were flowing off the edges. They were dispersing the fog.

In front of the island was a floating circular flat world. Absolutely huge, it took up my whole vision. There were three distinct continents in the center of the wide ocean. 

The one on the left was made of sweeping mountain ranges and floating islands, that looked like they were made of gemstones. 

The one on the bottom was a giant archipelago, made up of countless, rich islands.

The one on the right had sprawling green fields and verdant forests and crystal blue lakes. 

The edge of the world had a misty, thick fog all around it, but I could see waterfalls flowing into the void of space underneath. The sun was bright and lit up everything beautifully. I could hear rising orchestral music playing from somewhere. From nowhere and everywhere at once, the Overvoice of the game spoke to me.

Welcome, to the world of Golden Age, D0n.

I felt like I could stare at that sight forever.

But I didn’t have that chance. Suddenly the ground began to rumble under my feet. The streams of gold flowing off the side rushed forward, and huge swaths of the island began to break off. 

Eventually, the whole island destabilized, falling to the planet below. I went with it. As I was falling among columns of gold and treasure, I heard the Overvoice again. 

Due to your region of origin, you will be starting in the Plains Continent. Below, you will enter the Tutorial Village. There, we have provided class instructors, resources, and all the knowledge you will need to explore the game. Have fun.

The ground was getting closer and closer. I could no longer see the edge of the world. Below me was an impossibly thick cloud. 

All of the gold around me started to dissolve into particles of light. 

I was in the middle of an uncontrollable free fall. The wind was rushing past me so fast it was whipping at my clothes and shoving my hair away. My eyes were tearing up from the force of it.

I felt a wide smile, that showed all my teeth, spread across my face.

It was time to play the game.

#Volume 1 #Story

[colonel-kira-nerys]

More Thoughts on “A Matter of Perspective”

Content Warning: Discussion of Attempted Rape and Domestic Violence

Since my list of episodes with themes of sexual assault and other upsetting content has been making the rounds again, “A Matter of Perspective” has been weighing on my mind. 

Even all these years after watching this episode for the first time, it still upsets me more than almost any other episode in the Star Trek canon, so I just wanted to expand a little bit more on why it’s so distressing, while there are still people possibly interested in hearing my thoughts.

The following is an in-depth look at “A Matter of Perspective,” which may be upsetting to some people, so I’m putting my analysis beneath the cut. Please let me know what you think, because I still feel the need to scream into the void about this 30 years after it aired.

“A Matter of Perspective” (TNG: Season 3, Episode 14), at first glance, has an incredibly intriguing premise. The opener is Data critiquing Picard’s sub-par painting skills (talk about tone problems... Jesus) and then Riker beams back to the Enterprise after spending the night at an alien space station, where he was supposed to be checking up on the progress of a scientist named Dr. Apgar. 

But upon beaming back, the entire space station explodes. Riker acts surprised and clueless as to how this would’ve happened. Whenever he’s asked about what happened on the station, he gets cagey, even before the trial starts.

It’s clear he’s hiding something, so when an alien Inspector beams aboard asking for Riker’s arrest and extradition, the audience is prepared for it, because we know that something must’ve happened.

Then, when he’s accused of murdering the scientist and blowing up the station, there becomes the issue of who has jurisdiction over the crime. Does the Enterprise have the right to hold the trial on board, or should Riker be released into the custody of the Tenugan Investigator, Crag? 

It’s important to note that I’m not coming at this from a place of hatred, in the sense that I wasn’t looking for something wrong. I thoroughly believed this was about to be a BRILLIANT episode, with lots of moral ambiguity and intrigue.

Boy, was I wrong.

The two sides (Starfleet vs. Tenugan) eventually settle on recreating the events of Riker’s time on the station via the Holodeck. THIS WAS SO COOL. I wish all crimes were able to be recreated, down to the tiniest detail, through a simulation. I thoroughly looked forward to seeing the detective work being conducted through simulations, but only because I had no idea that Riker was also going to be accused of attempted rape. I went into this completely blind. 

Riker gets the first word in the trial, which I think was a gross miscarriage of justice, because he is the one being accused of the crime--of course he’s going to deny it!!! Why would you let the Defense make their case first...?! 

It prejudices Captain Picard to see Riker’s story first, because he’s already more likely to be believed and protected by his own captain. It also prejudices Deanna Troi--whose presence/function during the trial, by the way, is never explained. As far as I can tell, she’s there to be a lie-detector, which is hilarious in its absurdity, because she can “sense no deception” from either Will or Dr. Apgar’s wife, Manua.

I guarantee you if the attempted rape had been shown first, this episode would’ve had a completely different tone, and that is part of the problem.

Manua, after all, is the one who requires justice, not only for her husband, but also for herself. Although, at this point in the episode, we don’t even know that she’s accusing him of sexual assault, because the Inspector didn’t charge him with that crime from the beginning.

In a way, this was a great tactic to get Riker to hang himself with his own words---with his own testimony---but because every Starfleet officer in the room is already prejudiced, that’s not how the episode plays out. 

In Riker’s version of events, he is cold, robotic, and professional to a fault (as in, he seems completely uninterested in pleasantries, or, you know, doing his job with any sense of diplomacy). He makes it very clear from the beginning that he’s uninterested in Mrs. Apgar’s hospitality and just wants to get to work. 

Note: why would it be important for Riker to assert with his whole heart from the very beginning that he wasn’t interested in Manua, unless he knew that Manua was going to make a claim that in his view ‘wasn’t true’?! He acts SO SURPRISED that Manua would view his advances as attempted rape, and yet, here’s the thing: we know that Riker is a fan of the ladies, so what some might see as  “innocent” sexual banter could’ve been attributed to his personality, if he’d shown us his usual charm in his version of events. We expect this of him--to be a bit cocky and sensual. We might not like it, but we know that he’s a playboy, in the kindest interpretation of the word. So, as you’re watching his version of events, most people would find it strange that he would refuse hospitality from someone, because Riker has always been “up for anything” as they say. 

Instead of admitting that he might have given Manua the wrong impression by flirting with her, he makes himself out to be cold and unfeeling, in order to preserve an image of cool professionalism that we as the audience know isn’t true to his character.

So, any attempts at hospitality on the part of Manua are immediately spurned by Riker, even those that seem to be genuinely a part of social graces that are indigenous to populations everywhere, not just this alien one. “Can I get you a drink?” isn’t meant to be sexual, in most cultures. This is the bare minimum requirement of a hostess, to ask if anyone needs a refreshment, and yet, Riker makes it clear that this was the start of her sexual overtures... because he needs to cover his tracks. Manua explains later, in her own version of events, that she was worried her husband’s antisocial behavior might negatively impact Riker’s report, and so it was important to make him feel welcome--hence, the drink.

According to Riker, he made hotel arrangements down on the planet for Geordi and himself, but Manua insists that they stay in the guest bedrooms instead. I know Geordi is needed for the science fiction subplot, but why isn’t he in the room to confirm or deny at least this part of Riker’s story? Can’t this specific assertion be easily fact-checked? Even alien hotels presumably have a record of reservations. Like, if Riker was telling the truth, this bit is easily provable, though I would argue that just because he made other arrangements doesn’t mean he didn’t change his mind when he saw the opportunity to have sex. My point is, why is no actual detective work done to confirm the facts of Riker’s story...? 

Anyway, according to Riker, Manua then tries to seduce him once they’re alone in his guest quarters. Mr. Apgar walks in on them in a compromising position, and here’s something I failed to address in my earlier breakdown of the episode: At first, Apgar isn’t angry at Riker; he’s angry at his wife. 

He says: “I knew I’d find you with him. Did you think I didn’t notice how you looked at him? I’m not the fool you take me for.” AND THEN HE BACKHANDS HER, HARD, ACROSS THE FACE.

Her husband attacks her, by Riker’s own admission, and then, only after doing that, does Mr. Apgar try (and fail) to hit Riker, too. But it’s clear his wife was the person he wanted to spend his anger on.

In all versions of this story, Mr. Apgar tries to hit Riker. That’s 100% consistent. But in Riker’s version, Apgar makes a point to “punish” his wife first. Why? This is important, because no matter which of the three versions is true, Manua is either a victim of domestic violence or of sexual assault. 

Now, you can argue that Tayna wouldn’t have included Apgar hitting his wife in her statement, because Mr. Apgar is her boss, and you can also argue that Manua excluded the fact that her husband hit her from her own testimony in order to appear as though their marriage was better than it was, but why on earth would Riker feel the need to add this, if it weren’t true? Why add the assault of a woman by her husband, unless to show that this man was a “bad guy” compared to his much more “honorable” actions...?

Why isn’t this addressed? In all versions of events, Manua is physically assaulted, but only in Riker’s version does her husband slap her hard enough to nearly make her fall. I believe Riker over Tayna (the Assistant) on this specific count, because, frankly, her version is hearsay, told to her by her boss, and it’s very clear that Mr. Apgar was lying to Tayna when he claimed to beat the crap out of Riker. 

So, it’s more than likely that Mr. Apgar did indeed hit his wife, if we look at it from the lens of what it makes sense for Riker to lie about, and what it doesn’t. The “beating” was taken by Manua, and not Riker, in the truest version of this story, which has to be somewhere in the middle of all of the versions, apparently.

Apgar might’ve changed this part of the story when telling it to Tayna to save face with her. Also, I don’t know who, besides her, could possibly believe that Apgar won a fistfight against Riker. 

Regardless, why would he insist his wife and assistant be transported off the space station unless 1) he believed Riker was a sexual predator and/or 2) he wanted no witnesses to what he was about to do next.

[Note: This episode was heavily inspired by Rashomon, a Japanese film which explores the retelling of the same events by multiple characters, in which everyone shows their “ideal self” by lying. In that story, however, the wife is actually raped. Like, there’s no “matter of perspective” claiming she didn’t get raped. The “perspective” change only offers different ways the rape could’ve happened, and how the characters involved all acted after the rape changes from person to person. The murder is treated as the more important issue in that movie, too, because misogyny.]

Why bring up Rashomon? Because the writers should never have changed this part of the story to imply the attempted rape didn’t happen. They shouldn’t have adapted it in such a way that the main goal is to cast doubt on the assault of the woman; they should’ve committed to the assault happening, but three people telling it three different ways, so that at no point is the story trying to tell us that rape is “a matter of perspective,” but rather that the undeniable rape itself was seen by three different people in three different lights.  

I think this episode could’ve been a meaningful exploration of the issue that men often don’t perceive their dogged pursuit of women as predatory, especially when the woman in question eventually “submits.” This could’ve been a story about how Riker didn’t realize he had as much power over Mr. Apgar’s scientific research (and by extension, Manua’s life) as he did. Manua and Apgar were completely dependent on Riker’s glowing report, and it’s made very clear in Manua’s version of events that she felt she couldn’t just excuse herself from the situation entirely, because her husband’s research was at stake.

This episode could’ve shown us how a “good” man, with a somewhat oblivious understanding of his power, could still abuse his power over a woman with regard to her ability to consent... but no. They immediately try to paint Manua as a lying seductress rather than a rape victim.

Here’s the thing: Manua’s version is the only one where her character has a clear motivation to testify against Riker. If this were only about her husband’s death, her testimony would be mostly irrelevant, because she obviously wasn’t there when it happened. And, if she had tried to seduce Riker, she wouldn’t need to “cry rape” to solidify Riker’s motive to kill her husband--he already had motive, which was Apgar’s threat to report his promiscuous conduct to Starfleet. Making a false accusation of rape doesn’t benefit her in any way. Not to mention it clearly traumatized her to recount it. She had to excuse herself by the end of it.

Another reason it doesn’t make sense for Manua to lie about the attempted rape is simply that she didn’t know the true nature of her husband’s research. The show missteps here, too, by making it so clear that she was in the dark about it, because if they hadn’t done that, they could’ve argued that she lied as a red herring to distract the Starfleet officers from discovering that her husband was making a weapon. But no!! Both she and Tayna had no idea that Dr. Apgar was making a weapon, and therefore that had no bearing on the rape accusation. So, the writers make absolutely no effort to explain what possible motivation Manua could’ve had for lying---because there isn’t one!!

Even in the original script, it says that Manua’s version of events characterizes Riker in a much more believable way:

(And it’s important to note that in this take on the story, Riker’s attitude is less aloof and formal. He's relaxed and charming. In fact, in some ways he is more like the Riker we know and love.)

Moreover, Deanna Troi, who canonically is supposed to be able to tell when people are lying, can sense no deception from Manua. Not that you should need an empath in the room to believe a woman when she says that someone tried to rape her. But putting that aside, the fact that there is an empath–who is compromised to begin with because of her relationship with Riker–and she believes Manua’s presentation of the events... that alone is some pretty damning evidence. 

If Manua feels as though Riker tried to harm her–feels it so strongly that Deanna empathically senses that she is telling the truth–it shouldn’t matter what Riker thinks of the accusation. Assuming Riker really does believe his version of events, and Manua believes hers, why are the writers making such an effort to both discredit and support the truth of Manua’s testimony at the same time...?

And, just in case your blood isn’t boiling yet, there’s this: 

Michael Piller recalled that the episode was "probably the hardest story to break. It was a technical nightmare for the director. I was very, very, happy with the script and I thought the show was disappointing. I guess it didn't translate properly. It was very ambitious, but the casting was off. If you had put Lana Turner in the role of the woman in that show, you would have understood it all – but I don't think it played as it was intended. 

Y’all... this FUCKING ASSHOLE claims that the real reason the episode didn’t work was because of the casting of the wife. He believes that people would’ve “understood it all” if Lana Turner, a sex symbol and famous pin-up model, had played the role. 

What he’s saying is: if the wife had been sexier, a walking pin-up, the audience would’ve understood the episode better, but because the actress playing her was... what? too average-looking? too demure? people “didn’t get it?”

This has the terrible implication that he thinks the rape story wasn’t as believable because the actress playing Manua wasn’t hot enough. Think about that for two seconds and tell me you don’t want to shoot this guy in the balls. 

This could’ve been a meaningful exploration of how Riker didn’t realize he took advantage of Manua; in his mind, she was willing, but in hers, she thought she had to have sex with him or else it would negatively effect his report on her husband’s research. It could’ve been a commentary on how a man can abuse his power without meaning to--without even realizing he has it--and that, if the woman then feels violated, it’s still an assault, even if she eventually gave in and appeared to “consent.”

This episode should’ve been about Riker not realizing he’d coerced a woman, and so he truly believes he’s innocent. But no, instead it becomes a situation in which there is no possible way there was a middle ground between the two accounts. Manua’s testimony is so clearly an assault, there could be no way Riker interpreted her begging him to stop as seduction.

In conclusion, this episode goes out of its way to make it seem like rape victims are liars who can’t be trusted. Keeping in mind this was 30 years ago, I just want to end by saying: according to the United States Justice Department, only approximately 2% of all rape complaints are false, while almost three out of every four rapes go unreported. We need to stop perpetuating the lie that women often “cry rape.” Statistically speaking, they don’t. 

If you made it through all of this, I would love to know your thoughts on my analysis, if you have a moment to spare to share them.

#will riker #jonathan frakes #star trek: TNG #tng #rape tw

[mbti-notes]

1) Hi mbti. I’m an isfp trying to confront my teritary loop patterns. In your type development guide you write that “the logical consequence of a failure to develop auxiliary Se properly is that a person often suffers from restlessness despite their blessings and opportunities for enjoyment. Instead of addressing this problem directly, immature ISxPs misuse tertiary Ni to distance from it.” But you never clearly identify HOW to address this problem directly, and I’m assuming that “addressing the

problem is different from “developing Se”.
 I’m assuming there’s an Fi + Se imbalance which is causing the loop pattern. I know that how to develop Se has been covered many times in your ask section and also in the type development guide, so I won’t ask you to repeat yourself. 

I don’t know what to tell you. The solution is indeed as simple as developing Se. The problem is probably that you haven’t yet understood Se and/or how to apply Se properly in your life, especially if you are prone to Ni loop. So, I guess it does bear repeating…

But I will say that I have been looping for quite some time (more on than off, for almost 4 years) and I have some reasons as to why my extroverted functions have been put on hold, as I experienced quite a lot of bullying in school and a parent at home struggled with alcoholism growing up, so retreating and isolation and avoidance became my natural way of operating, to get my self away from painful situations and a way to remain a sense of control. It worked as a protective strategy then, but I can see that does me more harm than good now, and I would like to change it. I wish it could be so easy as to just ‘develop Se’, and I want to ask bout the obstacles I’m experiencing when trying to change this behaviour (i.e achieving healthy Fi + Se), and so I will try to explain the problem: 

It is easy to be under the illusion that you are engaging in “self-care” by retreating and avoiding pain, thereby easy to believe that Fi is healthy and doing its job. However, if you’re always running from situations that frighten or threaten you - before you’ve even started anything - how are you ever going to learn how to handle painful situations and use those experiences to become a stronger person? You’re robbing yourself of opportunities to learn and grow by excessively sheltering your feelings - this is what Fi-Ni loop actually “accomplishes”. 

The reasons I avoid certain Se activities is because there are potential risks attached to them (as it of course is with all actions one takes). The problem is, I often have a hard time determining wether these ‘risks’ fraudulently function as a reason to avoid Se-activity (caused by the loop), or if it objectively is a legitimate risk to properly consider. This has kept me volatile for a long time and I’m not sure if I’m moving forward in the right direction. For instance, I dreamt about moving to a city in a country, a place which I feel at home and where some relatives live, to study at uni. It gave me a sense of hope to travel, experience, meet new people and get new impressions. But I decided not to move because education is very expensive there, compared to where I live now, and a political situation in the country also made moving tricker and more expensive, but I could’ve managed if I really pushed it. The place I live in now makes me feel depressed, restless and as if my growth stifles here, mainly because I relate it to past experiences and feel the need for “new” stimulation. But the benefits are better, cheaper education and better accommodation. Do you see the dilemma? I can’t really determine which option would be better for me? 

General rule of thumb: The option that is better for you is the option that allows you to become the person you are meant to be. The nature of a “dilemma” is that neither option is perfect, that’s why deciding is very difficult. No matter what you choose, you must deal with some negative consequences. So, the question is, which set of negative consequences is more worth it to you to confront for the benefits? Nobody can weigh and judge that except you. You, yourself, just said that you could’ve managed it if you really pushed it. Your heart already knows the correct path, and now you suffer from the feeling of missing out. Is that not what’s happening?

Another example, I dream/dreamt about working within the field of visual arts, and am interested in photojournalism, although this specific area has posed many ethical questions to me after reading/seeing certain images/finding out about all the fakes in the business, and I also find the vast quantity of images that circulate everywhere, almost always with a commercial agenda, just waters down the meaning of it to nothing, there is no journalism there, all I can see is the greediness. But I also love photography and visual arts with political dimensions to it, and it is a substantial source of inspiration to that excites me and make me genuinely enthusiastic… I feel cloven. 

And why do you automatically default to imagining yourself as a hapless victim of a “corrupt system”? Why do you not stop to consider that a corrupt system needs MORE people of integrity to correct it - not fewer? And why do you not see yourself, with your strong sense of integrity, as having the capability to change the system for the better? That is what mature Se+Te would do.

A third and final example could be when I’ve been around friends for a long time and I start to feel tired/“drained” and that I need alone time; should take time to rest or should I practice more active participation and attend those around me more? Which is showing myself and others most care? 

The key is to establish a proper balance between the introverted and extraverted sides of your personality, which means that you should not be too extreme one way or the other. It also means that, in order to develop your “lagging” side, you have to push out of your comfort zone. Introverts must push themselves to extravert more in order to become more capable of it, and vice versa. It is not a case of oversimplistic either/or (”either I care about me or I care about others”), it is about learning to listen to what is required for your development and refining your judgment accordingly. When you care for yourself, do you not become more emotionally available and effective at caring for others? When you care for others, do you not benefit from a deeper relationship and the feeling of having a positive influence? You have created a false dichotomy to choose between when the two things are actually interrelated. 

These kinds of ponderings have sort of put me ‘on hold’ for a long time and I am not quite sure how to proceed in life. I am studying at university in line with my interests, I volunteer at various places I feel are in line with my values, I watch film and photography, draw every once in a while, stay around friends and family, but still I’m feeling this anxiety (or restlessness, as you put it) tapping within me. It’s like a constant, mild depression and I think it is fuelled by my constant questioning of my commitments. And to connect to what I said in the beginning, I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW TO ADDRESS THE ROOT OF THIS RESTLESSNESS. As you said; “(…) a person often suffers from restlessness despite their blessings and opportunities for enjoyment”. I see my privilege in the world, and I am grateful, but how can I identify what it is that’s causing the “depression”? I mean, I can keep “throwing myself out into the unknown” and explore life forever but never really hit the spot. Do you see what I mean? I’m afraid of turning into a shallow, bitter individual, because there is something telling me that I’m sort

It is precisely underdeveloped/underutilized Se that is the root of restlessness. Unhappy Se creates the feeling that you are not living life to its fullest and taking advantage of every chance to learn and grow through new life experiences. If you run from new experiences via irrational Ni loop negativity, Se will complain vociferously that you are missing out, and how can you feel at peace then? I’m not here to tell anyone how to make major life decisions, as each person must be responsible for their own life. I can only tell you that your restlessness comes from knowing that there is more out there for you but that you’re holding yourself back from exploring it. How you respond to restlessness is up to you. I can only tell you that ignoring it is only going to make it worse over time. 

To have mature Se doesn’t mean that you’re aimless and restless; it means that you are able to set aside negativity and be flexible in the face of challenges. Mature Se means that: 1) you have inherent trust that the world will offer up good things as long as you are on your toes and able to grasp the new opportunities that come your way, and 2) you have inherent trust in yourself to be able to adapt and get through any situation, good or bad. That’s why Se doms are bold and brave and easily leave the past behind.

When you say “never really hit the spot”, it reveals that you haven’t understood how to use Se. It is immature Se that explores the world willy nilly with no direction or purpose. Fi+Se is about having the courage to take the risks that allow you to move toward the life that you want to live and be the person that you know you can be.

#isfp #ni loop #auxiliary se #ask

[pjstafford]

My personal police invasion story

There is a story I want to share tonight. It is a story of twenty years ago.

I am a white women. Twenty years ago I would have been almost forty. I lived in a middle class neighborhood made up of a diverse population of folks buying their first homes. It was a quiet block in a quiet neighborhood. I knew most of my neighbors. I often didn’t worry about locking my doors. I lived alone in a three bedroom townhome with an attached wall to my neighbor; a professional single woman who lived alone. I had a puppy. He was a giant lab who I had less than a few weeks. He was about six months old. I was working at a job that required a lot of travel, but this was a weekend and I was not traveling. I do not own a gun. I have no criminal history and, while I will admit to possibly having one joint stashed somewhere, I knew of no other crime I could have been accused of committing.

It was about 3 a.m. I was asleep, in the nude, my dog on my feet. I woke when I felt my dog stiffen. I noticed flashlight light in the hallway. I heard a male voice with which I was unfamiliar but I could not make out the words. There is something about being woken in the middle of the night from a deep sleep under those circumstances that is hard to explain. My senses were heightened. My brain functions were slow. I tried to determine who might enter. My puppy sat looking at me to determine his actions. When I saw the light from a flashlight closer down the hallway, I screamed. From my memory I screamed bloodly loudly three times. My dog started barking.

The next thing I did was stupid. Without a weapon I wrapped a blanket around me and walked into the hallway screaming, “Who is it? Who it it? “. My sweet, undisciplined and untrained puppy walked step by step with me barking in a threatening way; protective of me. At the end of the hallway was a man and a woman in uniform. The woman held the flashlight. The man identified himself as Albuquerque police. He ordered me to curtail my dog. Soon as I held my dog’s collar he sat and was quiet. ( such a great puppy). That left me one hand to hold the blanket around my nude body. I asked if I could dress. I was told to stand still and answer questions. They asked me my name, the address, what was the model of the car in my drive way and why I wasn’t traveling that weekend. The last question left me confused and I said I didn’t have anywhere to go. I then told them I would be happy to answer any questions if I could get dressed. I started to cry and kept repeating please let me get dressed. I felt very vulnerable and exposed. I have post traumatic stress from childhood incidents and I was triggered. They asked me why my back door was unlocked and I said I forgot to lock it. Throughout the discussion they kept moving the flashlight up and down, away and then suddenly shining it directly in my eyes. It was very disorienting. They asked where I worked, what I did, if I knew my neighbor’s name. I kept crying and almost begging them to let me get dressed. I said I will answer any questions. Let me get dressed.

Finally the female officer said they would let me get dressed but she needed to come with me. Suddenly I was awake and my brain was functioning. I asked then if they had a warrant or probable cause to enter my home. They looked surprised. They said they were there to protect me. They were there responding to a call from my neighbor who said I was gone and she heard noise. I asked if they knocked on the front door they said no they needed to look around “stealthily” in case there was a robber. I said there wasn’t. They asked how I knew that and I said my dog would have alerted me. I asked if they had announced themselves as they entered. They said no because, when they discovered the back door unlocked, they wanted to catch the burglar.

I asked if I could turn on the light. They said yes. I told them I was going to get dressed. I informed them they were not coming with me. I got dressed, locked my dog in the back room and came out to find each police officer in the other two bedrooms with their flashlights checking into every corner of my home. I asked them to come to the living room. We went and sat down I asked what they needed further from me. So as we were talking a third police officer came rushing in through the front door with his gun drawn. They rushed him away. They said they had called for back up because I had screamed. I had really scared them. They gave me a lecture about not locking my door. I said I had no concept that police officers could go door to door randomly checking to see if the doors were locked and could enter randomly without provocation and without announcing themselves. They reiterated my neighbor said I wasn’t home. I said my car is in the driveway. They said they thought that was strange. After a few more minutes I asked again what further they needed from me. They said just a promise I would lock my doors from now on.

The next morning I talked to my neighbor. She said she had called the non emergency number to tell them I often traveled. She wasn’t sure if I was home or not but she heard what sounded like an animal stuck in the garage. Because of the attached wall she was concerned the animal might find its way through the wall into her garage. They never once looked in my garage.

I realize I have the privilege of being white. When I think of this I know if I had a gun I would have had it drawn when I went into the living room.

Please be aware I have many positive stories about my interactions with other police officer. This is not an “anti cop rant”. This is my story and it makes me sensitive to the action of police and to the circumstances of how a man might have shot at police entering a home without announcing themselves. I feel for the death of a woman asleep in her bed.

Say her name. It’s Breonna Taylor.

[maggyme13]

Sugar (6/?)

AN: Here is the next part. What do you think will happen now? WIll Loki relent, or will he stay the asshole he was?

Wordcount: around 16000

Warnings: I think not

Masterlist

Sugar- Masterlist

Sugar 5

Wearily you stepped into the mentioned bath.

The floor was laid out with dark wooden planks; Tub (inset for half its depth in the floor, filled with steaming water) and sink made of black marble with silver inlays.

With fearful eyes you looked around for any hint that Mr Laufeyson had lied, but you couldnt spot any electrical devices apart from the lights in the ceiling.

Finally you found it to be save and started stripping off the offending clothes starting with the shoes and String; the dress would wait until you had entered the water. It was sad for the fabric, but you did not feel well otherwise.

Emerging yourself under the water, you realized the water to have the perfect temperature and once you had peeled off the once beautiful dress, you began scrubbing your skin to get rid of the ugly feeling the man left behind on your body.

Skin raw and water cold you were almost satisfied with the state of your body. You then grabbed a (huge) soft towel to dryddd and returned to Mr Laufeyson´s Bedroom where you found your most comfortable clothes laid out on the bed. After one last glance around, you quickly got dressed.

It was then that an intoxicating scent entered your nose and both your brain and stomach realized how hungry you were in reality.

Pizza? He got Pizza?

__

“Feeling better?”, Mr Laufeysond asked once you had entered the living-area.

“Yes, thank you.”, you nodded, looking at the scene in front of you:

The whole kitchen was filled with pizza-cartons of all different sizes with different pizzas in it.

WTF?!

“I did not know which one you liked, so I ordered one of every kind I have heard of.”, he explained with a sorry look in his eyes, “Eat whatever you like.”

Hesitant you searched for your favorite kind and took a bite; it tasted wonderfully and for a little moment you were able to forget why you were there.

“It is time for me to explain, right?”, the man breathed, his eyes first cast to the floor only to move to the ceiling before settling on yours, awaiting your approval.

“I am what people call a Dominant. I like being in control. But what I like and need just as much is to take care of people; that they are depending on me . You may call it me a Sugar Daddy, if you have ever heard of it.”

“I don´t understand- Does that mean, you like forcing people to follow your every order, and to have nothing? You enjoy the suffering of others, just so you can play the knight in shiny armour?”, you hissed, your fists balled in anger.

“No- and yes. Usually this arrangement is made in both sides consent. The Sugarbaby gets monthly or weekly allowance, presents or getting things payed for. In the meantime, she offers her Daddy favors like joining him to dinners, parties, holidays and other things-”

“-like sex?”, you finished his sentence in shock.

“Yes, like sex or other sexual favors. But listen, before you panic, there are borders set- not negotiable boarders .”

“NO- nonononononono. So I am a glorified whore?”, you broke with a sob.

“NO! As I said, these things are made in consent of both sides. I would and will not ask that from you, or anyone else, without being 100 percent sure it is what they want as well.”

Tears streamed down your face when you spoke again, “ Then why threatening me in the first time.”

“You would not have accepted any help if I had offered, right? It is part and job of a good Sugardaddy, or any Dominant in particular, to know what is best for his Baby or Submissive. Even if they don´t or do not want to know it.”, he continued,”After I had kicked you out Bucky and Sam asked me if I had seen you. They told me what had happened and I realized my mistake. When I med you again, I decided to act. I admit I thought you to act and turn out like the others. I tried to make you show your real side . I failed in realizing you are who you are not not pretending to be someone else. If you want: you can leave. No police and you will never see me again. I will arrange for you to move towns of you wish. But my offer stands. You will join me at functions, dinner and lunch or other things. In return you keep your allowance, your  rooms and everything you already have at the moment. No sex or any sexual favors unless you offer them on your own. I can arrange for you to work a few hours if it makes you feel better. Your own apartment. Think about it. In the meantime I leave you alone and will stay somewhere else until you have decided. Just let Pietro or one of the others know when you are finished. The leftovers will be given to people living on the streets. Let me know how you decide. Until then this apartment is yours. Just, please do not go through my things.”, the man nodded almost submissively, before leaving you alone.

With the men´s words still lingering in your mind, you ate as much as you were able to , before sending Bucky a quick ´Thank you` and retiring into your room.

You settled onto your bed, no noises around you (except the one time when Bucky or Pietro must have entered to take the leftovers away), but sleep was evading you with everything running through your mind.

In the end, you called your aunt for advice. She knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, and she was the only one (next to your mom) you had still contact with at home.

“So, you got this offer as a PA. It requires you to move into the same house as your boss. Join him at functions and other things for  15k a month? And you don´t know if you want to, because he was an huge asshole at the beginning and you feel like selling yourself? Do I understand  that right?”, her gentle voice repeated what you had just told her over the phone.

“Yes.”

“Furthermore your asshole boyfriend left you the day before you were supposed to move in with him, and on top of that you lost your job, because someone with a gun was robbing your workplace?”

“Yes.”, you sighted, hearing it made it all sound even worse.

“One last Question: is he good looking?”

“I. I guess.”, you answered and were able to see the smirk she must have on her face that second through the phone.

“Then go for it. Put enough money aside , in case you need to quit, and enjoy it as long as it lasts. God knows you always work hard and care of others. Now care for yourself. Your Ma would say the same.”

“Hows her cancer?”

“The same. And now with your brother in Jail again- But enough of that depressing stuff.”, your aunt sighted.

“I will send you-”

“-nothing. My sister won´t accept a penny and you know that. The lot of you is just too stubborn for your own good.”

“Then at least let me give you money for me while I lived with you. Please-”

“Fine. But not more than 500 s month-”

“-a week-”

“Fine. As stubborn as the rest of us.”, she laughed ,” Love you munchkin. And stay strong in that big city of yours.”

“Love you, too Aunty. Call you once I have made a decision. And hug Ma from me.”

“Always. See you later.”

With your thoughts sorted, sleep stopped evading you and within minutes you had drifted into a deep slumber.

____

Your eyes sticky, you slumped into the kitchen, with your whole body still tired from the evening prior.

Fresh fruits and and different kinds of freshly baked goods (like bread rolls and croissants) greeted you the second you placed foot into it.

You knew Mr Laufeyson was behind this.

Shewing on a bite of bun with cheese topping , you typed a Message the owner of the Apartment and hit send.

´I made a decision. I will accept your offer, if I have your word to be allowed to change my mind at any second; without repercussions.´

It took less than a minute for him to answer: ´Of course. Pietro will bring you to my office once you are finished with your breakfast.´

You answered with a quick ,´okay. What should I wear?´

´Whatever you like and is suitable for an office.´- came his reply and your forehead almost hit the top of the table you were sitting at.

Office-friendly. Office-friendly. Let´s see if I can find anything in that closet of mine. I though with all that cloth-missing stuff in there that might turn out hard. Urg. I will need to go shopping. I hate that.

To your little surprise, did you find a pair of skinny jeans, a simple black t-shirt and a black strick-jacket.

This might work. Better than nothing I guess.

A knock sounded from the door between the floor and your room.

“(y/n), this is me, Bucky.”

“Come in.”, you called back and he did as you had told.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked at once, his voice warm but sad.

“Better, thank you. Again.”, you smiled.

“No, you should not thank me. I should apologize. If I had done my job correctly-”, he started though was interrupted by you at once.

“Stop. Just- just don´t let it happen again, okay?”, you hummed, “I am not mad with you.”

“I can do that. I am here to escort you to the boss.”

“Okay. Lead the way.”

Part 7

AN2.0 How will this turn our for the reader? And will her family make an appreance again in later chapters?

REBLOGS and comments are appreciated:)

Thank you very much.

~MaggY

Taglists:

Permanent:

@jadepc​@pacifyhxlsey​ @thankyoukarenclifford​

@thankyouforanonymity​  @punkrockhufflefluff​

@scarletraine @buckycaptspideypool  @markusstraya @graveyard-groupie @markusstrayya @randomgirlkensy @the-soulofdevil

@marshyrebelcloud

MCU:

@yknott81​    @banner-and-bucky-are-life​ @forext20​ @dyanlzbb​  @so-finster-die-nacht @emmii4​ @bitchwhytho​ @ladyofmyst​   @jilldsumner​ @momc95​ @appreciating-fanfics​

Sugar:

@bits-and-bobs-and-kawaii-stuffs @mimmie666​   @fullranchwolfoperator

@cluelessnitwhit​ @youknowitsclouds @his-paradox @purplerainharry​

@spootgaai2000 @iamsuperjenna​ @nikkipea​   @alexakeyloveloki @timelordy-fangirl2 @girrafeeeeeee

I couldnt tag a few of you… sorry.

Want to get tagged as well? Comment, Reblog or send an ask to let me know.

#sugardaddy!loki #sugardaddy loki x reader #sugardaddy!au #Loki Laufeyson #MCU #Bucky

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Ansgar/Joline Part 1

((A/N - I’ll be reposting parts of this RP with @theothercourse every few days. Revisited it and I enjoyed re-reading it. Hope you do too. Lots of *ahem* in this RP, but that’s par for the course with Ansgar. Plot, too. :) Enjoy and if you like it let @theothercourse know!))

The Best Intentions

Part One

“Mamma, are you sure I can take the car?” Joline bellowed through the craftsman style home that she shared with her mother. She scoffed at the trainers she’d just laced upon her feet and toed out of them again. “I can take my bike.”

The older Lindberg woman sauntered through and handed her daughter a proper pair of pumps. “Wear these. They’re smarter.”

Jo folded at the waist to slip on the new pair heels, hopping on one foot when one shoe refused to cooperate. “You sure about the car?”

“Take it. I’ll ring up Elias to take me to my treatment.” She reached out and caressed her daughter’s hair. “Knock ‘em out today, yeah? Go do justice!”

“I will, mamma.”

“You work too much.”

“So you tell me,” she leaned and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride. Call my mobile later, yeah? Tell me how it went today.”

Emelie Lindberg nearly pushed her daughter out the front door. “Go. Before I go for you.”

*~*~*~*~

Joline unfolded herself from her mother’s borrowed Mini Cooper and stepped onto the distinguished carpark of @martinssonconstruction. Her knees protested the confines of the stupidly small car. She glared up at the glittering tower feeling under dressed to be standing in the carpark, let alone entering. And she dressed for the occasion, a freshly pressed purple button down blouse over a denim skirt and the Louboutin heels her mother burgled from only she knew where.

The late summer sun beat down, an oppressive heat that made it difficult to breathe. She could feel her natural blonde hair thrashing against her black dye job, fighting to get free of its prison.

Dipping back into the car, she fetched her clipboard of work permits, purchase orders, requisitions and recent estimates for repairs at the Stockholm Opera House. Despite her wounded pride, she also included some of the letters addressed to her of where she failed. Each pointed out just where attention was required in her house. The house manager could do only so much without owner intervention.

Joline rolled her shoulders back, pushed her reading glasses into place high on her nose and marched a steady pace across the carpark. She flung open the glass door and clicked her heels on the marble floor from the front door to the reception desk. Two administrative assistants answered an influx of ringing telephones.

‘Martinsson Construction, won’t you hold please?’ repeated over and over for the onslaught of calls.

After signing her name in the guestbook, notably three pages long for the 28th of July already, Joline stood before the receptionists to ask (insist) that she see Froken Wiessing immediately. But the phone calls didn’t stop…

Against her better judgement, after waiting an exorbitant amount of time, she marched into the President Office. “Froken Wiessing, please forgive the rude and unannounced intrusion, but I must insist. Its imperative that we go over these repairs. The sprinklers in the rehearsal room have been going off at random and the director… is… not… happy.”

She slowed her speech as she realized that her eyes didn’t deceive her. Froken Wiessing and all her family portraits and certificates of accomplishment had been replaced by someone quite different. “You’re not Froken Wiessing.”

The floor didn’t swallow her up.

How she wished it had.

Typically, Ansgar Martinsson hated virtual press conferences. Hated them with a passion. Despised them. Loathed them. Wished the person who had come up with the very innane and fucking stupid idea would have his skin sloughed off in the depths of hellfire and be hoisted upon a pike to rot for eternity.

He much preferred the in-person version. Much preferred speaking his mind, standing on a stage in front of an audience, interacting. He loved charming the shit out of the reporters in the room; both the females who wanted to fuck him and the males who wanted to be him… or in some cases, yeah… to fuck him.

But that time, Ansgar actually relished answering the press’ questions within the solitude of his office, enjoyed being able to shut his door and hide behind his computer screen, where he could take his time, where he could engage his slightly sluggish brain before his motor-mouth. He appreciated his PR VP’s insight into his strangely fragile psyche in that moment. He’d even given Janetta the indulgence of a “thanks,” a handshake, and a “nice job,” when he’d learned she’d arranged for the press conference to be a virtual one instead of a live one.

“It’s okay,” Janetta had said, shrugging. “You need time, Sgar. I get it. I got your back.”

***

… But apparently his receptionist did not have his back. Judging from the way the intruder was ranting, there would be no appreciative “thanks” or “nice job” in the cards for Britta. Just the opposite. Quite the opposite.

“What the fuck?” Ansgar stood quickly, and almost by reflex, wrenched his top right-hand drawer open. His fingers twitched as they hovered over the pearl handle of his Ruger Blackhawk within, ready to snatch it up and shoot - defend himself if need be. “Who are you, and how did you get into my office?”

“Oh, uh… hi,” Jo intoned absently while flipping through her overloaded clipboard, sifting through document after document to search for… well, hell, she didn’t know what. Anything.

“Yeah, I… uh, I used the door.” She indicated with a tip of her head in the general direction of said entry way to explain her appearance.

No sense of humor, noted.

The man growled and gnashed his teeth at her, his jaw rippling with the effort. If he could spit fire, she sure as shit would be singed.

Maybe all the way burned.

Third degree burns by the heat and intensity of the glare from the lion of a man. Then he flared his nostrils, and she wondered if he could in fact breathe fire.

Jo tapped her foot on the marble floor to check her escape route. Only solid.

Damnit! Hard unforgiving marble. Her rescue chasm must be on holiday. No black hole to whisk her away from the wrong place, wrong time, and wrong person.

But she wouldn’t wither, she wouldn’t retreat, she wouldn’t show weakness. The theatre needed her, her performers needed her, her season subscribers, her box office staff, her technical designers.

Could she lie about her identity? Should she? She tried to remember how much she’d gotten through of her rehearsed speech that she wrote in her head during the nearly hour long wait by reception.

Maybe she’d just ignore that bit.

“Yeah, uh… I… this is a matter for Wiessing. I’m here for that.” She clasped her Opera House work file between her palms, holding it up as proof. “May I see her? Please?”

The lion in a suit worth more than her house pressed his hands into the massive desk and dropped his head to his chest. Summoning fire or just breathing, Jo couldn’t tell for sure. But when he lifted his head again at her, he held a broody confused smolder.

A resignation?  A surrender?

Then it was gone again, an exasperated sigh escaped him. The incredulous annoyance returned, his impatience driving off him in a steady current.

Thank Heavens! No fire. No sunburn or heat blisters.

Jo raked her hand through her pin straight hair. “I waited. Out there. For an hour, but I’ve been waiting since February for a meeting. With her, with Wiessing. I’ve got a new season starting in September, companies that need a proper and functional rehearsal space, season ticket holders threatening to pull their patronage if they’re not entirely satisfied, and a sprinkler system that goes off without warning.”

Pressing her luck, she stated, “That’s who the fuck I am.”

Companies… rehearsal space… ticket holders… patronage….

Sprinkler system…

I waited for an hour…

Waiting since February…

If Ansgar was angry at this… this… girl… this girl in obviously borrowed Louboutins intruding into his private office, he’d suddenly and swiftly become furious at her words, and the implications thereof.

He lifted a hand, silencing the tirade he saw coming in the massive inhale of her breath. “Wait, let me understand you,” he said, preternaturally calmly, his eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me you are a representative of the Stockholm Opera House?”

“Yes,” she said, her breath huffing out through her nose.

“And are you telling me that the sprinkler system in the building is… faulty?” He cocked his head. “Do I have that right so far?”

“Yes,” she answered, “and the Prima Donna is….”

“I don’t care about the Prima Donna,” Ansgar barked. And then, after a calming breath, he continued, the words pushed out through grit teeth. “What I do care about is that you represent one of my largest customers, and that customer is dissatisfied.”

“Not so much dissatisfied, but…”

He cut her off again. “And not only that but you have been, quite rudely I might add, made to wait since… since how long?” He squinted, cocking his head as he strode out from behind the desk.

“Um, February.”

He nodded in annoyance. “February,” he repeated. “Your building has had a leaking sprinkler system since February.”

The young woman before him shrugged, her lips pressed together in a resigned moue. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s not just leaking, it’s… it’s going off whenever, getting everyone wet, ruining set pieces.”

“I see,” he said, his own lips twisting into an expression not unlike hers. He nodded again, an irritated, whispery chuckle burbling up through his nostrils. He pushed off the edge of the desk, and turned one of the guest chairs around. “Please, sit,” he gestured. “I do believe we need to discuss how I can make this right.”

And then, he held out his hand, a broad smile brightening his face. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ansgar Martinsson. I am the CEO of this company.”

“Joline. Joline Lindberg,” she introduced herself wearily, accepting and shaking his hand. She smiled weakly when his didn’t quite reach his eyes. “House manager,” she stated, “Stockholm Opera House.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said automatically, but not entirely sincere in the delivery.

She quipped, “Charmed, I’m sure.” She kept it to herself, under her breath. Jokes landed on executive types as well as water to a flame. A lot of hissing.

She waited. She waited for the usual faux impressed high-pitched, ‘Fancy title for a woman.’ 'How did you get that job?’ Or something as equally as vile. But it didn’t come. Instead she got a solid, “I’m positive we can sort this.”

Okay, so Ansgar Martinsson wasn’t that type of man. From the superior attitude that drafted her way from her intrusion, she assumed male dominance, but no. His was a general arrogance, believing others capable (man or woman), just not as capable as he. She could live with that. Possibly work with that.

Jo hugged the portfolio of problems to her chest as she situated herself to the guest chair. Soothing her denim skirt down for the sake of modesty and decorum, she perched herself on the edge of the seat in anticipation. She flattened the stack of documents in her lap, squeezing her thighs together. She adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses and breathed.

“Your predecessor…” Ansgar began confidently taking another seat opposite her.

“Steffan,” she reminded when he hesitated.

“Ah, yes… Steffan. Forgive me, I’ve been away,” he almost dismissed out of hand, but his eyes gave him away.

“I met with him,” the CEO explained, “a number of times, in regards to–”

“–Restorations!” Jo blurted out suddenly, interrupting them and taking them both by surprise. Her face lit up like a spotlight on the Prima Donna performing her eleven o'clock number.

His name. Ansgar Martinsson. She recognized it from her files, some of the early ones when she inherited the job as manager. A delayed response, but her mind had been running it over and over again as familiar for another reason than the obvious founder of Martinsson Construction.

She muttered, “Sorry. Sorry. I’m so– it just came to me.” She rifled through the files, her fingers walking deeper and deeper into the stack, her back curling forward. “Sorry… I know it’s just here. Somewhere.”

With a ‘aha’, she finally produced at least one of the documents left to her. ‘For the future,’ her colleague had told her. “Plans for the small theatre in the south wing. You’re mentioned, and there are some estimated costs. I’m sorry… I just recognized your name.”

“That’s quite all right. I strive to make my name memorable.” A glint of mischievous joy brightened his features, so much that he almost looked like a young boy.

“I don’t want to ruffle feathers or step on toes or point fingers at anyone,” she admitted softly. “i took over this job from Steffan six months ago. I only want to do what’s best for the theatre but I’m afraid I can’t do it alone. Wiessing kept promising help. ‘Soon,’ she’d say. She was swamped filling your shoes, there simply wasn’t enough of her to go around. So… i guess my plea is, may I have her back please before anyone else gets soggy in my house?”

#thebestintentions ansgarmartinsson jolinelindberg ansgarandjoline scarjo rp oc originalcharacter

[estdevium]

              [    ⤜    meta topics    !!    *:･ﾟ✧     ]

they deleted​​​    ╱     meta: childhood

the main issue with answering this ask is that to get into my thoughts on dean’s childhood revolves around a lot of topics people don’t want to see on their feeds. because the fact of the matter is, genuinely, dean did not have a childhood   &   what he experienced during his formative years absolutely left traumas you see in his character throughout the course of the show   (   some which seem to get better with some help   &   some of which never go addressed, even more so some of which are still leaving unmitigated severe repercussions on who he is as a person   ).   now some of this is direct canon   &   others is based on conjecture from things dean has alluded to in canon, so I will explain to the best of my abilities; I could talk on this topic for ages   &   never actually reach a point where I feel as if I properly explained it all please bear with me   (   pretty sure this was just supposed to be a throwaway topic I’m sorry for the fact it turned into a monster answer lmao   ).

trigger warnings   for talk about death / trauma, child abuse, prostitution,   &   self harm   (   starvation, etc   ).   also warnings for mentions of weapons   (   guns   ),   fire, alcohol, ableism   &   a multitude of illegal activities   (   stealing, fraud, etc   ).   please do not read this if you are not going to take note of the warnings I tried to make sure I got even the little things.

for starters anyone who knows the basics of the show knows this much: dean, his father   (   john   )   &   his younger brother   (   sam   )   became hunters due to the death of his mother   (   mary   )   when dean was four years old   (   sam, at the time, was four months   ).   this is not only the driving force behind the “why” of the series but is also a pivotal moment in what was to become dean's life. 

dean saw his mother burning alive in his brother’s room. he saw it. this isn’t a debate   &   he was four years old as his home burned   &   his father goes off the rails   &   he’s holding his younger brother   &   now home is the back of his father’s car as they travel from motel to motel   &   john is finding out about all the monsters out there   &   he's learning to be a hunter   (   putting his training from the marines as a vietnam war vet to use   )   while chasing down the thing that killed his wife. this means leaving his sons alone in motel rooms across the country   (   because most other hunters are also not fully right   &   john doesn't trust people   ).   dean, a child himself, is now no longer such. he is now a mother   &   a father to his younger brother   (   learning to cook   &   clean   &   change diapers   &   keep a child entertained   )   while also being a tool for his father   (   intense training from the moment john learned about monsters to also be a hunter, to protect his brother always first   &   foremost. “daddy’s little soldier”   ).   it is impossible to talk about his childhood without acknowledging these two things, specifically,   &   where they originate: sam will always come first   &   to john, dean was a means to an end before he was a son.

          mary    —

as stated above it's kind of incredibly important to take into consideration the effect mary's death had on dean as a whole. for starters we know that dean, when experiencing severe trauma, falls back on selective mutism   (   as a recurring theme   )   &   that he is often   (   forced   )   to push past it for those around him   (   john would not tolerate such behavior   &   sam needed dean to “function” in order to survive   ).   the phrase “broken” comes up a lot in regards to dean, both in what he has done   &   what people need from him. we never experience a moment where people are tolerant of the ways dean closes in on himself   &   deals with traumas   (   often he is berated for coping methods whether they are good or bad, which leads to the real belief dean forces himself through not talking because his father made sure dean understood it was behavior he would not stand for   ).   this in   &   of itself is enough to push the understanding that mary's memory is also a drive for dean, but in a different sense then it was for john. we know that dean had told himself numerous times “she would be proud of me” or “I am making her proud” / etc in order to work through the horrible situations he was put in growing up   (   which has its own horrifying conclusion that is irrelevant to this meta so I digress   )   —   she was often the memory that got him through. john was a furious force of nature working under the drive of “avenge mary” “find her killer”   &   so on enough to not only neglect his sons but also ban the topic of her from their “home”   (   if you can call the backseat of the impala   &   motel rooms “home”   ).   dean was not allowed to speak of her around their father, but sam’s memories of his mother all come from what his brother told him   &   we know dean fought with himself constantly to “properly” remember her   (   but god, bit by bit he lost her   )   in the process. which of course leads into the second part of this all   —

          john   —

the easiest way to depict the vast difference in john as a father   &   john as the man dean grew up following is the fact it's not “dad” to john’s face, it’s “sir”   —   many people have talked at length   (   both in canon   &   real people online   )   about dean's relationship with his father. the general consensus seems to be “john did his best” in a crappy situation because he loves his sons   &   that “dean knows that” with no one ever touching on “dean was a child who experienced severe trauma at a young age” which resulted in him latching onto the only parent he had left when that same person, at the same moment, stopped choosing to be a parent. instead of his father treating dean like the child he was, john needed someone to “step up   &   back him up”   &   dean was a   (   tragically   )   convenient presence to fulfill that need; both the fact sam needed watching   &   john needed a “second” he could trust. I am by no means saying john didn't love his sons   —   I fully believe he did   —   but that doesn't excuse the actions he took “raising” them   (   &   i say that lightly because john did barely any raising it was mostly conditioning, dean raised himself   &   his brother alone   ).   it is not a healthy or solid foundation for a relationship.

john was the equivalent of a drill sergeant dean's whole life who never thought dean met his standards   (   as shown from the multiple instances we see of john berating a young dean to be better be faster be smarter “you would have gotten your brother killed” “always listen to me”   ).   from the moment john became aware of all that goes bump in the night so, too, did dean. I cannot reiterate this enough: dean was a child   &   his father raised him as a soldier to fight monsters   &   never, never question his commands   —   I would argue it is a form of non purposeful brainwashing but that’s a larger argument for later. this training, though, isn't just physical weapons   (   dean has scarily accurate marksmanship   &   is incredibly proficient with a blade, ignoring skills in hand to hand combat   )   but also in illegal activities such as credit card fraud, hustling pool,   &   the like. dean is good at faking it because that's what was required of him   &   he has it ingrained to appear the way his father demanded.   &   that doesn't even touch on the other issues including   (   known   )   child abuse   (   punishment when dean didn't meet his fathers standards or messed up in the many ways a child will mess up, especially with all this   )   to round out deans   (   trauma based   )   idolization of his father. the same father who, once, left dean in a boys home with the phrase “I’m not coming for him, he can rot there”   (   what it's like to be a teenager whose father threw you away for following orders, caught stealing to feed his brother   ). 

while dean certainly understands the issues with his father   (   &   is shown, occasionally, to speak about them to himself   &   acknowledge john was a shitty parent who put him in a bad position all his life   )   that doesn’t change the mentality dean grew up with due to his father’s treatment, which circles back to the third point   —

          sam   —

sam will, no matter what, always be dean’s first priority. the lengths dean has gone to to always put sam before anything else are massive   &   hard to place into the word limit. this is in part based on the responsibilities john placed on dean his whole life   —   it is always “take care of sam”   (   never has it ever been expected that dean is to take care of himself, because in this he is unimportant   ).   the way deans young mind latched onto that, then the ways john punished him when he did not follow that, made sure even into his old age dean kept true to the statement “take care of sam”   (   because sam is, again, what is important   ). 

now dean was a child taking care of and raising a child   (   beyond himself   ).   there are things a child needs: food, shelter, clothing, etc. these things require money, which is not something a child has abundant amounts of to throw around   &   fulfill these needs. john used to leave them in motel rooms with not enough money to last because he would be gone longer than expected   (   just one example of how resourceful dean can be from how far he learned to stretch that money   ).   we know from this that dean has   (   often   )   chosen to starve himself so that sam has something to eat, unable to afford food for them both past what john left for them. we also know when the money would run out he would find other ways in which to get more   (   for things like the motel room, school, ect   )   by   (   as alluded to   )   prostituting himself, lying about his age to get into bars   (   to hustle pool mostly though we also know he can play a number of card games   ),   &   just generally stealing. it was stealing food, specifically, that has gotten him caught in the past   (   &   reprimanded by john when john found out   );   all of which is on top of, should john come home early while dean was out finding food or money, he would be reprimanded for leaving sam alone. every failure in raising sam was punishable. 

but dean also worked to make sure sam had options. he made sure sam spent as many years growing up “normal” as possible   (   hiding the monsters   &   the hunting until sam learned the truth from poking around   ),   going on field trips   &   making friends   (   going to school with the right supplies, doing his homework, etc   ).   all of these are things dean, himself, is not allowed to have   &   never seeks out for himself   (   as he sees it as “selfish” since it would take away from sam   ).   starting to get the picture   ?   it is in part why sam leaving for college both hit as hard as it did   (   “sam no longer needs me the same way I need him” since sam is, often, the driving force behind dean’s push to keep going   )   &   proud   (   “sam will have opportunities”   &   that's what dean has always wanted for him, as essentially sam real parental figure   ).   only now sam is gone   &   john doesn’t need dean anymore, now does he   ?

while not entirely related here we know this mentality is also why dean was willing to sell his soul in exchange for sam's life.

          other   —

something about the fact dean was never put first by either of them both, lived with the expectation he did things because they are used to him doing those things   (   john expected them   &   sam never knew better, dean was good at hiding who he was / is   ),   is important to note. we know his childhood has left him with rather severe self worth issues. he does not think himself intelligent   (   even though we know he is which I will not get into here, but between his father   &   co. calling him a grunt   &   the teachers in school writing him off + dean dropping out once he could to work to keep sam fed / housed / ect while helping their father did not help fix that perception   ).   he does not think himself worth peoples time   (   everyone is always leaving him behind, so he is clearly only worth what he can offer them in return   ).   he is also suicidal   (   building off previous points   )   &   will purposefully punish himself for perceived wrongs   (   we often see him pick a fight, drink, starve himself, refuse sleep, amongst other more bloody options   ). 

dean had an absent   (   often drunk   )   abusive father, a younger brother who thinks he knows best   (   &,   while I think this is not intentional on sam’s part, he takes a lot of advantage of dean because of this   ),   no real friends   (   he grew up alone without any help outside an occasional visit to bobby's scrap yard or pastor jim’s church; john chased away most people in the hunting community   )   because he stopped trying to at school. we know he started sleeping around   &   drinking before he was of age   (   the sex seemingly a coping mechanism over the fact dean is both touch starved   &   has never really experienced someone loving / caring for him but that’s a meta for another day. the alcohol because it was what everyone around him was doing ie: other hunters   ). 

here I could talk about how dean doesn’t have people who stay, in his experience. I could talk about how all of this has led to his sense of responsibility   &   lack of understanding of “love” as a concept. I could go into his codependency on sam   (   that is NOT reciprocated in the same sense, because sam will always be dean's kid while dean will always be sam’s caregiver. their relationship is not on even footing but again something for later   ).   I think what is most important to talk about, in conclusion, is that with everything dean has experienced he learned at a really young age the importance of a lie. because a lie is what keeps cps from taking sam away   (   &   dean, too, but again he doesn't see himself as anything worth noting   ),   lying is what kept food in sams belly   &   a roof over sams head   &   people off their backs. dean is a disarming smile on a pretty face that he learned to weaponize as a means of survival. none of his childhood is anything he sees as worth noting so, most of the time, everyone around him doesn’t know   (   it is not like john treated him as enough to seemingly even understand the weight he placed on dean's shoulders   )   because he learned the best ways to hide it. a bruise is dropping a book on his face, a broken arm is tripping down the stairs, his father missing is “for work”   (   even if it's the bar down the street   ).   he is proficient at forging signatures not to make fake ids but to sign report cards. he is light on his feet   &   has fast reflexes because stealing a loaf of bread is just as important as dodging the swipe of a werewolf. it's a terrible childhood, really   (   no wonder he suppresses it   ).

#long post // #child abuse // #self harm // #prostitution // #death // #🜃 *.｡ ╱ ❛ headcanons. #meta tag. #answering this ask was like a triple dog dare #& i have 3 more like it still to attempt answers to in my ask box #rip me #i dont rly mind answering them its just the content #m i n e f i e l d #og wasnt going to actually post this cause obvious reasons #but in light of the finale i got annoyed with some comments #this has been sitting around for a while now for me to post lmao #whatever

[writings-from-the-hart]

Happy Meet and Greet Monday! For whicher character wants to answer: What do you do when you can't sleep? How does it affect you the next morning? What kinds of things keep you up at night?

Happy Meet and Greet Monday! 

So sorry I’ve been answering asks kinda late, there’s just been a lot happening lately at home and work so as anyone can imagine the stress is real. My dog Max who I’ve had for twelve years just recently passed away and even though I knew he was an older dog and to expect it I wasn’t ready to let him go. . . Then again nobody is ever ready to let go of a loved one no matter the circumstances. So ya, there’s a tiny slice of my life, I try to not put too much of it out there but I wanted to explain my sudden absence.  

Question: What do you do when you can’t sleep?  What kinds of things keep you up at night? How does it affect you the next morning?

Eric: Constantly on guard for something Eric is the lightest sleeper out of everyone in the House of Cards, a feather falling on the carpet could wake him up, and he’s as stiff as a board when he’s sleeping. Not much happens in Eric’s mind when he’s sleeping, a dream hasn’t occurred in his life since he was eight, and he prefers it that way so he takes medicine for what used to be insomnia. “I’ve let go of my dreams and the idea of monsters living underneath the bed. I’m not a child, so why would I need dreams while I sleep?” However, everything isn’t what Eric wants it to be — he’s beginning to learn that being the commander of the House of Cards — and sometimes a vague night terror will send him bolting up in bed drenched in a cold sweat but with no recollection of what he was dreaming about. When things like this disrupt his “usual sleep cycle” he simply finds something to calm his nerves; such things include his boxing hobby or smoking a cigarette in a secluded area where he won’t get caught. These “disturbances” usually don’t affect his mornings as Eric is a natural early bird, but there have been certain cases where he’s remembered fragments of these night terrors and they stick with him for days at a time.  

Valentina: Valentina hasn’t gotten a good sleep since she was twelve and constantly lives on a max of four hours of sleep, anything above that seems suspicious to her or she was probably unconscious from some kind of wound she suffered from. One time she “fell” from a two-story building and suffered a severe concussion and broken arm, she slept for six hours for a week straight. However, when Valentina can’t sleep she spends time cleaning weapons, tending to what little plants she owns at her home, going for a drive around whatever city-state she’s currently in, and planning the next string of “assignments” she’ll do next. She is plagued by constant nightmares and night terrors about certain events in the past she wishes to forget forever. “You can’t outrun the past; it’ll eventually find you, hunt you down and strangle you to death like anything else.” Since she’s been living with these nightmares and night terrors for over fourteen years her mornings aren’t super affected but instead, it’s rather routine to be running on roughly four hours of sleep. Her body has adapted to it by running on a “polyphasic sleep cycle,” meaning Valentina sleeps for thirty minutes every four or five hours for a daily total of only four hours of sleep. “It’s called a micro-nap and yes I’m fine.” 

Xavier: “Get much-needed work done in the workshop.” Xavier’s workshop is a place created out of labor and love, full of his favorite things and stuff he loves to do, it’s his “happy place” as well as “hiding place.” While it’s not as expansive or nice as his actual workshop at his home base in Eshar Xavier has come to love the workshop at Blackwell. Very few things keep Xavier up at night, Valentina says he sleeps like the dead, “Silent and unmoving, you sometimes forget he’s even there.” But what does keep him up are things relatively new to him. Being the youngest out of all of the House of Cards (19) and practically a child compared to the others Xavier has never seen battle or warfare, only on holofilms about the history of the Republic, so new fears about blaster bolts, bombs, and ion blades fill his mind. The nightmares will keep him up all night, so he’ll retreat to his workshop to “get work done” till the sun rises again and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

Eris & Brazen: After certain events in the past the twins never sleep alone; they can always be found curled up beside one another or Eris hogging the whole bed sprawled out like a starfish while Brazen hoards all the blankets. It’s the only way the pair can achieve a somewhat peaceful sleep with as few night terrors as possible, but even if a night terror does strike the other is there to provide comfort. On nights when either Eris is restless or Brazen can’t close his eyes without fear and the night terrors are relentless the twins do something called Mindscape. “It’s like creating a world outside of this one, but everything is different. . . Everything is okay.” It’s an activity only the twins are capable of doing because it requires the special bond that they both have and to be able to meld the mind with another person. A Mindscape will chase off night terrors or other kinds of sleep disturbances (nightmares) and allow the twins to create a space of peace and serenity within their minds. But because Mindscaping takes an extreme amount of energy to do the twins will sleep extremely hard and soundly, meaning they will not want to wake up the next morning without a fight. “Reality sucks to live in sometimes

Adira: “The night is simply a reflection of the day. There is nothing I can do about dreams; I can only change my pattern of life.” Like anyone else, there are nights when sleep is abundant and joyous or there are nights when sleep is absent and hellish. There are many lessons Adira learned from her Sensei Jia Wu but one of the important ones is “Mindfulness through meditation.” “You cannot, per se, tame the mind or tell it how to act. The mind has to come to a natural state of rest all on its own; all we can do is relax and remain present in the world.” Adira knows what troubles her and the grief that clouds her vision sometimes, so on sleepless nights she utilizes this time to reflect on her inner self through meditation instead of unhealthy rumination. 

Dante: “Vodka solves everything.” Dante doesn’t have the healthiest of coping mechanisms when it comes to his insomnia, nightmares, or life’s problems as a whole. He won’t tell anyone or confess to it out loud but Dante has many inner demons to fight and some days it’s too much to handle, so he just disappears down a bottle when he can. In the confines of his quarters Dante will try to tire himself out through exercise in order to find sleep before picking up his flask, but some nights his demons have a stronger hold on him than he can fight off. Being a gladiator in the pits of Ares there is a multitude of things that keep Dante from getting a peaceful sleep, but there are also things long before he was gladiator that keep him up well into the morning and even afraid of falling asleep. “Some wounds run deeper than the flesh and blood of a man; not all scars fade with time.” Dante takes one day at a time and the same goes for his mornings, some mornings are plagued by tiny headaches while others it feels as if his head is about to be split open. But he’s a warrior by trade and he knows he can weather just about any storm or fight. 

Mallory: Normally Mallory doesn’t leave any time for sleep; she’s an extreme night owl, morning bird, and all-around functioning insomniac. “Sleep is an unnecessary requirement to live. I don’t need sleep to live I need entertainment.” Now that she’s confined to Blackwell and its military base along with the rest of the House of Cards she’s left to face herself and the reason as to why she avoids sleep. So Mallory has found multiple ways to sneak out of her quarters and wander the military base the House of Cards is confined in. However, her favorite place to seek solitude in is the kitchen. Mallory is a stress baker and loves to cook, this is knowledge she will take to the grave with her and nobody else will know, so once she found out where the kitchen was and that it wasn’t staffed at certain hours she started going there when she couldn’t sleep. The thing is Mallory doesn’t cook or bake for herself, she makes food for an army but she can’t throw away the leftovers because she considers them labors of love, so from time to time the squad eats food she has made and left in the kitchen for the cooks to serve. The cooking and baking takes her mind off certain things like why she’s with the House of Cards in the first place and the reason for why she’s on the run from certain people of power. Since Mallory is a born night owl, morning bird, and all-around functioning insomniac in the morning it doesn’t look like she’s spent an entire night with only two or three hours of restless sleep, instead, she’s full of energy and ready to kick ass. “Sleep is only a concept; a concept I’ll avoid if I can.” 

Thanks for the ask! Happy Writing! 

#wip: renegade #my ocs #my ocs: the house of cards #meet and greet monday #wip ask game

[moon-yeongjun]

No Miracles || Mu Jun

Summary: April 27, in the middle of the night -- The Baes come to support the Moons at the hospital. In his desperation, Jun turns to Marlin’s magic 

tw: talk of death, cancer 

@baenxietydad

Read in order:  After the Kiss / Unanswered Texts Waiting Game / Snowstorm One Phone Call / Namtae 

JUN:  The Moons had returned to the hospital and this time, when they left, they would not be the same.    When Jun had received the call that Eomma had to take Abeoji to the hospital in the middle of the night, his three sisters in tow (for Jun was in Coventry and couldn’t watch them), he’d known this was the end. He comforted Eomma and lied to her as if it would not be. But for a long time, Abeoji had been too weak and an infection would spell disaster. And finally it happened-- a cold ballooning too quickly into pneumonia, and now Abeoji couldn’t breathe on his own, and intubating him meant more exposure to infection--   A hospital visit for a terminal cancer patient was like driving directly into the arms of death. Medicine didn’t work miracles. Medicine, sometimes, was the domino knocked over. No matter what doctors tried to do, they fought against a more powerful enemy and with every preventative measure, the doctors, not the disease, risked killing Abeoji in a different way.    Medicine, in other words, was about managing death, not stopping it.    When Jun arrived at the hospital himself the next evening, with Tae trailing behind him, it took him one conversation with the doctor to know all his worst fears would be realized. And so the hours dragged on, Abeoji clinging to life by the tubes they’d forced into him. He would never come off them.   Jun didn’t cry though. He comforted his three sisters. He held Eomma. He squeezed Tae’s shoulder. When the doctors came, Jun was the one who rose from the chair to talk to them, having the most background to translate what they said to his family and wanting it to be him.    At one point, Jun abruptly excused himself to the bathroom, feeling a random seizure of nausea. He stampeded into the bathroom and flung the seat of the toilet up. He coughed, larynx spasming, but nothing came up and the next moment, the sensation had left him. He went to the faucet, splashing water on his face and thinking: he is going to die. He is going to die. He will die.    He had to prepare himself, it couldn’t be a surprise.    What wasn’t a surprise was when the Baes showed up, called by a distraught Tae. His brother had remained strong for hours. He hadn’t cried, simply clenched his fingers into fists. But when Nemo was there, Tae started crying in earnest, the sort of wild, hysteric sobs that were hard to listen to. Jun could not bear to listen to them, and suddenly He is going to die felt impossible-- how could he let his appa die, how--   His hand found Mu-yeol’s arm and he pulled him away from everyone else.    “Hyung,” he uttered, still gripping his arm. “Hyung, tell me about your healing magic.”   

MARLIN:   He should have known that the first time Jun actually asked about his magic, not just sat there and listened to information he didn’t ask for while drunk, would be now. A part of him told himself that he and Nemo were only there for Tae but it was clear that not even Jun could perfectly seal away his own emotions. Jun prided himself on being logical but he was not a machine at the end of the day.    “Jun…” Mu-yeol said, gently touching Jun’s cheek. “There’s nothing I can do, Junnie. You know that.”   “Even I can’t play god.”

  JUN:  Jun flinched from Mu-yeol’s touch.   He didn’t need that. He wasn’t asking for comfort. He was fine. He had lost his true abeoji over a decade ago when his hal-abeoji passed away in South Korea and Jun had been unable to attend his funeral. He cried then, for that man, who read to him and played football with him and taught him how to brew a real cup of tea.    But he had to spare Eomma more pain. He must protect Tae and his sisters. They were all so young. His sisters were his age when hal-abeoji passed-- he couldn’t let these endless cycles repeat themselves. They could not grow up to be like him.    “I didn’t ask you to,” Jun responded, his tone hard. “Besides, that must be wrong. You can’t cure him, but surely. There’s something. There must be, that’s the point of someone like you. Why would your lot always be pressing to bring their craft into hospitals if there wasn’t, eh?” He felt like a crazy person, his mouth disconnected from his brain, because when would Jun ever advocate for a fairy to touch his father with untested magic--?   But here he was.   “Listen. He has a fever. He’s developed lung abscesses,” Jun recited as though he were reading his abeoji’s chart. “You can fix one of those things, you must be able to.”  

  MARLIN:   Had he not known Jun, ‘someone like you’ and ‘your lot’ would have been borderline jabs. But this was Jun, the boy that wanted his mother to have a local friend so he didn’t tell her that he was a fairy. Jun was a good person, he was just hurting.    You can fix one of those things, you must be able to.    Mu-yeol laughed bitterly to himself. “I can make him comfortable.” A beat. “And, actually, eliminate the fever. Fevers are nothing for a healing talent.”   “Getting rid of lung abscesses would require more magic than I could do discreetly. And it is dangerous - for me, not him - to attempt alone.” He explained. “Healing talents do the more difficult, complicated things in groups.”  

JUN:  Eliminate the fever.   Jun didn’t need to hear anything else.    Well. He did. And he listened. And as he listened, the gears of his brain began to twist, trying to work out how he could sneak a whole crew of fairies into his abeoji’s room undetected by the doctors, by his own family. Or perhaps it would be easier to sneak Abeoji out--    He caught himself at this half-formed, far-flung fantasy and knew that it was illegal-- and more importantly, impossible. He couldn’t move his abeoji, his abeoji could not breathe on his own, and he could not sneak a whole hoard of fairies in here, though he was almost desperate enough to try.    “Then will you do it?” Jun said after a single second pause. His eyes darted up. He’d been looking at his own hands. “Hyung, please. Whatever you can do. He-- my sisters and my brother are too young.” 

  MARLIN:   He checked over his shoulder for Eun-jung before he answered.    God, is this what he looked like as So-yeon died in his arms, as he clutched her and tried to heal her even after it was just an uninhabited body he was holding? It was pitiful and nothing like Jun to act this way. That’s what love and grief did when they met.   “Eo. If you can sneak me in there, not being family and all. But, you need to understand.” Mu-yeol lowered his voice. “I said I can get rid of the fever. Not make him live any longer. I could feel it for so long, Jun, and I mean physically, actually, feel it.”

  JUN:  “I know,” Jun said, his voice tighter and weaker than he’d like.   He did not have to be told that his abeoji would die. He had been the one to know first. When he arrived in November, he’d talked with the doctors. They gave him six months, maybe longer, but not much. Here they were-- six months later. It made him want to laugh bitterly. It was just hilarious. Medicine could predict death like the weather, but it could do nothing else.    He had been the one to tell his eomma and siblings that the cancer was terminal and that they should not hope for miracles. That was Jun’s job.   Jun didn’t need-- another doctor telling him this. He didn’t need a sparrow man telling him that even magic, in all its strange and miraculous and dangerous power, did not want to save his abeoji. It didn’t choose him. Instead, it damned him. For what, eh? Why Moon Yeong-seok? He’d been a good husband and a good father and a good businessman. He made sacrifices. He worked seven days a week with only Easter and Christmas and Chuseok taken off.    Maybe that was what killed him. Jun wanted to laugh again.    He didn’t laugh though. He’d laugh later, once again hiding in the bathroom, and there he would laugh hysterically until he couldn’t breathe and tears streamed down his face. Right now, he swallowed. “Just. Get rid of the fever. Do what you can, like you said, make him comfortable--” his voice suddenly caught and broke.    He breathed in sharply. His eyes were still dry.    “It-- your magic won’t-- will he feel it?”  

  MARLIN:   Jun didn’t deserve this. Eun-jung didn’t deserve to be left alone with five children. Yeong-seok, despite how Marlin knew how he felt about even light magicks like fairies, didn’t deserve to die like this.    For the sake of the fragile friendship he had with the Moons, he had to do what he could to ease his pain in his final hours. He was a good man, even if Mu-yeol wished he could bring himself to think differently. After all, he had to cover his ears and then lay human around him. He should hate him for his views on fairies, on fae.    He didn’t.    He couldn’t.    “It won’t hurt. Maybe he’d feel a warm tingling sensation as it worked on him, but I’m sure they have him on so many medications right now...he’s probably too out of it to notice.”   A beat. “Jun, do the pain medications actually work? As — as my wife was dying, even though I couldn’t save her, I was able to take the pain away. If the medication isn’t enough I could do that too.”

  JUN:  Pain was as mysterious as magic to a doctor. There was an entire branch dedicated to it in the practice of medicine. Doctors, specialists, psychotherapists, physical therapists, nurses, dentists… many hands concerned with pain, but none who knew how to truly prevent it or take it away. Pain was of course a necessary function of the body, but still, humans fought against it. Loathed it. Feared it.    As a doctor, Jun had learned about different pain indexes. He had held many small hands when he worked in the family clinic, comforted the children who whimpered and begged for help. He could prescribe this or that, but even when a patient’s eyes milked over from the various drugs, you never knew. Pain made every person an island. You were never more alone.   Jun did not know how to speak, then, for his abeoji. He shouldn’t.    “I don’t know what you mean by-- take it away,” Jun said. “He’s on a high dose of oxycodone right now-- it blocks the pain receptors in the brain, so the pain is still there, it is just-- it’s like a shield. And it increases the release of dopamine, which helps a person relax.” It was strange to recite all of this, as if he was reporting to a teacher, or more likely, teaching a student. How bizarre that Mu-yeol knew nothing of these things and yet here Jun was, trusting him to put his hands on his abeoji.   But he’d do anything. Anything. 

  MARLIN:   “I mean I can make sure he doesn’t feel pain.” Mu-yeol said. “Maybe it would give him some clarity of mind to better hear anything you might want to say to him. Before you can’t.”   He bit his lip, worried that was a little too frank. But Jun did not like things sugarcoated.    “I know from experience that when you know it’s the last thing you’re going to say to someone, you’re your most honest. It won’t come out poetically like in the movies, but it is honest.”

  JUN:  There was nothing that Abeoji had to say to him. There was nothing that Jun had to say to his abeoji.   Yesterday night, their first night in the hospital, Yeong-seok had still been able to talk a little. He did say some good-byes then. Jun watched, standing with his hands behind him, as Eomma cried and his abeoji touched her cheek. He spoke in exhausted Korean to all of them. He told Sky to keep practicing the clarinet. He told Star to help their mother. He told Sun not to lose her sense of humour. He told Tae that he was proud of him for winning his championship.   To Jun, he thanked him for bringing Tae to his championship and he asked about the store.   Of course he asked about the store.   And then he told Jun to open the store.   Jun had stared blankly at Abeoji, and for a split second he’d pretended as though he just misheard him. Gently, he suggested to Abeoji that perhaps the store should remain closed. Firmly, Abeoji told him no. We do not close the store, he said.    So after a few hours of sleep in one of the chairs in the waiting room, Jun jerked awake and he went to the Moon Market at five like always, and he opened the store. He worked for nine hours and then closed it early, driving back to the hospital where his family still was. At this point, Abeoji was even worse than he’d been the night before, intubated, unable to talk on his own. Jun knew that if Abeoji could talk, he would have scolded Jun for leaving early. If he could talk right now? He would remind Jun to open the store.   Jun said none of this to Mu-yeol, simply nodded. “Yes, if you can, that-- my siblings would like that. Thank you, hyung.” He swallowed roughly and nodded a second time. He blinked a few times as though there were tears, but his eyes were painfully, painfully dry.  

#para #mu jun #the moons #this is very sad but im also v proud of it adn jun continues to compete for my fave character JUUUUUUUUN