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theramseyloft · 3 years

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Diet

Woooo, is this subject ever a pain in my ass for something so simple...

There is just... SO much misinformation out there, from sources that should otherwise be credible.

So let me set the record straight as a specialist in the care of pigeons:

Pigeons are strict granivores.

They can’t digest any part of a plant but seeds.

No leafy greens. No stems. No roots, no tubers, no bulbs, no flowers...

ESPECIALLY not the fruit!!!

They can neither taste nor process the sugar!

Nothing but seeds.

Not even as a treat.

Vets often suggest greens and fruit and florets for literally every companion bird, going off the parrot template.

If a small animal (non-farm) vet gets to see a companion bird, you can reliably wager that it’s either a psittacine or finch, and win that bet most of the time.

Hardly any one ever brings pigeons to a vet.

Breeders consider it cheaper to kill the sick ones than try to find out what’s wrong with them, and pigeons as companion birds are still extremely niche.

The only way to change this is for people with pet pigeons to bring them to their vet like they would a cat, dog, rabbit, or other pet for regular check ups so that a base line can be established before that animal gets ill.

The more vets provided with base lines of healthy pigeons, the more accurately they will be able to treat pet pigeons.

Parrots in captivity that are fed the fruit and nut heavy diet that most species eat in the wild will develop fatty liver disease and die very young.

Wild parrots fly for MILES every day to forage that sugar and fat rich diet, which fuels their long foraging flights.

Their diet is adapted to their lifestyle, and their lifestyle is adapted to their diet, as is the case with most species.

Parrots have only been captive bred for the last 70 or so years. The larger species take up to 5 to sexually mature, and can live into their 70′s or 80′s

We have been breeding them in captivity for less than the lifetime of a single healthy individual.

Parrots simply have not had the time to physiologically adapt to the utterly sedentary life they live as human house pets.

We take these birds built for a high stamina nomadic lifestyle supported by a diet high in fat and sugar, and have them live most of their lives in a single room.

To keep them alive, we have had to make up for their lack of opportunity to adapt their physiology by adapting their captive diet to this drastic change in their life style.

Even finches (primarily seed and insect eaters, mostly) are usually kept in such extreme confinement that their captive diet has needed to be modified to avoid being dragged to an early grave by a fatty liver.

Pigeons were the first birds humanity domesticated.

Even before chickens.

About the time camels were domesticated; in the dawn of agriculture and stationary settlements.

What made them easy to domesticate was that, being desert/scrubland birds, seed was the diet they were already adapted to.

It was easy enough to share enough grain with them to make living in a dovecote worth while.

In exchange, humans got some of the most nutritious fertilizer known to man to this day.

Being picky about what kind of seed you eat isn’t beneficial of a desert bird, and wild rock doves already adjusted the volume of their feed intake with the natural fluctuation of seed availability through out the year; eating more when they had to fly further afield to find it, and needing to eat less per foraging trip when there was enough nearby that they didn’t have to range as far.

Because adjusting their food intake according to how close and plentiful food was already came naturally to rock doves, the only transition in the development of domestic pigeons was that food would always be close and plentiful.

Pigeons have had THOUSANDS of years to adapt to not having to fly nearly so far to find enough to eat in human care as their rock dove ancestors did in the wild.

Here is the basic break down of nutritional requirements for racing homers (the breed that serves as the base line for domestic pigeons), according to Avian Medicine: Principles and Applications. Ritchie, Harrison and Harrison;

Pet shops are starting to sell dove and pigeon diets now, lots of which would make decent bases, but still need extra protein or fat added.

There are also lots of wild bird blends that make good bases.

I used to love royal wing Classic Mix from TSC, as it was easily accessible, but it needs a lot added to it, and that can get pretty expensive.

Chewy sells an excellent diet designed for pigeons breeding and performing: https://www.chewy.com/versele-laga-classic-pigeon-food/dp/259128 , which is what we order for the flock now.

But for a house pet or two, it’s often easier and less expensive to mix your own blend.

Pigeons can eat pretty much any whole (in the hull) seed that they can comfortably swallow.

Birds that are performing, raising peeps, or under weight need all the fat and protein they can get, so lots of dried legumes for protein (Mung beans, lentils, and split green peas are favorites), millet (fatty and high protein, especially easy to digest), safflower seeds, and black oil sunflower seeds (rich in oil and extremely fatty).

Non-breeding House pets tend not to need as much fat, so their feed should be higher grain like wheat, barley, and oats with lower fatty or high protein seeds.

The more confined the bird (unless the bird is sick or healing from an injury), the less fat it needs in its diet.

So the owners of a pet or two are free and encouraged to experiment with their blends.

Most pigeon’s can’t comfortably swallow striped sunflower seeds, so keep your selection below that in size.

Chopped up tree nuts or peanuts are an EXTREMELY high fat treat (think pigeon cheese cake) and should be given *very* sparingly.

Chia seeds have a very high caffeine content and need to be avoided.

Other than that, you can experiment with any grain, legume, or other seed small enough for them to swallow, provided nutritional parameters are maintained.

Do not used hulled seeds!

The hull is important, not because they can digest cellulose, but because they can’t. (which is why they can’t process any part of a plant except the seed)

The hulls of seeds they eat make up the vast bulk of solid fecal matter and act as vital dietary fiber.

That pigeons need grit to grind down food in their gizzard is a myth.

They need it to obtain dietary minerals, and that distinction is a matter of life and death.

Avoid the starter chick grit for chickens, and the charcoal grit for song birds, as these are both made with a base of Granite, which is made by leeching the calcium out of lime stone.

Galliformes need granite grit because it won’t break down in their gizzard, where they use it as a mechanical aid to grind food.

That’s exactly what makes granite based grit a serious intestinal impaction risk for a columbiform like our domestic pigeons.

Because what they need grit for is dietary minerals, it’s important that their grit dissolve in the gizzard to be absorbed by the small intestine.

Hens will lay eggs with or with out a cock, and the cock also has a skeleton to maintain, so calcium supplements are a necessity.

Hens and breeding cocks can also get salt deficient from both producing eggs and feeding peeps.

My breeding flock has Oyster Shell grit offered free choice and free access to a salt and mineral brick for horses.

It is generally safest to assume that a new pigeon has not been adequately supplemented, because birds who have not will gorge on grit and salt to their detriment.

Pigeons deficient enough t crave it can poison themselves overdosing on salt. Salt poisoning is nearly always fatal!!! so do not ever offer pigeons any kind of salt based grit in a loose, granular form.

I use the salt and mineral brick because their beaks are not hard enough and they do not have sufficient bite strength to get large enough quantities off of the brick to sicken themselves before the craving for that mineral is satisfied.

A single indoor pet can be given one of the little salt/mineral wheels for hamsters.

Calcium deficient pigeons craving grit can impact their crops gorging on it.

As stated earlier, my loft birds have free choice access to oyster shell grit next to their feed.

To prevent new birds form gorging dangerously on it, a tiny pinch is sprinkled over their meals every morning during their 4 week quarantine.

By the time quarantine ends, they are not deficient, and will not be craving grit ravenously enough to hurt themselves on it.

Bon appetite to your sweet cooey friends and house mates. ^v^

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starforgedthor · 2 years

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when you become untouchable {Vigilante | Adrian Chase} // three

three. humble my bones with a cardiac

Summary: So you're asked to play doctor without any experience, but does it matter when you can simply know without the years of stress and study? What really worries you is the fact that you're about to know far too much about Peacemaker, and then immediately forget everything that you would have learned. It's an overwhelming situation for you, and people don't tend to react well to someone intimately knowing every detail of their lives, even when you promise to forget it.

Need to Know: She/Her pronouns. villain!meta-human!reader. self depricating reader. chaos. implied dehumanisation. canon typical violence. possible smut in later chapter i haven't decided. slowish burn.

Warnings: one isolated light-hearted mention of suicide, this chapter is more crass and implicitly sexual, some implied internalised homophobia, light medical descriptions (anaesthetic being administered, stitching up wounds, non-graphic) canon-typical violent/murder talk about the reader

[ masterpost ]

A/N: okay friends now we're getting into more of the meat of it here. this chapter has everything; hypercompetent reader, tired economos, Harcourt (beloved), knowing Peacemaker's entire existence because you held hands and immediately forgetting, Disney sexual awakening and the hot lion from Lion King 2, fucking and fighting discussions,,, let's GO! Very written on my phone and posted at 2am, but hey, I still wanna know what you think.

Taglist: @16boyfriends-and-me @a-girl-who-loves-disney @amysuemc @generalfoolish @idkanymoreaboutlife @home-of-disaster @2guysonascooter @demure-doll @grippleback-galaxy @demeterl @specificpuppy @gay-cold-brew @siberianallen @evvilspawn @simping-4-jason-todd @hazzarights

Taglist is always open, feel free to message or comment to be added! xx

Murn's always given you these weird, wary looks for as long as you've known him. Yeah, everyone kind of looks at you like that when they find out what you can do, and its not like this ragtag group of vague Government rogues were the touchy-feely types, but it seemed like instead of staring into space, when Murn was idle he was watching you. He didn't even try and hide it now. It would be fine if you were actually doing something, but right now you're half falling asleep waiting for Harcourt and Adebayo to bring back Peacemaker and some much needed context.

"Are you telepathic?" You yawned, trying and failing to find a more comfortable seat in your desk chair. There's nothing much on your desk; you don't have many worldly possessions that you think would be appropriate. There's only a stack of textbooks on a variety of topics, which you're doing a very good job of looking anywhere but.

When you speak, breaking the silence, Economos looks up from his computer, first to you, then to Murn watching you like he's studying you. Murn let's the spill from one moment to the next, arms crossed carefully over his chest.

"The parameters of your powers are undefined," he says finally, words chosen with obvious care, like everything he said, "and while I am glad to have you on the team, your attitude is concerning; you're an unknown quantity, and I believe we have enough of those to deal with."

"Oh," as the realisation hits you, you can't help but grin from ear to ear, sitting a little straighter, "you think I'm a liability!" You lean forward in your seat, clutching at the table before you with glee, "you've heard all the stories, haven't you Murn? It's why you even let me on the team in the first place, isn't it? But now you've met me -!" It had been a long time since you'd met someone who knew you by reputation alone, you'd missed how good it felt to crush their expectations between your fingers, "- and you're thinking Oh God, I've made a terrible mistake, what if all the stories are wrong?! Or worse!" You gasp a dramatic breath for effect; there's mirth and delight dancing in your eyes. Economos looks deeply uncomfortable, "what if they're right?!"

Murn blinks slowly. His lack of answer is deafening.

Economos looks between the two of you, head turning back and forth like he's watching a very slow game of tennis. In this moment that stretches out, your challenging gaze not breaking from Murn's, Economos finally sighs and looks back at his computer.

"Don't do that," he says finally, and your good mood breaks, "either of you."

"What?" And you find your head tipping with confused intrigue; he flicks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You," he says very pointedly, "get all creepily excited like that," he mutters, before adding, mostly under his breath, though still audible in the quiet room, "Harcourt needs to walk you more. "

"Hey!" Despite your protest, you knew the puppy-joke was to be expected, especially from Economos or Harcourt herself.

"And Mister Murn, stop feeding The Chaser's ego."

"Excuse me?" Murn's tone was hard-edged, while you stuck out your tongue at Economos, which they both ignored.

"She gets off on being underestimated," Economos said flatly, continuing despite your attempted rejection of the allegation, "so I'll just tell you what Harcourt told me when I first ran comms for them; every single impressive story about them is true, sure," he rolled his eyes, and you sink back into your chair with a pout, "but to make room for all those kickass skill and knowledge that she gets whenever she picks something up, her head's gotta be empty in the interim."

It's an unfortunately apt way to sum up an outsider's perspective of you, and all you can being yourself to do is quietly sulk as you wait, until you doze off. At least Murn is satisfied with the explanation enough to stop watching you at every minute.

Only when there's shouting do you finally wake, bleary-eyed and barely aware, you're pretty sure Economos wants to know about Murn's bathroom habits. What?! Economos is never allowed to judge what you get excited about ever again, you decide.

This thought is interrupted, however, as Adebayo crashes through the front door practically oozing with adrenaline, recounting her night at a mile a minute as Harcourt and a wincing Peacemaker follow shortly behind her.

"Y/N, look alive, its showtime," Harcourt tells you sharply, and you groaned loudly.

"He looks fine, he'll be fine-" your half-hearted protest is ignored as Harcourt advises Peacemaker to show you wherever he's hurt. Peacemaker looks at you and your grimace with a flat kind of shock.

"Why?"

"Because the best doctor we have is Y/N holding that medical textbook," Harcourt is moving around the space, trying to find the first aid kit, "Y/N," she orders, "textbook."

"You're a doctor?" Peacemaker frowns at you with confusion, but is at least obligingly pulling off his shirt; already you can see some uncomfortably deep wounds on his torso, "that... actually that makes sense," he muses, and you pull off your gloves with a show of exasperation.

"I'm definitely not a doctor, why would that make sense?"

"You know too much," Peacemaker muses; his tone is surprisingly light given how he's struggling to pull off his brightly coloured shirt, "isn't that what you do?" And when he finally gets his shirt off, he huffs a bright sigh of relief, grinning despite being absolutely littered with wounds of varying severity. Your press your lips together in a tight line.

"John, can you be her extra hands if she needs them?" Harcourt asks firmly, to which Economos nods wearily. Thumping the first aid kit onto the table in front of you, Harcourt's expression reads don't fuck around without her saying a word when she meets your gaze. Murn calls she and Adebayo into the next room to debrief, and before she goes, Harcourt picks up the medical textbook from the top of the pile you'd been ignoring, smacking it into your chest pointedly. So finally you concede, and take the book with a faintly pained groan -

It's yours, you can feel your own nausea rising like a feedback loop because of this book, and every time you've ever touched it before, the hours spent pointedly untouched on the desk, being pulled out of a shipping box with gloved hands, the rattle-bump-darkness of being in a box in the back of Harcourt's car during the drive, each mission its been brought along and each time you've used it, the blood that's been splattered and wiped from the shiny cover, feeling the way your apprehension for the book builds in reverse with each time you touch it with your bare hands, the first and only time you've ever properly opened it when you flipped through it with curiosity when it arrived, being shipped and being stacked alongside hundreds of other identical copies in a warehouse before that, the machine precision of mass produced textbook manufacture, the short but detailed history of the printer's ink made on demand, the paper being processed and smooth from the carcases of logs hauled across the country and the whir of logging equipment and the sudden jarring stillness of the tree at the beginning of it all, a quiet life spent growing that seems to stretch back forever -

And every single page is imprinted from your mind into this book at once, every word you could recite with ease, every picture imprinted in high definition, diagrams labelled and it all makes complete and immediate sense to you, everything in the book now second nature, you could stitch a wound or identify any number of rashes or set a broken bone or understand exactly what an injury requires, as detailed in this thick, medical textbook -

Books always made you a little queasy, as did CDs, DVDs, and USB storage devices that weren't empty, but this textbook was especially graphic and overwhelming; touching it always felt like a punishment of sorts.

"Hey, are you okay?" Economos sounds suddenly concerned, while your eyes are pressed tightly shut, taking a few moments to accommodate all the new information in your head, "you don't look so good."

"I feel like I'm gonna be barf, just gimme a moment," you managed, trying to breath through the moment and tune out Peacemaker's sudden panic at the idea of you tending to his wounds, "shut up, I'll be fine!" You insisted.

Finally the phantom pressure in your head has eased and you crack your eyes open. Both Economos and Peacemaker and looking at you warily. After a beat, you manage to muster a bright smile, looking between them both.

"See, no need to stress; the doctor is in."

"What the fuck just happened?" Peacemaker demanded to know, "because last I heard you were some sort of decendant of Artemis or some shit -"

"What?!" You grin with confused delight.

"The Greek God of the hunt," he paused pointed and expression intensely demanding, "emphasis on hunt."

"Who told you that?!" Laughing, you don't seem deterred by Peacemaker's tone.

"Its a widely held belief!" He explodes with exasperated confusion, "you spent all of your time in fucking solitary, half the time people weren't even allowed to collect your laundry. I know you're a weapons expert and can find anyone, anywhere, and I can't think of any other prisoner inside Belle Reve who knows anything else."

"So you all decided to believe I'm decended from a God?!" This revelation even has you clutching the medical textbook to your chest like a delighted schoolgirl, rocking back on your heels.

"Can you reign in your ego for three seconds and do what you're on this mission for?" Economos sounds frankly exhausted, and you deflate a little, finally agreeing with a nod. As you examine Peacemaker's wounds thoroughly, at first without touching him, you explain your powers in detail, including your brief discomfort moments ago. Peacemaker's watching you with an expression like he's trying very hard to understand this all, but you leave him for the time being, raiding the medical supplies for anything you know you'll need to get him fixed up, before you stop suddenly.

You turn, voice firm but amicable; discussions of appropriate bedside manner vary from scenario to scenario throughout the textbook, and though they're brief mentions all at once, you're able to analyse, extrapolate, and apply them all at once.

"Chris, take a seat for me," and though his expression indicates he's surprised at your tone, he obliges immediately, "I'm going to take your hand to do a full assessment of your injuries, okay? If I could do this with my gloves on I would but-"

"Wait, do you mean -" Peacemaker's brow creased with immediate concern, "your selective, all-knowing shit, that- does that mean you'll know everything about me and my entire life if you touch me?"

"Yes," you say carefully, pulling a seat over to sit in front of him; his concern changes as he is clearly now uncomfortable with the situation, "but I'll forget literally all of it the moment I we're no longer in contact."

"Why can't Dye-Beard do it?" He nodded to Economos, who narrowed his eyes with contempt.

"Because fuck you; that's not my job, and I don't dye my beard," sitting back in his chair, Economos pointedly crossed his arms over his chest.

"How can I trust that's really how your powers work? How do I know you're not adding my life to the database you're building in your head of all information ever?" Squinting at you, there's something challenging in Peacemaker's eyes. Unexpectedly however, you choke on a startled laugh.

"If I had to live with everything I learned for everyone and everything I touched I definitely would have killed myself before now," the response is complete honest instinct, punctuated by that same, humourless laugh, but after a moment of genuine deliberation, Peacemaker visibly steels himself and offers his hand. Still, you give a warm, reassign smile to hide your own nerves.

Textbook in one hand, the other reaches out and takes Peacemaker's -

You see his life all at once, every memory he's ever made and every thought he's ever had, seeing even beyond his personal recollects, every single moment since his birth with perfect clarity and how his memories of events differ from his immense truth, all in high definition, his entire existence, his ideologies, the moments that shaped him and each sensation that he's ever experienced or is currently experiencing, all planted into your mind at once.

Every fuck, every fight, every secret he's sworn to take to the grave -

-there had been resistance as the debris pierced Rick Flag's chest but he pushes past the point of no return to save his own life and save the mission and the debris is so firmly lodged in Flag's heart that he can feel the debris move almost imperceptibly with it until he let's go, 'Peacemaker; what a joke' that will haunting more than any death rattle he's been responsible for -

- excitement he'd never admit to after being told he's a part of Taskforce X -

- the voice in the back of his head that spits that falling in love with any of the other inmates he fucks would be a sign of mental weakness and a betrayal of his personal ethics sounds a lot like his dad, so of course he throws the word his dad's always thrown at him with disgust at the twitchy, introverted technomancer with the beautiful, brown eyes, who Peacemaker's been fucking for almost a year, and feels safe enough to fall asleep next to after they fuck, likes well enough to sleep next to because he likes having him close, who he knows he'd defend, when the technomancer ruins it all when he realises how thoroughly Peacemaker's been lying to himself, in the process exposing his weakness which Peacemaker pounces upon rather than asmitting the truth, admitting to being just as weak, 'come on, Chris, I love you, obviously I fucking love you' Peacemaker's no stranger to lying to himself or others but its been a while since its come with guilt; this shame echoes in his father's voice louder than his own -

- what felt like eons of interrogations after his capture and being steadfast in denying any accomplices, lying through his teeth and acting confused when they mention rumours of another cape in his home town besides his dad, and the relief he felt but would never in his life admit to anyone, least of all Vigilante, when he it finally clicks that he's being asked about it because they know absolutely nothing -

- he fights beside Vigilante and finally feels like he's earning his title, even if their justice is a tad bit extreme --

"You..." half a second has passed, your hand on his, his entire existence echoing in your mind all at once. Swallowing hard as your mind catches on every time his father had blamed him for his brothers death, you try to focus on his immediate state and the fight he'd just encountered, "you know the Vigilante?" Is not what you had intended to say, but it escapes you nonetheless. Peacemaker gives you a sharp look, and you clear throat, "sorry, not important; for the record, your ankles are fucked, but not in a long-term way," you breathe deeply.

"I escaped the fifth floor leapfrogging my way down between balconies," Peacemaker says, before conceding for a moment, "which you probably know already."

"Judging by how you're feeling these wounds, they're gonna hurt like a bitch and need time to recover but none are actually that bad all things considered; from what we have on hand, I'll give you some ibuprofen for the pain and the swelling in your ankles, but I'll stick you with some local anaesthetic for the ones that need stitching up," looking to your medical bag, you considered for a long moment, "then it's just a quick job of cleaning and stitching those wounds up," you give a smile, but Peacemaker's still looking at you like he's waiting for you to react with what you now know about him. With a cheery smile, you request Economos fetch everything you need from the medical bag before turning back.

"Okay, gimme a moment, I'm just going to save everything I'll need to fix you up -"

"Save?"

"From the textbook," reading the concern in Peacemaker's mind as it continues to grow, you elaborate, "I'm literally only cataloguing the information that's relevant to this exact situation so I can have my hand free, and I won't have to carry all that excess information in my head."

"You c-" but you catch the question before it's even fully left his mind.

"I can do that, but I will give it back after; I'm not keeping any of your memories, I don't know you well enough to," you make an apologetic expression for a moment, "care." To your grateful surprise, Peacemaker finally decides to drop his concern about the whole situation; he believes that if you were going to judge him you would have already. The tense set of his shoulder eases.

"That freaks me out," Economos looks a little nauseous as he hands over the supplies you requested and takes the textbook off your hands.

"Which part?" While unfortunately you've been left with several pictures of open, half stitched, and closed wounds at the forefront of your mind, considering you no longer had to see the other ninety-five percent of the images in the textbook all at once, and the text you've saved is comprehensive, and wound care isn't exactly new for you anyways, you find yourself feeling lighter than air, "the textbook?"

"No," Economos stacks the textbook on top of all your others, tone thoughtful, "no that I understand, you know that makes sense, I just can't wrap my head around what it means when you touch a person; their whole existence all at once, how the fuck can you understand that immediately?"

Letting go of Peacemaker's hand in order to prepare your equipment, your head suddenly echoes with the textbook's directions and your own thoughts.

"I wish I knew," came your distracted response as you quickly donned the pair of medical gloves before touching anything else, "can you grab some water so Chris can take this ibuprofen?" You began to draw anaesthetic into a syringe as Economos obligingly heads to the building's kitchenette.

"Was it like an action movie?" Peacemaker's curious and strangely bright tone breaks your concentration where you're trying to flick the bubbles from the medication.

"What?" You deadpan with confusion, "your- your existence?"

"I've done some cool shit, was seeing all of that like watching an action movie?" He's wearing this little, weirdly hopeful smile as he considers the prospect for himself.

"I don't remember," you answered honestly after a beat to consider, to which he frowned.

"You really don't... you weren't kidding about losing everything if we break contact?"

"I remember my memories of the event," you shrugged, "but they're completely mundane after contact; we held hands, I made a comment about you knowing Vigilante but cannot for the life of me remember what prompted that, and I explained exactly how I'm going to fix you up, I only know why I said what I said in that regards because thats still up here," you tap at your temple. In the moments that follow, Peacemaker grants you silence in which to inject part of the anaesthetic into the first stab wound you intended to focus on.

"I'd appreciate it if you tried to keep my whole 'knowing Vigilante' situation under wraps," he asked, far quieter than before. In the kitchenette, you can hear Economos banging around in the cupboards and defeatedly swearing.

"So it's true?"

"You're the one who said it?" Immediately Peacemaker was baffled, while you sat back and soaked a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol.

"Yeah but I also saw your entire existence at once; it wouldn't have been the first time I've connected obscure dots in someone's life and extrapolated and -"

"That's fucking terrifying, and yes, it's true," he admitted. Finally you can hear the tap running. You take the stringe once more, gently prodding by the hopefully numb wound.

"Can you feel that?" You ask, and when Peacemaker shakes his head you begin to carefully swab the wound, speaking up after you've finished and are threading the needle, "he's the guy who kills criminals, right?" You ask, and Peacemaker nods, looking at his hands.

"Whenever I was in town, we both were; we were the justice the government was too much of a pussy to execute."

"How noble," its a neutral comment, said distractedly as you lean in and carefully begin to stitch his wound closed. They aren't the neatest stitches, but having machine-like precision while holding the needle wasn't worth the risk of your bare hand touching Peacemaker.

"Its funny, actually," tone lightening, he even manages to huff a bemused laugh, "we knew about you," it takes a moment for you to fully process this, but he's started talking again before you can properly react, "yeah, we had like, this dream hit-list -"

"Did going to prison blindside you or did you see it coming like everyone else around you probably did?" You ask with a wry kind of amusement, pausing your work for a moment to let your words sink in. Peacemaker rolled his eyes at that.

"It was a hit-list for good, better than some pussy cotary of supervillains," he huffed, "we were trying to enact real justice, not just play catch and release with murderers and a corrupt system."

"Actually," you consider for a moment, "that's solid logic," and you get back to the task at hand, tone turning teasing as you added, "was I ever on your dream hit-list?"

"Yeah..." but it came out surprisingly non-committal, which had you raising your eyebrows; as Peacemaker elaborates without prompting, you secure the final stitch, and set about numbing the second wound, "but like, kind of in the same way every guy our age - every guy who's into chicks -" he amends, "will list The Little Mermaid as part of their sexual awakening - did you see that, by the way?" He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"I don't know if you're referring to the movie in a general sense, or the moment you realised you want to fuck Ariel, or possibly even when you understood that you could feel that way about other girls, but yes I would have seen it, no I don't remember it, and I wish I could go back thirty seconds and never have this conversation," you wheezed, face in your hands. However, as you surfaced, you're expression reads as both exasperated and amused, and you begin to clean the wound.

"So you wanted to kill me the way you wanted to fuck Ariel," you prompted after a moment.

"Yeah, like more because you're a villain and it felt like what I was supposed to do; sure I enjoyed the thought of it but I'd never consider you nemesis material."

"But Vigilante felt a more personal hatred to me, the villain he's never met?" You snickered.

"Oh dude, you were like his hot-lion-from-the-second-Lion-King-movie sexual awakening -" Peacemaker laughs brightly, and you're glad to match his energy with a grin.

"Kovu?"

You immediately go still, both sitting in this moment where you're both kind of ashamed to be on the same page.

"He acted like it was a full blood fued, always seemed so personally invested in taking you down; he was beside himself when you were caught and they threw you in Belle Reve," Peacemaker chuckles a little awkwardly, before adding, "but still, any time I asked if he thought he could take you in hand to hand combat he'd end up getting hard."

"Don't be gross, you guys used to fantasise about murdering me, I'm not flattered," you told him shortly. Pausing, you realise it's been a while since Economos had gone to get water, though when you look up you see him in the next room with the other three team members in quiet discussion. Clearing your throat, you find yourself sitting back and waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect again; "so was it a power fantasy thing, or do you think murder and fucking were two separate, conflicting desires?"

"Probably a bit of both," Peacemaker doesn't even have to think to answer, and the tension breaks when you can't help but laugh.

The four in the next room look sharply through the window that separates your groups, both wheezing with laughter, even as the movements aggravate Peacemaker's stitches and he's wincing between breaths. You'll fix him up without complaint, and the day will continue whether you want it to or not, but this one moment is unfamiliar in a way that stings retroactively, that you miss despite never having had. There had been hesitation, of course, there's always hesitation about your powers, but you had not been grandstanding and he had decided to trust your word...

It had been a very long time since you had felt like someone saw you as an actual equal.

#vigilante peacemaker #vigilante imagine #vigilante x reader #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase #peacemaker series #peacemaker show #peacemaker hbo max #peacemaker #vigilante #ew its the mod #Spotify

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nat-the-cat-123 · 2 years

Text

Being honest, I don't like Age of Calamity's Zelink

I don't know, coming from how great their relationship was developed in Botw and how it helped with both Zelda's and Link's development, AoC Zelink just feels cheap and flat.

Like, yeah, AoC fed us shippers with much more content than we could ever expect from Botw (and something inside me is telling me that also from Botw 2) but quantity doesn't automatically mean quality.

In general I'm not a big fan of the AoC's STORY (because I haven't played it because I'm kinda poor) mainly because I can't help but feel like it completely gets rid of everything that made Botw so different from the rest of the games in the franchise (only talking about story) making everything much more generic despite being 3 hours of cutscenes (including the DLC) meanwhile BOTW takes more or less 40 minutes (also including DLC), this including the already mentioned couple.

Because let's compare it, in Botw they got from hating each other (or at least disliking each other) due to the reputation that was built upon them , to giving the chance to get to know and understand each other and their struggles, to finally find someone to trust and tell their deepest fears, to finally love each other so much to the point of being willing to die for said loved one (And this is Pre Calamity, don't even get me started with everything that happens after Link's awakening). Meanwhile in AoC they just met, Link TRIES to understand Zelda (since he just got the master sword and hasn't had to live with the threat his entire life) and keeps protecting her over and over again, and in the meantime Zelda finds him cute and technically awakens her powers because of him.

But they didn't really spend time alone to talk, most of the time (if not all the time) they were with Impa, Terrako or someone else, and the ones who gave support to Zelda were most of the time them, not Link. Terrako was in this timeline Zelda's biggest comfort because he was part of her past, and also kinda Impa because they've known each other for a long time, but there's nothing that brings Link and Zelda together.

And at first I didn't mind since I thought maybe in this universe their relationship wasn't meant to be romantic but with the DLC there's no doubt they wanted us to ship them since they won't stop throwing "romantic" scenes at our faces but it seems like they thought we liked this couple for the "princess and knight" trope (which in part is true) but there's a lot more that makes this couple different.

In Botw they are two people forced from a very young age to carry the world on their own making them become "perfect", isolating them and forcing them to abandon everything they enjoy. But, despite having trouble in the beginning, they find each other and finally feel like they are allowed to become their true selves, something they can't do even with their closest ones like Urbosa or Mipha.

(And Mipha and Miphlink is a whole other interesting case to compare to their AoC counterpart but that's for another post)

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying AoC Zelink is outrageous, I'm just saying it's kind of mediocre.

Because while BOTW Zelink is the pure definition of the silent princess, of "endless love" for being able to surpass their differences, their difficult surroundings, their pasts, memory loss, a 100 years of separation, literal death, the fucking apocalypse and what could be consider Satan.

AoC Zelink is more... "Cute and intelligent girl 💅 with problems 😔 and a shitty father 😠 meets cute boy 😍 when the apocalypse is about to come 😰😭, the rest is history ~❤️✨"

(Ok not like that but you get my point)

Who knows, perhaps there are some details that could change my opinion if I actually played the game, but from screenshots that I've seen from the sidequests there's just "Link doing something nice for Zelda" (still some of them say that someone else asked him to do so) . And even if we cut Botw's diary entries, compare some memories to what could be considered their counterparts in AoC and tell me they are the same.

Link witnessing a fight between Zelda and her father....

Zelda in the springs...

Zelda crying after the Calamity awakens and Link comforting her....

Zelda awakening her powers for Link....

Do they honestly have the same impact for you?

Idk, if you prefer AoC's Zelink to BOTW it's ok, everyone is free to like whatever they want, but this personally isn't my cup of tea.

(And don't get me wrong, I don't entirely hate AoC's story there are some good things here and there but that's for another post)

#Zelink #zelda #link #botw #breath of the wild #age of calamity #aoc #botw zelink #aoc Zelink

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phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust · 3 years

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i think this is one of the quotes anon was talking about: https://thegilly.tumblr.com/post/29568742275/the-beatles-and-me-by-neil-aspinall-scanned

(Link) (CW eating disorders)

That magazine article actually breaks my heart - the way that he’s legitimately torturing himself is just so upsetting. And in reading about John dieting the way he did, I can especially empathise with him because ive had a lot of the same experiences.

Some points I took note of from the article are:

1. John ate one meal a day, which was steak with a large salad - that means he was probably eating less then a 1000 calories a day, and id guess he was maybe only getting about 800 (?) calories a day at most with that diet. 800 calories or less is literally starvation.

2. “John wont even look at bread” - this is the definition of an ‘unsafe food’. People with restrictive ED’s do eat, but they tend to have “safe” and “unsafe” foods. I suspect John considers bread unsafe because he knows its a binge food, and a food that he thinks will cause him weight gain - again, its just so sad that he would put himself through this misery. I also think that he probably felt meats were probably relatively safe for him to eat.

3. He had two different suits - one for when he was at his normal, healthy weight and another for when he had lost weight. He would bring them both on tour with him because his weight would fluctuate so much.

4. His regular weight was about 159lbs; apparently he was around 139lbs when he died (at least, thats what a quick google search tells me, so I don’t know how true that is. But certainly he was far thinner by the time he died).

5. “Right before a tour, he’ll do everything he can to lose weight” - this appears to speak especially to the theory that Johns ED might have been sparked largely by the pressures of fame and publicity.

6. “John hardly touches his salad, and he wont even look at the other boys eat.” - He’s eating the most miserable meal on the planet guys :’(

7. “John begins to look at me apprehensively. He has hunger pains in his eyes! Finally, when he is about to “break down” I…pull out the meat sandwiches.” - He was in actual, physical pain because he was so hungry.

8. “John takes the meat out of the sandwiches and eats every tiny sliver he can find. Then he stuffs the leftover slices of bread into a bag, which I take from him (so that he wont break down again and eat those).” - I would constitute this behaviour as a “binge”, because to me a binge is not based necessarily on the quantity of food you eat, or the amount of calories you take in, but more so about how in control and contented you are during and after eating. John wasn’t in control here, and its because its his bodies natural reaction when its in starvation mode.

9. “[Johns] main complaint is ‘How come Paul never gains an ounce — and he eats twice as much as I do?’”

10. “John is sure some kind of curse is set on his head — or is stomach as it were!”

Im not going to judge everyone for seemingly not making any real efforts to help John recover from his ED, because I don’t think ED’s became something that the general public were aware of until about the early 80s with Karen Carpenters death - and its taken years for people to even really begin recognising that a lot of men also suffer from ED’s! And so im not going to criticise them for not recognising that John legitimately was displaying symptoms of an ED, but I do think its just really sad that they were all watching John starve and torture himself, and couldn’t really do anything about it. And because they weren’t recognising him as mentally ill here, they probably all just accepted his diet as a bit of a laugh, whilst still knowing there was something more sinister underpinning it.*

(*I wonder however what Paul might have thought about all this, because we know that Paul was prone to being a sort of caretaker for John, and in a lot of ways “mothered” him. I feel like Paul would’ve recognised that only eating one meal a day was a problem, and maybe sort of laughed it off a bit because he couldn’t have known it was a legitimate mental illness - but also, I hope he would try to encourage John to eat. Id like to hear him talk about this in an interview someday, though I doubt anyone would ask him about this stuff)

This is just genuinely one of the most depressing things ive ever read about John, and if its a topic you feel comfortable reading id encourage anyone to give it a read (although if you think it could be damaging for your mental health, id say avoid it!).

And overall, im just really surprised that no biographer appears to have ever really spoken about this topic in a nuanced manner.

#cw ed #cw anorexia #cw eating disorder #john lennon ed #john lennon #johns psyche #this just makes me so so sad #he reminds me so much of ME #and thats just sad #like reading about seeing hunger in his eyes #<<< i know that pain!! i know that hunger!#@sergeantpeppa

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bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

comfort place - yang jeongin

→genre: friends to lovers →synopsis: comfort can manifest itself in many forms. some find it in the fantastical world of the arts. others find it in sports. but, for you, comfort is a person. →word count: 6.5k →pairing: jeongin x gender neutral reader →warnings: drunk jeongin, mentions of puking

“Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“That,” your eyes go wide as you nod at his stature. He’s hunched over your trash can. Blue gloves shield his hands as he digs.

“Oh. I think I lost my earring or something.”

“And your first instinct was to search my trash can?” you quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps you should mention that this isn’t just any trash can, it’s your kitchen one. Full of discarded, burnt ramen and your roommate’s weird protein shakes that will clog your drain otherwise.

He nods, as though this is the most normal first step to a lost earring. Yang Jeongin is many things, but being questionable is one of his strongest traits.

You slip behind him to get to the fridge. Water bottles line the right half, more commonly known as your roommate’s side. You reach for one.

“What are you doing on March twenty-fifth?” he asks, arms deep in your trashcan. He’s really going to endure this conversation without a single shred of his pride disappearing.

You try not to look at him as you glance at the calendar. Two weeks away, the small square for that Saturday reads “NATIONALS” in large red letters.

You hum to yourself. “Dog sitting.”

“What?” he looks at you, eyes squinted in confusion, “Why?”

“Danceracha’s going out of town for the dance contest. I told you this.”

He exhales a deep, surrendering sigh as he straightens his back and plucks the gloves off. He shakes his hands in the cool air before starting for your sink. The calm stream of water trickles out. “Man. That sucks.”

“Why?” you question. Your fingertips draw marks of condensation along the plastic.

“I was gonna invite you to a party,” he mutters. A pout comes to his lips. For a moment, your heart drops. He looks the same as when you met him. All those years, long with memories but short in quantity, whizz past you.

“Party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he nudges the water stream off.

Parties and Jeongin don’t mix well. History has proven this.

“Whose party is it?” you start for the living room, knowing he’ll follow.

“You don’t know him,” he says, his voice never once fading because, indeed, he’s on your tail.

“Okay, but what’s his name?”

“Chan. Actually,” he hesitates, “you might know him.”

As you sink into the couch, chipped leather scratching your legs, you glance at him. His eyebrows are scrunched into his thinking stance. Then, his features light up once he finds the answer. “Do you remember sophomore year’s biology class?”

You nod.

“Remember when that senior came in to make fun of Mr. Lee?”

Again, you nod.

“His best friend is Chan. You probably saw them in our freshman yearbook for spirit week. They dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for Twins Day.”

Your mouth forms into an acknowledging part. “Got it.” In fact, the recurring image instantly pops into your head. You can thank all the hours spent staring at it with stifled laughter for that.

“So what’s the party for?”

He shrugs, “Some college achievement shit.”

“And you got invited?” you laugh. Jeongin barely made it out of high school. He took one harrowed glance at the local campus and nearly cried. You don’t blame him, though. That place is stressful. Even as a freshman you can say this.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m cool, you know? I don’t need to be in academics for them to know that.”

“Sure,” you nod.

“I’m serious!” His lips quirk up in a defensive manner that sends a spark through your chest.

Among other things, Jeongin is confusing. Questionable and confusing. These are the words you say when someone asks you what he’s like. Because seriously, why does he always do things so infuriating yet endearing?

He runs a hand through his hair as he unlocks his phone. His thumb works quickly to swipe through a message log before he tilts the phone so you can see. “See?”

The conversation in question is short, a maximum of four texts. The details blur as he snatches his phone back as quickly as he showed it. Again, infuriating.

“Are you planning on going alone, then?”

This question makes him freeze. He stares at the wall wielding a mounted TV, whose black screen reflects the image of him by your side, shoulder to shoulder. A small smile tilts his lips. “I guess. People want me there. So I’ll find my niche.”

See? Endearing.

You have no doubts that he can find a place to fit in. He did it in high school and he’ll proceed to do it in the future. That’s just how he is. Plus, maybe he can allow someone else to feel safe too. Like he did for you.

ii.

High school is a demon with a comforting smile. When you’re forced to transition, they tell you it’s all fun. Sunshine and rainbows, if you will. What they don’t tell you is that luck will always make it so you don’t get any of your friends in your classes. And this, with your contradicting lunch shifts, will slowly force you out of the friend group you had stuck with since elementary school.

Perpetual tears are stocked behind your eyes. Waiting for the perfect moment to fall because let’s be honest, any minor inconvenience could push you over the edge. Stress does that to you.

In third period of your second week, your math teacher announces that she’s decided on her seating chart. She makes you line up against the walls as she grabs her reference sheet, lined with the images of desks, names scribbled atop them. “Jeongin,” she says, pointing to a desk in the front row.

A boy a few feet away from you steps out from the crowd to claim his desk. He’s wearing an oversized maroon hoodie whose back is marked “Yang” in white letters.

Your teacher stops at the seat next to him. She glances at you and your heart drops. “Y/N,” she points to a desk.

Sitting up front is worse than the incessant plagues of high school drama. All eyes permanently burn into the back of your head, even when not a single soul acknowledges you.

As you try to settle into your seat, back a little stiff from trying to shrink yourself into a tiny marble, the boy beside you leans over. “Hey, you okay?”

For the first time, your eyes lock. His remind you of the innocence of childhood, that blank yet full gaze. You nearly melt, but instead, your back loosens.

“Yeah. I just don’t like sitting in the front,” you chuckle awkwardly.

He smiles. Not one of the pity ones, but a real toothy smile. “Aww. Me neither, I always feel like everyone’s watching me.”

Finally, a person who gets it.

“But I just have to trick myself into not caring,” he says, glancing at the whiteboard. Shadows of poorly erased marker line the corners.

Abruptly, after his serene gaze, he jumps back to you. “Do you like coffee by any chance?”

Despite the initial shock of the question, you say, “Yeah, I do.”

As it turns out, his family owns this huge coffee shop right next to the bookstore you used to frequent. His mom was rather happy to see a new face. On that day, she accepted you as family.

And math didn’t turn out to be so hard that year.

iii.

The apartment grows quiet after Jeongin inevitably has to leave. Your roommate’s dog comes trotting out from his room. His nose is upturned, scouting for a soul to give him attention.

“Come here, Kkami,” you pat the empty spot on the couch beside you. He runs the rest of the way. Instead of resting on the couch cushion, he prefers your lap. This pickiness he obtained from his owner.

Hyunjin’s anything but a bad roommate. He does the dishes, sweeps when he finds a large puff of Kkami’s fur traveling your hardwood like a tumbleweed, even brings home coffee when you have a huge study night ahead of you. However, when it comes to you and Jeongin, your mutual hangouts on weekends, he has a very specific need. And that’s to be around you two as little as possible.

He claims it’s because he can’t stand third-wheeling. Jeongin refuses to understand this concept. “If we’re not dating, it’s not third-wheeling?” he’d said, numerous times.

Hyunjin won’t budge on the subject.

The tune set as Jeongin’s ringtone, chosen by him, plagues the air. You reach for your phone, placing a protective hand on Kkami’s side to prevent him from falling.

“Hello?”

“Problem: What would you do if your brother told you he got a girlfriend?”

You squint at your reflection in the TV between scene transitions. It looks odd without him beside you. “Which brother?”

“Guess which one would make me more dumbfounded. Hint, it’s not the older one.”

“Your younger brother got someone before you?” you snicker. Jeongin holds his pride in his individuality. Losing to a younger brother with something like this is hilarious.

“This isn’t funny! Should I be a serious big brother and talk to him or should I just seethe in silence?”

“Neither. Leave him alone.”

He does something akin to a whine. “But-”

You stick up a finger, though he can’t see you as you interrupt, “C’mon, Jeongin. He’s a teenager. Let him be.”

Sometimes, it feels like he’s the outsider and you’re the true, reasonable sibling.

He sighs. You imagine him pushing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at his ceiling. All lost in the possibilities that lay before him, since you and him both know he won’t listen to you.

“Can I hang up now?” you ask, glancing at the front door.

“Are you gonna abandon me for your significant other too?”

You scoff as the front door opens. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hyunjin steps into the apartment. His hair is damp with sweat and lays jagged in front of his eyes. You raise a hand to wave.

“It’s a real question, though. You know whoever it is will be jealous of me.” Now, you know, he’s just prodding for a reaction. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yes, Jeongin. I would one hundred percent drop you for some person who offers emotional stimulation,” you monotonously chide.

Hyunjin gives you a curious look as he passes. You would think he’d be used to this by now.

“Okay but,” Jeongin’s voice grows low as he settles onto his bed, “would you really? Tell me you won’t.”

“I won’t,” you press your back deeper into the couch. It’s not like you’ve had many romantic opportunities since meeting him. Jeongin, though also needy, is more interesting than anyone else you’ve met. He’s a shiny emerald among a sea of charcoal.

“Good,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. The image of his little dimple indenting makes you mirror the sentiment.

“Now can I hang up?”

“Fine,” he sighs.

Through a laugh, you manage, “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too.” And then the line goes dead.

iv.

“Are you sure you don’t like him?” must be a trendy replacement for ‘good morning.’

“Who?” you ask, rubbing your eye as you start for the cereal cabinet.

“Jeongin. Who else?” Hyunjin says. He sits at the kitchen table. A plate of freshly heated blueberry waffles sits before him.

Without turning to him, you say, “I’m sure.”

It’s a reflex, really.

He exhales in the most exaggerated way possible to grab your attention. His eyes are cold with the hunger for an answer. A real one.

“I don’t like him,” you say slowly, allowing each word time to sink into the air.

The thought has surely crossed your mind. It’d be unrealistic to say you’ve never pondered the great possibility of being in love with your best friend. But ultimately, you don’t think you are. Sure, you’d take a bullet for Jeongin. Just not in the ‘wow I’m madly in love with you’ kind of way. You tell yourself it’s in the ‘you’re going to do so much good for the world’ kind of way.

“Fine,” Hyunjin admits, picking up one of his waffles and taking a caveman bite.

Most of breakfast is quiet as you sit opposite him, staring into your bowl. Your milky reflection takes you off guard a few times.

“You know,” Hyunjin says after a while, his voice raw and a little croaky. He has to bring a hand to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. “You should get him to stay with you while I’m away.”

As you look back up at him, he adds defensively, “I’m not trying to play Cupid.”

You shrug, “He probably has other plans.”

Yet when you text him a few hours later, he jumps on it. “It’ll be like a sleepover! Don’t you miss when we did those?”

You did, but you don’t admit it.

The week of nationals arrives too quickly for your mind to process. One minute, you’re studying for an upcoming exam and the next there’s a knock on your bedroom door. It doesn’t wait for a sound before opening.

“Hey, I’m leaving.”

Hyunjin’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which covers his messy hair. Perfect for his night of sleeping on the bus. A duffel bag packed and puffy hangs off his shoulder.

“Good luck,” you smile up at him.

“Thanks. Don’t try sneaking into the venue with your rat like you did last year,” he returns the smile.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you rush to defend yourself.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You still played into it.”

“And we got to support you as your lovely friends.”

“You were the only people cheering during the contemporary dance,” he mumbles, stepping back into the hall.

“To be fair, we couldn’t realize because we were so involved!” you shout to match the increasing distance.

“Right!” he calls, a laugh shaking his words.

Studying is now a failed mission. Every time you glance at the words printed on the textbook’s glossed pages, they just blur together until your mind drifts to Jeongin. When is he coming over? He said he’d be here by seven. It’s roughly a quarter past. He has a key, so it’s not like you have to be free when he gets here.

When you succumb and close the textbook, you hear shuffling in the living room. Shortly followed by Kkami’s familiar barking, which he only pursues when someone’s here.

The feeling of a generously excited puppy fills you as you follow the source.

“Hi,” you smile.

Jeongin has treated himself to a coffee. He must have just worked a shift.

“Hi,” he hands you the paper cup.

“Oh, is this for me?” you take it. It’s hot against your palms.

“Yeah. It’s hot chocolate. Thought you might want it.”

He drops his backpack, likely stuffed with potential party outfits, by the couch. He stands and scans your face as you take the first sip of the drink. The sweetness takes over and makes you shiver, but the warmth minimizes the shiver to nothing. Surely enough, this is his mother’s hot chocolate.

“Thank you,” you say, looking into his eyes. The living room light has speckled his eyes with stars.

“Of course.”

A moment passes of just looking at each other. Not a single word. You’re not even sure if you’re remembering to breathe.

It breaks when he glances at the TV. “Movie time?”

Settling on the couch doesn’t take long. He sits close enough to you, resting his head on your shoulder. He’s done this for as long as you remember, but why does it feel so close all of a sudden?

He chooses the movie. A tradition you’ve established ever since you accidentally chose a movie so repulsively awful you had to take a break from watching movies at all. The teasing was barely bearable.

Even now, when someone says something similar to that movie, you shiver.

“Are we feeling sci-fi?” he asks.

You almost shrug until you remember where his head is. “I don’t care,” you say instead.

He chooses a romance movie, his safe pick.

And he falls asleep not even ten minutes in.

Hyunjin’s question returns to you in neon lights. Certainly, this tight feeling in your chest couldn’t be akin to liking someone. When you like someone, there’s always a telltale sign. There’s a bright moment of realization. That’s never come for you. Even now, all you can do is question. Question. Question. Question.

vi.

Jeongin’s party outfit is the most conspicuous thing ever. A light blue tee from middle school that has all his classmate’s signatures on the back. Black jeans with holes at the knees. You can’t tell if he’s going to a child’s party or not.

He catches your tilted gaze, matched with the furrowed eyebrows, and huffs. “Would you rather I get puke on a good shirt?”

You blink. “I’d rather you not puke on yourself.”

A noise close to laughter bursts past his lips. “Ha. Funny. I won’t reach that point. I’m thinking people puking on me.”

You nod. Jeongin’s a lightweight, from what you know. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night.

He departs after a long phone call with Chan. He offers a little wave as he opens the door. “I’ll give you live updates.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

And indeed, he follows through. Selfies bombard your phone every three minutes. One is taken with Chan, but it’s so shaky and dark that they look like blobs with highlighted cheeks.

These only make you more confused. Maybe Hyunjin was right. But you don’t want him to be. Nothing makes you feel more foolish than catching feelings for a friend who is just that. Friend. That painful, heartbreaking word.

You open Hyunjin’s message log, prepared to reach out and ask if he can help you break down what you’re feeling, but his contact transitions to consuming your entire screen—perfect timing, he’s calling.

“Hello?”

“Guess what?” His voice is drowned out by external shouts.

“What?”

“We took second place!”

“Congrats,” you smile to yourself, leaning against the couch arm.

“It’s all thanks to Felix’s freestyle. That surprise category threw us off, but he really came through,” he rambles. He tells you about all his points and each error, which ultimately seem mundane but apparently make a difference in his detail loving mind.

“Anyway, I just wanted to call. See how you’re doing, you know.”

“I’m doing good,” you nod as though to convince yourself.

“How’s Jeongin?”

“At a party,” you say as your phone buzzes again. Another selfie. This time, he’s in a lonesome bathroom and posing in the mirror. A peace sign that surrounds his eye. That stupid dimple makes your heart jump.

Hyunjin giggles at something on his end and says something not aimed at you. He quickly returns to his serious tone with, “How are you really feeling? Don’t bullshit me.”

You stifle a laugh. Resting your head on the back of the couch, you glare at the ceiling, “Confused.”

“About Jeongin?”

He slips into a quieter place. You sigh. Why are your hands shaking all of a sudden? “Yeah.”

“Well,” he starts, “I pushed you into thinking about it for a reason.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because friends don’t like friends like that.”

“But you like him like that, so doesn’t that ruin your statement?”

You sit in the silence for a minute. “I guess so.”

His breath is amplified and you can hear each inhale and exhale. “You’ll probably just brush this off, but I think you have a shot.”

You nod. “Sure. A shot at going to the moon maybe. A shot at Jeongin liking me? No way.”

“Look, pessimism isn’t gonna get you anywhere. If you’re too much of a pussy to talk to him, I will. But not because I want to, because it’s terrible seeing you sulk,” he mutters.

A round of applause for your roommate.

“Just give me some time. I still don’t know if I like him,” you glance at the dog, who’s cuddled up on a pile of blankets. Why can’t your life be that simple?

“Not trying to force you or anything, but I think you know the answer to that.”

He’s probably right. It’s not like you can retaliate anyway. There’s a distant knock before he says, “Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

The following silence is truly suffocating.

vii.

That party changes everything.

Jeongin stumbles home, each step a potential path to faceplanting. It’s this exact stumble that forces him to trip over a box.

The noise draws you from sleep. Through squinted eyes, you stare at him as he tries to regain his balance. His arms are splayed out, searching for a stable support beam.

“Jeongin?” you whisper, though you know it’s him. Who else would be drunkenly returning home at, you glance at your phone, three in the morning?

“Y/N,” he gasps. Your voice prompts him to follow it.

As you stand, he finds his way through the narrow path between couch and coffee table. He throws his arms around you.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, words meshing together.

“I missed you too?” It’s only been six hours.

He holds you at arms length, palms resting on your shoulders. “I love you,” he slurs, eyes drunkenly taking a long blink.

“I love you too?”

“No, like, I really love you. ‘The moon is beautiful’ type of stuff,” he nods.

You’re not sure what he means by this. But it doesn’t matter if you try to question him, because he continues.

“I think about the future a lot,” he says, hands falling to his sides before he falls onto the couch. “Nothing’s ever consistent. But you’re always there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

He wasn’t finished. “I think our wedding would be nice.”

Now, he goes silent as you stand there in shock. He thinks about that? How often?

The moment your lips part to ask these things, a light snore escapes his lips. You grab a blanket from your room, the Totoro one he loves, and you gently cover him. You lean over his face. His cheeks are a little swollen, as are his lips. You push his hair away from his eyes before going to your room. You’re careful not to make a noise as you shut the door.

He’s gone by the time you wake up. For the first twenty-four hours, you shrug it off as a painful hangover he’s just sleeping through.

Most hangovers don’t last a week, though.

One time, sitting beneath a sky littered with stars, Jeongin released a deep breath. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being friends?”

Jeongin’s not insecure about many things, as his philosophy is that if one person finds something unattractive, there’s a hoard who will think otherwise. But this topic is an exception.

“Unless you do something unthinkably terrible, no,” you mumble. And you truly meant it.

So, Jeongin: You haven’t done anything unthinkable.Why have you disappeared?

Life without Jeongin has been incredibly boring. It’s prompted an imminent heartache. Attending class is a lame option considering your bed is so much more comfortable. You never knew missing someone could form a black hole in your body, consuming each grain of energy.

Hyunjin’s the only reason you’re eating. Since he knows you’re not up for any meal, he brings you snacks and another bottle of water—to add to the mountain of empty bottles on your desk.

“Do I need to go break his ankles?” Hyunjin asks one day, nearly a month after his tournament.

You shrug. You know he’s joking, but laughter doesn’t seem to bubble up. It’s lost in the dark cave that is this confusing state.

“I texted him today. No response yet,” Hyunjin adds.

You nod. You got the same treatment, but you stopped trying a while ago.

“Have you gone to the coffee shop? To see his mom or something?”

You shake your head. “No point in it. He doesn’t tell her much. Plus I don’t want to pin her against him or anything.”

Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say, or offer, or do to help you. Not that you’re a lost cause, but he’s starting to lose the ounce of hope he had. To him, you’re too good for this. Telling and convincing you of that is a difficult task.

When he leaves you alone, you cry again. At this point, your eyes hurt when you aren’t crying. But hey, at least you’re sleeping nice. The desperate need to escape can do that to you.

viii.

You tell Hyunjin your conclusion at dinner—something he’s finally tricked you into eating. “I think I love him.”

He nods. “Yeah. Didn’t we already establish that?”

You push the noodles around. “I didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

Averted gaze set to the ramen, though his remains scalding. “I don’t know.”

He reaches across the table to regain your focus. He knows the noodles aren’t that interesting. “That’s okay. Look, we can go beat his ass if you want. Or we can hunt him down and hold him hostage-”

He stops when he sees the small hint of a smile turning your lips up. One of his own appears, and in his mind, he’s breaking into a congratulatory dance. The crack in the sadness is exposed, and it’s slowly breaking further. All that’s next is revealing the ravine of happiness.

After dinner, you sit on the couch and decide to watch a movie. Unlike Jeongin, he gives you movie pick. It reminds you of the bitter taste that’s overcome your mouth since he up and left.

Halfway through the movie, some shitty one Jeongin and you watched a few months ago, Kkami barks at the couch. He looks between you and the crack behind it as if to say, “Hello? Get my bone!”

You glance at Hyunjin, who also waits for you to get up and retrieve the dog’s lost bone. Normally you take turns with this task, but he seems to have forgotten it’s been his turn for the last five times.

With a muted sigh, you pull yourself off the couch. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to pause the movie. Jeongin wouldn’t do that.

You lower yourself to look into the dark tunnel. With a blind hand you swipe against the floor. A small object connects with the palm of your hand. You drag it out. A small metal earring glares back at you. You drop it in the pocket of your hoodie—which was a gift from Jeongin as you drifted into adulthood. You return to the bone search with a sting in your eyes.

ix.

Happiness is a fragile object.

At the same hour that Jeongin had said the unthinkable, your phone buzzes loudly against your side. Ultimately, this brings you back to the post-sleep daze as you trudge to answer it. Looking at the contact is the last of your concerns.

“Hello?” Your voice is raw. A long gulp of water would be kindly appreciated.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” This is a voice you’ve never heard before. You pull back to look at the contact and, unsurprisingly, there isn’t one. All that stares back is a string of numbers, unique to this person.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, sorry for the late call. I’m Chan-” you nearly hang up out of defensive instinct, but you let him finish. “I kind of need a favor right now.”

“What kind of favor?”

In the background, there’s a loud retching noise. “Um, so Jeongin, right?” Chan nervously laughs.

“We’re not really-” you start.

He interrupts, “I know. But he’s been talking about you nonstop. He’s really a wimp, you know. Actually, I guess I’m not really asking for a favor. I’m doing you a favor.”

You know where he’s going with this. “I’m sorry, Chan, but I don’t think that’s a-”

“Hush,” he says before his voice distances.

“Y/N? It’s Y/N?” the familiar, slurred voice asks.

He wasn’t going to give you an option. Deep down, you’re kind of grateful for that.

When Chan returns to the phone, he says, “I can send you the address. We’re on the first floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I would offer to come pick you up, but I’m babysitting.” At these final words, he laughs.

You consider waking up Hyunjin to take you—he’s the one with the car—but you think against it when you realize it’s only a five minute walk.

Despite the daytime weather that is clear sky and sun that hugs your skin, the nighttime

version is a little less welcoming. Indeed the air is breezeless, but it’s a bitter cold. Grabbing a hoodie would have been smart, but alas.

Chan opens the door with a smile. “Hi, come on in.”

He points to a closed door, “Jeongin’s in there. He should be decent. Just a little pukey.”

You follow his directions, while he starts for the couch. At least he’s allowing privacy, you think. You knock lightly on the door. After a long trial of waiting with no response, you slowly push the door open.

His cheek is resting on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Through dazed and squinted eyes, he looks at you. “Hi?”

“Hey,” you say, stepping into his space for the first time in over a month. Despite the stain of puke on his shirt, you realize that he hasn’t changed much. What physical changes can someone go through in a month? Well. Everything.

You appreciate your mind for allowing his appearance to never leave. Otherwise, you might have looked at him just now and been disgusted. Because it’s Jeongin, and because of this weird tugging feeling in your chest, you don’t. In its place, you look at him as though he holds the world’s most valuable object.

He tries to sit up, nearly falls on his face, but manages. “Do you hate me?”

“No. I don’t think so,” you squat next to him. The familiar weight of his head meets with your shoulder.

“I shouldn’t say this,” he laughs. His mind is going a mile a minute, but his lips refuse to go at an accompanying speed. “I love you.”

You stare at the top of his head. “I love you too.”

“Really?” he lifts his head. He seems to search your eyes for the similar sparkle his hold.

“Yeah,” you nod. You decide to save your cheesy comments until the morning. No point in wasting them if he won’t remember this when he wakes up.

“Did you know that I,” he says, trying to lift himself to his feet. He leans a little too far on a foot, prompting you to rush and steady him. “thought you and Hyunjin were dating for the longest time.” He laughs again.

You squint at him, “Is that why you disappeared?”

A drunk smile finds his lips and his cheeks glow beneath the bathroom light. “Guilty.”

“You’re stupid for thinking it’d ever be anyone but you,” you whisper, glancing anywhere but him. You could say this to the mirror too. Stupid for thinking it could be anyone but him.

He’s ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to allow his smile to drop a little as he leans closer to your face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.

You watch as he leans a little bit closer. Bit by bit. You even close your eyes at one point. At the last minute, when his breath begins to mingle with yours, he pulls away. “No. Let me brush my teeth first.”

You watch in a stunned silence as he stumbles to the living room. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I could use?” he asks Chan.

Chan responds quietly with, “Yeah, under the sink.”

You beat Jeongin to it, offering him the packaged toothbrush.

“Thanks, love,” he says.

Questionable Jeongin who calls you pet names. You like it, though you’ll try your hardest not to admit it. That’d only feed into his questionable choices.

Minty Jeongin has sobered up a little bit. Instead of kissing you immediately after rinsing his mouth, he stares.

“What?” you prompt.

“Nothing.”

And then he leans in and kisses you. In all honesty, it’s exactly how you imagined kissing him. There’s no stereotypical sparks. It’s just Jeongin, whose lips happen to be on yours. That’s enough. Afterward, though, you acknowledge that Cloud 9 is beneath your feet.

Chan drives you and Jeongin back to your apartment after a difficult talk and one final puke. (The puker looks at you when he feels it coming and asks, “Can you hold my hair back?”)

As you’re helping Jeongin out of the car, Chan leans back in the driver seat and glares a strong eye at Jeonign, “Run away again and I will beat your ass.”

Jeongin chuckles. “Right. Catch me first.” As he says this, he throws his arm over your shoulder for stability. Though, he’s sober enough to walk on his own now. The occasional stumble, sure, but he’s not in dire need of someone to guide him.

You take it as his way of saying he plans on staying.

However, when you make it into the apartment, you don’t bear right to the couch.

Keeping him close will prevent him sneaking out and running away again. That’s a thing of the past, and you’ll make sure of it.

He doesn’t even complain.

“Don’t puke on me, please,” you whisper as you climb into bed. He follows shortly after. Arms naturally find your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

He hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dreamless sleep takes over you, but the entire time you’re aware of his arms and his proximity. In a way, it’s better than dreaming.

It’s even better when you wake up before him. His lips are a pretty shade of pink and for a moment you forget about his eventful night. You press a light kiss to his cheek.

His eyes don’t open, nor does he stir. He’s in that beautiful, drunken sleep. You try not to laugh at the thought of his hangover to come. God, he’s going to be so whiny.

You try to slip out of his arms, but the death grip only becomes tighter. He whines a little, mutters something like, “Don’t go.”

After a few more minutes of just staring at the sleeping boy, boredom takes over. Yeah, staring is nice and all, whatever, but it reaches a certain intolerable point. Ten minutes is that point.

You nudge him, “Jeongin, let go. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“No,” he mutters, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

“Jeongin.”

“What?”

“Let go.”

His eyes finally open. They hold a small sense of surprise, which prompts you to tease, “What? Do you need a breakdown of what happened? Were you seriously that out of it?”

“No. Well, a little,” he stumbles over the words.

“What do you remember?”

“Puking,” he winces as he laughs. There’s that signature headache.

“You don’t remember kissing me?”

Wide eyes stare back at you. His lip shakes as he tries to force words out. “What?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah. You did that.”

“I’m sorry,” he sits up. His vacant arms feel cold.

“No it’s okay. You only kissed me because I told you I loved you,” you sit up to match him.

His head turns to look at you. Tufts of hair stick up in an oddly symmetrical way. “Really? Since when?”

You nod. “Yeah. Time frame is unknown, but I think the feeling might have always been there. So you wasted a month of your life hiding.”

He tips his head, “Hey now, I had a valid reason.”

Your eyes squint at him. “It could have been avoided if you answered my texts. Or Hyunjin’s. Or if you checked your voicemail. Or-”

“Okay, I get it,” he nods, leaning in to shut you up. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say how weird it feels to kiss his best friend—but he’s incredibly excited to get used to it.

“It’s fine. I think. My grades kind of tanked,” you comment, glancing at your desk. The tower of water bottles still stands. Somewhere buried beneath them are your abandoned papers.

“Because of me?” his voice is soft, as are his eyes as he fights back the sting of tears. Of all his intentions, this wasn’t one of them.

This look pains you. “Kinda. I thought I had lost my comfort place.”

In order to disguise his tears, he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. We can make latte art together at the shop and stargaze at stupid hours. Whatever you want.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Is that a promise?”

He sniffles. “Yes. I love you. That’s the second promise.”

xi.

Hyunjin’s reaction is lackluster. A forced gasp as he waves his hands in surprise. “Wow. I totally didn’t give Chan your number or anything,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He called me trying to drop him,” he points at Jeongin, “on me.”

“And you didn’t want to get out of bed?” Jeongin asks, bringing his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips.

“No,” Hyunjin sticks a finger up in defense. “Kkami wouldn’t let me move.”

What he means is: Yes, I didn’t want to get up but allow me to use my dog as a ploy.

You and Jeongin share a glance to confirm this thought. You burst out laughing.

“Do not tell me you’ve developed a couple's telepathy already,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his head back as he begins to pace the kitchen.

Jeongin begs your stare again. He wiggles his eyebrows to pseudo-communicate.

“I’m going to retail therapy,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging his keys off the counter before starting for the door.

A loud fit of laughter fills the air as the door shakes in its frame.

“He’s so overdramatic,” Jeongin manages, wiping a stray tear away from his eye.

You allow this time to watch him intently. All of his details flood over you with definitive clarity. His skin has gotten its first film of tan now that spring is in full swing. A change of season which you had missed out on together. It’s okay, he’ll take you to see the cherry blossoms next year.

“Oh, I found your earring, by the way,” you say when he catches you staring.

“Really? Where was it?” On instinct, he brings his hand up to his right ear. The lobes are not blinged, but it’s still worth checking.

“Behind the couch.”

He gapes at you. “How’d it get back there?”

“How would I know?”

You allow a silence to lay upon you as his face twists to think. All at once, it lights up again, “Ah. It was probably when we had that wrestling match. I didn’t have the back on because my ear was itchy or something.”

Interesting Jeongin. Questionable Jeongin.

Yang Jeongin is many things. Home. Comfort. Love. Above all else, he’s a friend. Who you happen to kiss from time to time.

#posted on april fools because surprise haha #also because i don’t think this is my best but eh #yang jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin imagine #jeongin oneshot #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshot #stray kids jeongin #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #bandaigaeru

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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Tom is already rehashing some things, like too many homages to the nineties run, Zucco's daughter plot point, Beatrice had ideas for societal reform he's taking that and giving it to Dick. It'll probably be half hearted, but it stings that Beatrice left just a few issues ago and she's already completely forgotten for the sake of DickBabs or a love triangle.

Like the thing about the nineties runs is I mean, as much flack as we give various elements of them, there’s so much from that time period that was good? Great, even! Just....myself and the writers seem to have very different opinions on what the most interesting elements of the nineties comics were, oh well.

And omgggggg I’m still so mad about Bea, and its literally Shawn Tsang all over again. The writers keep introducing new, interesting characters, investing just enough time and focus into them to have us interested in them and wanting to see more.....and then they toss them aside to go back to drawing from the same well as always.

And the thing is, this isn’t even about me not really being a Dick/Babs shipper, because honestly, I’m not enjoying the Dick/Kory stuff in what I’ve seen of Titans Academy either, and for the exact same reason:

When they create new characters like Shawn and Bea, they KNOW they’re starting from scratch and need to build interest in those characters from the ground up. So they’re forced to put their best foot forward. There’s no short cut there, if you want people to care about a brand new character you have to give them REASONS to care. You have to make those characters likable, you have to make people WANT to root for them, you have to hook them with intriguing backstories that don’t feel formulaic and new angles that don’t feel just derivative of older characters, and that’s how we got stuff like Shawn’s history as a former sidekick to a villain and now running a support group for rogues trying to turn their lives around, and Bea’s work in societal reform.

But then the second they stop having the patience to build the new characters up enough that the interest in them can actually start to reach the levels that lets older characters last and grants longevity....they just toss them aside and move on....except they never really move on, just backwards. Because the problem with so MANY superhero couples, far from just Dick and Babs or Dick and Kory, is just....how lazy it seems to make so many canon writers. They just fall back on rehashing the same old tropes and just updating popular moments that resonated with fans in the past, now just recreated with a slightly more modern twist but without ever really being anything new.

Even with ships that I’ve never really been sold on in the past like Dick/Babs, I’ve always said, there’s usually nothing stopping me from GAINING interest in them.....its just....the writers have to GIVE ME A REASON TO. And so many of DC’s writers just aren’t even trying. They’re just moving parts around and pushing characters together in various arrangements like everyone’s just a puzzle piece that you can mix and match however you want......and then just basically expecting readers to be interested purely because of who the characters are, or because it hinges on a nice moment that they then milk the hell out of without ever expanding that into building actual STORY around these moments but rather just squeezing each one til they get everything they possibly can out of it and moving on to the next as though its all just about chasing the next soundbite...because it is! LOL.

And honestly, this problem extends far beyond just the Nightwing title or the Batfam or Taylor’s run or writing in particular.....its a company wide issue right now. In fact I would bet just about anything that its a matter of editorial edict, that even before Taylor started his run DC said okay here’s the approach we want everyone taking with their stories right now:

And that’s like.....its all about banking on nostalgia and the comfort of the familiar right now. I think Taylor is drawing all these elements straight from the 90s Nightwing comics, like Blockbuster and Dick having been a cop, etc, because these are the elements of past Nightwing stories that are so well known. Its the same reasoning behind why they put Tim back as Robin and so many of their new characters are just new spins on old faves like Punchline and Harley Quinn, and why they’re pushing all these older ships that haven’t been together in ages and why specific team lineups are reappearing....its because nostalgia is the name of the game for DC right now, and all their writers are just pulling together threads of classic stories that have stood the test of time, figuring anything that landed particularly well with fans in the past will sell with people here and now, and weaving these threads together and brushing over them with a modern social issues veneer.

As an approach, its basically all just about repackaging previously successful story moments and elements with just enough changes or in just new enough a configuration that readers aren’t likely to complain en masse that like “hey we literally already read all this. We’ve already BOUGHT these issues. When we were kids.” Its minimizing creative risk while maximizing monetary profit. Spend as little creative capital as possible outside of anything that’s already been successful in the past and as such is a relatively proven quantity, instead of testing new material that’s an unknown and runs the risk of falling flat and thus not being profitable.

And see, I’d almost guarantee that all THAT, that whole line-wide approach to DC’s storytelling, is because the powers that be looked at the last several years of stories and how many of THEM fell flat with readers, and decided that the problem was they’d BEEN trying too much new stuff and readers just didn’t like it. Because they WERE concentrating on presenting totally new stories and building up new ideas throughout their books.....but readers have been pretty vocal for years now about being disenchanted with most of DC’s major stories. And so DC I think looked at that and came to the conclusion that okay, people just don’t want new right now, they want the familiar.

But like.....DC’s problem IMO was never that they were trying new stuff? The reason so much of their new and original storylines weren’t gaining traction or bringing in readers and kept shedding old readers had absolutely NOTHING to do with them being new and previously unseen storylines, which makes falling back on nostalgia very much a non-solution to entirely the wrong problem.

No, DC’s problem for years has been that they’ve been all about spectacle instead of story. There’s ZERO emotional pay-off to any of their biggest plot twists or character beats, and emotion is LITERALLY what people read stories for. Its all about racing to the climactic action packed finish of every storyline and then immediately resetting everyone back to square one and jumping straight into the next big story, without ever giving the events of any of their stories time or reason to MATTER to the characters.....and if they don’t matter to the characters, our proxies that we’re viewing these stories through, then why should any of it matter to us? Why should any of it linger, dig in roots, resonate with us as moments that left an impact and that we accordingly want more of?

And again, like because I’m a Dick Grayson focused blog I’ve obviously largely been focused on how much I dislike the SPECIFIC reactions or non-reactions to so many of the major beats in his stories.....but it was spread throughout their entire line.

Bruce and Selina almost got married....but why should anyone care outside of Tom King’s title when nobody else seems to, no other characters feel anything about this, and Bruce in none of his other appearances seems the same as ever without any reminder that he just almost got married but then didn’t.....and if the characters don’t ever seem to be affected by or feeling a need to revisit or reflect on recent stories, why should we bother remembering them either?

Jason was dramatically and fucked-upily (yes its a word, I totally looked it up and everything) exiled from Gotham....and then all of that is undone in a single issue with one low-stakes awkward conversation between him and Bruce. Damian quits as Robin and goes off the map and everyone in his family is like “hey don’t we have a littler brother, I feel like we did maybe” for one panel per story arc, and that’s it. Roy’s back from the dead and everybody’s like oh hey cool instead of the kind of return we used to get like when Donna came back and everyone was like oh shit, this MATTERS, because we MISSED you....just like Dick’s death never mattered to anyone but fans of his character because much like I was just saying earlier with them not really giving me a reason TO emotionally invest in Dick and Babs’ relationship if I wasn’t already, same thing with the aftermath of Forever Evil. They didn’t give anyone else reason to emotionally invest in that as something that HAPPENED to Dick and that he was AFFECTED by....because the writers didn’t bother writing him as all that affected by it and it was just like oh he’s a spy now, all that was last year’s content, we’ve moved on, keep up.

And on and on it goes. Ric Grayson was the same problem all over again. Rinse and repeat down the line with everyone from Wally to Donna and etc etc etc.

THAT’S why DC’s stories have been falling flat. It has nothing to do with people not being interested in new ideas, characters or directions, its that’s ALL they were giving us, but it was like just reading wiki summaries of events just alongside pretty art, but no real emotional weight or substance to anything we were reading....and thus, literally nothing that we couldn’t get much the same outcome from if we just...stuck to reading wiki summaries after the stories were over, with no real need to follow along with them. For years most fans have basically just been about keeping up to date with changes in the characters’ lives, but without feeling any real need to watch those changes unfold and play out.

And so honestly I worry we’re just gonna be subjected to a company wide rehashing of old and familiar storylines, directions and character beats, but repackaged and delivered in the exact same way DC was delivering us their new stories and ideas these past years....and its basically going to have the same results, because its the same problem. They didn’t actually fix anything by switching gears, they just shuffled around the actual issue.

And DC’s just gonna be like well now wtf are we doing wrong, we were so sure this would work, everyone LOVES nostalgia right? Did we pick the wrong stories and character beats to bring back?

When really its like......it honestly doesn’t matter WHICH stories and beats they rehash, because its not about them picking the ‘right ones,’ the real keepers, the stories that everyone really WAS eager to see brought back or made new again.....

Its about like, the only reason any of those stories or beats or dynamics stood the test of time and are still familiar and well-known....is because the stories AROUND those moments and ideas gave us reason to emotionally invest in them and retain them as crucial to our view of the characters and things that would resonate and stay with us for a long time.

It was never that any of those ideas or stories were just so innately brilliant that they couldn’t help BUT linger in the overall reader consciousness...it was the fact that we CARED about what happened in those moments and stories.

*Shrugs* But I mean hey, what do I know? I’m just a dude on the internet lolol.

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eintsein · 5 years

Photo

Impostor Syndrome: What it is and how to deal with it

There may be times when you feel like a fraud, like at any moment people will find out that you have no clue what you’re doing and you don’t deserve any of your achievements. You think that you’re unworthy of praise, that you only succeeded out of luck.

This is known as Impostor Syndrome, and around 70% of people have struggled with it in their lives. The problem arises when high achievers fail to internalize their success, i.e. when you attribute your success not to your own abilities but rather to external factors.

Some say that impostor syndrome could be linked to traits like anxiety or neuroticism. Impostor syndrome has also been commonly attributed to behavioral causes like childhood experiences, e.g. being labeled as “the smart one” or “the talented one”.

Another huge factor is how well you think you fit into a certain group, e.g. impostor syndrome is common among people of a racial/ethnic/cultural minority, women in STEM, and international students at US universities.

Dr. Pauline R. Clance was the first to design a scale to measure impostor syndrome based on six factors

The impostor cycle, where someone is given an achievement-related task and they either (a) overprepare or (b) procrastinate

The need to be special/the best

Superhuman characteristics

Fear of failure

Denial of ability and discounting praise

Feeling fear and guilt about success

There are different types of impostors, as categorized by Dr. Valerie Young, an expert on impostor syndrome (note that these categories aren’t mutually exclusive):

I’ve personally dealt with the first two types. I’m fairly certain I can attribute being ‘the genius’ to childhood/adolescent circumstance: I’ve been known as ‘the smart one’ throughout elementary school and high school - every time I made a mistake, it was met with a chorus of ‘wahh jo made a mistake...’ Even last month when I had a mini-reunion with some of my high school friends, one of them said something along the lines of “I like when Jo makes mistakes because it reminds me that she’s human, too.” I can definitely say I’ve overcome that now because, you know, college - everyone’s as smart or smarter than you and works pretty hard.

Being ‘the expert’ is still something I’m still trying to overcome. Last spring when I was applying to internships, I only dared to apply to those where I met 100% of the requirements. I’ve been coding for like 4 years but I constantly think I’m incompetent. It once got up to the point where I literally took 3 similar courses to assure myself that I actually do know how to do full-stack web programming. I still struggle to draw the line between relearning something because I don’t think I really know it, versus learning something for the expansion of knowledge.

How do I deal with it?

Firstly acknowledge that you have impostor-related thoughts Awareness is the first step to changing how you think and how you act.

How does impostor syndrome look like in a school/college setting? Examples include

You refrain from asking questions because you think other students/TAs/the professor will think you’re dumb;

You don’t respond to questions even though you kind of know the answer but you always think your answers aren’t right enough or that they’re simply wrong;

You don’t participate in discussions because you feel that you won’t add any value; or

You prevent yourself from having an opinion because you feel like you have no right to have one.

Reframe your thoughts

Think of their possible effects Do these thoughts help or hinder me? Will anything useful come out of thinking this? Acknowledge that not speaking up may mean slowing your team down or depriving your classmates of potentially valuable insights.

Separate fact from feeling Are they factual or simply a misinterpretation of my environment?

Differentiate feelings of fraudulence from feeling like an outsider Does my work show that I’m incompetent or is the fact that I’m the only female in a team of males/POC in a team of Caucasians make me think I’m inferior?

Stop comparing yourself to other people You might think something along the lines of “there are already so many people who can do what I do but so much better, so what’s the point in even trying?” However, remember that these people were once where you were, and taking even the smallest of actions could help you get to where they are.

Be more forgiving with yourself

Rethink perfection Not everything has to be perfect. Even if you have high standards, not achieving those standards doesn’t make you any less worthy.

Reframe mistakes and identify areas of improvement It’s okay to be wrong or not to know everything. Think of mistakes as learning opportunities and indicators of gaps in your knowledge/understanding of something, as opposed to a negative measure of your self-worth. Being wrong doesn’t mean you’re fake; it just means you have more to learn.

For example, previously I would only answer a question in class if I was at least 90% sure that was the correct answer. That’s a high threshold, and I don’t think it’s very useful for helping me learn and grow. Over the course of a year, I’ve managed to lower that down to I’d say around 60% (50% with coffee lmao).

Collect positive experience

Remember and reflect on praises Think about the efforts you exerted to help you achieve something and the positive responses you garnered when you finally achieved it. Remind yourself of the words of encouragement other people have told you, no matter how small. You could even keep a folder/document/journal to look back on when you feel like a fraud.

Heck, sometimes I feel like my posts aren’t useful or my designs are terrible, but then you guys tell me such kind things and I think, maybe I’m not as bad as I thought.

However, while it’s good to remember the good words people have said, don’t work just for the sake of praise. Focus on the value of the work itself and not the validation that comes from it.

Focus on providing value

Focus on what you can say Instead of thinking about what you don’t know, focus on what you do know and what you can say. Even if what you say isn’t entirely correct or relevant, it’ll get others around you thinking.

Remind yourself that holding back is like robbing the world of your ideas There’s always some value in your words, even if you don’t initially think so. How that value affects the world or other people may differ. For example, when you put forward an idea/thought in a discussion, it could be that

If there were parts that were incorrect, other people might have had the same misconception and are more than happy for the clarification;

Again, if there were parts that weren’t correct, they might not have had the same misconception but now realize that there is a way in which the subject can be misinterpreted, thus allowing them to have a more comprehensive understanding of the subject; and/or

It’ll stimulate further thinking and discussion and raise more questions, especially if other people wouldn’t normally think what you just thought. Then other people could bounce off your idea and form an equally great one.

Take action You won’t feel as much of a fraud if you’re doing something that brings you a little closer to achieving your goals or that adds value to your work.

However, be careful not to overwork yourself. Every time you start doing something, pause and think: is this really important to my progress or am I just trying to prove myself?

Instead of working on too many things, do something outside your comfort zone each day no matter how small. Once you do this, focus on quality (your growth) instead of quantity (the number of things you do).

Also, for those of you who fall into the ‘expert’ category, this also means practicing just-in-time learning, i.e. learning things when you need it, not just to comfort yourself.

I hope that was helpful, and please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions/comments/suggestions :)

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professional-benaddict · 4 years

Note

Tony is a cop and he’s doing a drug raid, tony watches as druggies get arrested but when he sees one cop go to far with arresting a little! Peter by manhandling him and hitting him he takes matters into his own hands and takes the 19 year old boy in with medic Stephen.

tHank you for the brilliant prompt omg I know I said I wouldn't do prompts before my exam is over with but I just couldn't stop myself sksk I wrote this all in one sitting

part two here

Cop Tony, paramedic Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, Littles are known verse, police raids, SWAT teams, drug dealing, guns and violence, illegal drug use, referenced forced drug use, bad trip, whump, angst, comfort, 1.7k

It’s so odd, the feelings he has right before a raid. There’s electricity in the air, and yet it is peaceful and quiet. It is three in the morning, after all. Tony can hear his blood rush in his ear with each beat of his heart. It resembles how noises sound underwater, muffled and distant. And yet, he is as calm as ever, and breathes quietly as he looks at the office window. That’s their main target. They know that a week before, a large quantity of cocaine was smuggled in and brought to this exact location. A mule had told them, and so that was all the evidence they needed to start planning a raid.

Every step has been calculated carefully beforehand. No one takes a step without it being planned. The bullet proof vest pinches Tony in his left armpit, but he can’t reach out to adjust it. He tries to roll his shoulder, and it worsens the pinch before it eases off. His eyes never dart away from the dark office window.

Further down the street, a vehicle approaches. The headlights are turned off, and they are rolling in as quietly as possible, so that the element of surprise is not ruined. If it is, it could mean serious trouble. Suddenly, the danger of it all hits Tony, which it sometimes does when they are all anxiously anticipating the clear to go. His chest feels a bit tighter again, and it’s not due to the bullet proof vest, although it felt a bit small when Tony put it on. Glancing over to see who had arrived, Tony squints his eyes to try and make out who exits the vehicle. All the nerves ease off when Tony recognises Stephen. The two of them have become roommates quite recently. It’s cheaper to share, Tony had insisted. He is definitely not lonely, but he hopes Stephen is.

Stephen is a paramedic, and an excellent one. Considering their work and how it often clashes when responding to calls, Tony has become familiar with the paramedic long before even meeting him in person. But, on one call Tony had finally decided to introduce himself properly. Stephen had apologised for how sweaty his hand was, and blamed the latex gloves for it and Tony was charmed. Somehow, Tony had brought up that he was looking for someone to share an apartment with, only because it is cheaper, and to his surprise, Stephen had said the same. They have been living together for a month, and already Tony feels more at ease knowing Stephen is present, if things were to go terribly wrong.

“Stark, eyes on the target!” Fury whispers harshly into Tony’s earpiece, and officer shifts his gaze back to the office window. He does not bother apologising to his superior team leader, since that would just make more noise.

Then, the action starts. It is like a play. Everyone has their role, and Nick Fury directs the show beautifully. Doors are kicked in, windows are shattered and the different teams enter the building perfectly on cue. The armed SWAT team members go first, and secure the building like terrifying angels. There are no gunshots fired, luckily, but there is plenty of shouting and yelling. Mostly, it is the SWAT team ordering the ones occupying the building to get down and keep their hands behind their heads.

Then, it’s Tony turns and the rest of the police officers to make the actual arrests when the SWAT team has secured the place. Wouldn’t it be nice if Stephen saw him bringing out a handcuffed drug dealer? Tony half smirks at the idea and snaps the cuffs onto three different drug deals. The scene is surprisingly calm, despite the fact that one of the dealers seems to be crying. Judging by the smell, he also shit himself in pure fear.

Raised voices and whimpering cries makes Tony turn his attention to the hallway. The cries get louder, and the officer feels his gut twist at the vulnerable tone. Could that be a child? Or a Little? There was no information about there potentially being Littles or children involved in the briefing.

“Take them outside.” Tony says to the SWAT team member by his side, gesturing to the handcuffed dealers, then makes a few quick strides to get to the hallway. There, he sees another SWAT team member manhandling a Little up against the wall. The boy is clearly a Little with his smaller body combined with a post puberty shape. Even if he is not a child, that is no way to treat a Little.

“Hey, back off! He’s a Little, can’t you tell?” Tony calls out and shoves the SWAT guy back and away from the boy. With the SWAT guy no longer holding him up against the wall, the boy collapses to the floor with a choked off sob.

“He was resisting and disobeying orders.” The SWAT guy explains, his eyes hard as he looks at Tony. In the all black and well-protected SWAT gear, the only thing you can see is his blue eyes and pale eyebrows. If Tony wasn’t feeling the contempt between the police force and SWAT team before, he definitely feels it now.

“He’s a Little.” Tony emphasises. “Of course he is disobeying when you’re towering over him like that.” The police officer points out and the SWAT guy scoffs behind his black mask.

“And that’s why you could never be one of us.” He accuses, and then walks away.

Tony wants to be offended, and wants to memorise the SWAT guy as best as he can to later call him out in front of Nick Fury, but another loud sob by his feet distracts him. Crouching down to the Little, Tony gently turns him on his back. Immediately, Tony is drawn to the boy’s honey brown eyes. They look soft, and innocent, and remind him of the sweetness of brown sugar, or caramelised sugar. But, then his attention is drawn to just how wide the boy’s pupils are, and how the vessels in the whites of his eyes are bulging and looking angry red. Cocaine eyes.

Tapping his earpiece, Tony speaks quickly to Fury.

“Get Strange in here.”

“We didn’t hear a gunshot-“

“No, there’s a Little here. He’s taken or been given crack.”

After Tony says that, it sparks a lot more action and the paramedics are lead inside with some of the SWAT team, considering the drug dealers have not all been escorted out yet. Next to him, Stephen has his work partner, Christine, and they both drop their first aid bags on the floor before crouching down to the floor by the still crying Little. It seems like he is having a bad trip.

“Hey.” Stephen greets to Tony. The officer smiles back shortly before stepping back to let the paramedics work. “Hi, there, sweetheart. My name is Stephen, and this is my friend Christine. What’s your name?”

“P-Peter…”

“Peter? That’s such a pretty name.” Stephen compliments and slips on a pair of powder blue gloves that Christine passes over to him. “Now, Peter, can you tell me what you’ve taken?”

“I… dunno… don’t feel good…”

“I know, bud, and we’ll help you. But, we need to know what you took, so we can give you the right medicine.”

“They… said it was- was snow. Was… white and- powdery. Don’t like it when they sti-stick it in…” The boy stutters out bravely.

“Cocaine.” Stephen says quietly to Christine, who nods and starts readying an IV to insert into the back of the boy’s hand. Then, he turns to Peter again with a smile. “You’re so brave for telling us, thank you. Now, can you tell me how you feel? Are you hurting, sweetie?”

Stephen’s sweet and caring tone is not enough to better the burning rage Tony feels inside when he thinks of what the boy said. Did they force him to use cocaine? To keep him with them? Just how addicted is he? What role does he have in this sick household?

All this and more questions rush through Tony’s mind at a hundred miles an hour, or even faster. It takes two repetitions from Fury for Tony to actually hear him, and move onto his next task. He knows the Little while be in safe hands with Stephen and Christine.

Half an hour later, the show is just about over. Or at least the exciting part of it. The investigation itself will start later in the morning, but for now everyone is pleased with the outcome of the raid. The drug dealers have all been arrested and driven to kept in custody and the SWAT team is packing up as well. Stood out in the yard of the building, Tony sees Stephen and Christine transporting the Little out of the main door on a gurney. He is not just laying on the gurney, but actually strapped in with straps going over his torso. Peter also has an oxygen mask on his face, and seems to be unconscious. Tony jogs over.

“What took so long?”

“He had a seizure, but it was less that two minutes. I think he got a really bad high.” Stephen says where he is pushing the top of the gurney towards the ambulance.

“Can I come with?” Tony asks, before he thinks better of it.

“Stark, you’re supposed to be here, right?” Stephen asks, but his tone isn’t rude. Just pointing out what Tony seems oblivious to at the moment.

“Yeah, right…” The officer sighs, but still keeps walking alongside Stephen. When they reach the ambulance, he helps the two paramedics with loading in their unconscious patient. Once the gurney is secure, Stephen climbs into the back. Christine heads to the drivers seat, and starts the engine. They do not have that much time, so Tony doesn’t hold them back. “I’ll see you at the apartment, I guess.”

Stephen gives him a smile and nod before closing the double doors. A few seconds later, Christine starts the sirens and they drive away into the night, illuminating the streets in red as they go. Once the ambulance is out of sight, Tony heads to Fury with a request.

“Sir? I’d like to take the Little’s statement.”

#my prompts #my fics #little!peter #starker #ironspider #starkerstrange #ironstrange #strangespider #spiderstrange #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark x stephen strange #peter parker x stephen strange #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #ask

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