#I try to ignore them but it’s hard when they’re so god damn prevalent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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Nightwing 79 Review

i said i would and i will. i did like this issue! not as striking and attention grabbing as 78, but i think this issue was meant to be a foundation one, laying out the groundwork for the future. overall, pretty good. also there wasn't enough bitewing. as promised, overly extensive metaphors and me reading too much into things under the cut

i know i've talked about this cover before, but this particular thing is oddly important to me, so i'll talk about it again

this is me, once again screaming about how artists put nightwing in traditionally feminine poses and how every time i see it i just get whiplash. i mean, true, the main reason why is because nightwing is a so often sexualized character, and putting him in these poses just increases the objectification, which is a goal that dc producers have. but there are very few popular male characters that do this. the only one i can think of off the top of my head is deadpool, but that was so obviously a critique and a way to make fun of the media industry. when they draw dick like this, they’re being serious. they’re putting him in appealing poses meant to show him off, and that’s something that’s traditionally only been done to women.

it's a very direct and very loud breaking of traditional gender roles in media, especially for a character as high-profile and historic as dick grayson. colour also plays a factor in this. the entire background is pink. i was absolutely shocked when i first saw it, when the teaser came out, because i cannot think of any comic book covers of male comic heroes this high-profile where pink is even just prevalent in the cover, let alone the majority of the cover. the pink does look beautiful: it offsets and highlights the black and blue of dick's suit gorgeously, but does it with more finesse than orange or red. but the fact that the stylistic choice was made to accent and draw this cover with aesthetic and beauty in mind, completely ignoring traditional hard-set gender rules in art, was a conscious choice and one i wholeheartedly support.

just another example of the sexualization i was talking about. i remember seeing harley quinn in this exact pose in suicide squad.

so far, taylor's been pretty dead-set on bringing alfred to the forefront of importance in this series. he wants people to know how much he loves alfred's character, and how much the butler meant to dick growing up. he was dick's father too. but what i adore is how taylor managed to stress alfred's importance in a way that didn't insult or belittle bruce.

this is one of the best bruce and dick interactions i've seen, and it's done in one simple interaction. in this, bruce is tough and harsh. he knocked dick down hard, but then he reached a hand down and helped pull dick back up. let me analyze their dialogue for a minute

on your feet: this is bruce telling dick to get up. he's trained dick, he knows what the younger boy is capable of, he knows his limits, and he knows what dick can do. this is bruce telling dick i know you're strong enough to get up, so get up and prove me right

are you just going to knock me down again?: surface-level, it looks like dick's complaining. he doesn't like bruce's rough training, and he's tired of bruce knocking him down. but look at his face in this. he's smiling up at bruce, knowledgeable and a little hopeful. he knows that bruce is doing this to help dick better himself, he's completely on board with the rough training, because they both know the rewards are incredible. also, he's teasing. he's bantering with bruce. there's an ease in that joking statement, one that belies affection and intimacy. they've only known each other for a little bit, but they're already slipping into a close familial relationship.

it depends on how fast you learn: this is bruce bantering back. this is bruce not being a stoic, unfeeling asshole. instead, he's shown with the dry humor that a good batman writer knows is a staple of the character. he's teasing dick, telling him he'll basically whoop his ass if dick doesn't learn fast enough. it's incentive for dick to train harder, while also being lighthearted enough to tell dick that believes in dick and doesn't want him to push himself too hard.

gosh i love the titans. also it looks like wally's staring at dick's ass.

this was cute. a prod at dick's silly and playful sense of humor, while not dumbing him down for the sake of a laugh. instead, he's joking about food, which is stuff everyone jokes about. this is the kind of stuff that'll actually make me laugh, instead of just making me vaguely uncomfortable.

bludhaven's almost always portrayed as a cesspool of a city. and to be honest, it really is. but this panel gives the city a meaningful history, while also giving us a reason for why dick moved there.

it talks of a time when people still thought they could beat the monsters. that if they fought hard enough, they could win the fight. it was a tentative hope that you could always overcome hardship.

dick's little "i like that it's still standing" shows how he still believes that, despite what the rest of the world thinks. despite everything that he's been through, dick is still tentatively an optimist, and believes he can fight the monsters of the world and win. it's a beautiful testament to his character, and i'm like that they added his signature element of hope back in. it used to be what he symbolized as robin, and despite his growth and character arc from robin to nightwing, this is one aspect of robin that i'm glad nightwing still has.

remember when i said "things that make me vaguely uncomfortable??" yeahhhh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Shooketh Dick: A Sequel

(the expressions in this series are just,,,,on point)

this was an incredibly sweet and kindhearted thing for dick to do, but i found it kind of,,,,,,,,desperate? maybe that's just me, but let me explain.

dick's suddenly a billionaire, and he has entirely too much money that he knows what to do with. it's also alfred's money, what the man left to him, so dick forever links it with alfred. in addition to that, he's back and bludhaven and looking at it with "fresh" eyes. (at least, from a different point of view since he got shot in the head. then mind controlled.) he's desperate to do something with the money and he's desperate to help the people around him that so obviously needs up, so he comes up with an on-the-fly solution that's a little impractical and a little crazy, but it still helps and still does some good.

to me, dick seems a little lost. he hasn't completely found his balance yet, and he's trying to do things that will. he tries charity, because that's what bruce did and it's what he knows, even though he admitted that he always thought bruce could have done more as bruce wayne than batman.

they have a family group chat guys yall were right.

also, do i think that dick would ever actually get his wallet stolen?? no way in hell, he’d notice someone getting ready to pickpocket him a mile away. but i suppose it’s important to the Plot.

okay this is getting interesting. first blockbuster, now maroni (+ the weird heart stealer guy). i can officially say that i am intruiged

this particular artistic quirk is shown a lot in this issue, and from this art team in general, but i feel like this panel is one of the best examples of it. it was stunning enough to take up a full page, and it’s well deserved.

the way they show dick moving is absolutely brilliant. as a reader, i like seeing these smaller versions of dick getting clearer and in more detail as they come closer to the screen. not only do they show depth in the picture beyond what a simple 3 dimensional piece of art does, it also shows the passage of time.

in addition, it showcases dick’s skill. dick spots these mobsters running after a group of petty thieves. he then, and follow me here, leaps off the roof of one building feet first, springboards backwards off the side of the adjacent building with his feet, gracefully continues his backflip, rights himself, shoots a line with perfect timing: just in time to soften his landing but not slow him down, execute said landing on top of a moving bus, keep running on the moving bus without missing a beat, shoot his grapple, use the grapple to swing, use the swing to build up momentum, then use the momentum to deliver a powerful blow to the mobsters. and he did all that fast enough to catch up with the mobsters, even though he was a ROOFTOP OVER.

d a m n s o n

this panel, the very first in the issue, is also another example of that art style, but a little more distinctive. i love the way they showed dick’s different costumes through the ages, along with him simply growing up. it’s a little heartbreaking, but a lot uplifting to see how far he’s come. thank god he got rid of the red. now all we need is the fingerstripes, and we’ll be golden

discowing my beloved. also i can’t clearly see discowing’s hair but it definitely looks like it’s pulled back. it looks like he put it in a ponytail. guys. guys. dick had a ponytail omg.

he’s having a Hero Moment

are you talking about the city, dick, or are you talking about you? the kgbeast, the court, the joker. dick fell to each one of them, no matter how hard he fought. he won in the end, eventually and with his family’s help. but i think he’s feeling a little low, a little defeated right now. it’s almost like he needs a win, he needs to feel victorious, he needs to feel like he helped someone (hence the food and the hotel room), just because he needs to remember what it feels like.

these lines were supposed to resonate with you, and goddamn they did.

i looked at it from two ways. first, it’s the girl asking, begging nightwing not to hurt them. bludhaven doesn’t know dick the way gotham does, they’re still a little frightened of him. this child was brave enough to step in front of all of the other hurt and homeless kids and ask, to a strange man in a mask, if he was going to hurt them like the other men had. it’s heartbreaking, but commendable, and an echo of the city itself that dick’s decided to protect. they’re bloody and broken and terrified, but still gritty and brave enough to stare what they fear in the eye and ask it not to hurt them.

second, it’s dick seeing the question reflected in himself. recently, he got shot in the head and lost all his memories. while i think that the way ric reacted was a perfectly valid and human response to the situation, i think dick still regrets how callously and rudely he treated his family. then, he was manipulated by the court of owls, then he was brainwashed with a magic crystal by the joker. dick does have a guilt complex. it’s not a big as bruce’s, but it’s there. and right now, with this girl begging her not to hurt them, dick is probably thinking about all the times he hurt people, in control of his own actions or not, bc he “didn’t have a heart.”

little ambitious don’t you think, dick?

also just look at the sunset colours loOK at the they could not make this any more obvious oh my godddddddddddddddddddddddd

in conclusion, i need more of her

#dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing 79 #nightwing 79 spoilers #dc #dick grayson meta #nightwing meta #nightwing 79 meta #dc meta #river thinks too hard

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koholinthibiscus · 4 years

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My Tumblr Journey and mental health

What the hell is this? Where am I? What do I do and how do I do it?

You often hear of people getting to their 30′s and feeling more comfortable in their skin and just owning, accepting and loving themselves. Well, maybe it’s because I need psychotherapy, and maybe it’s because I’ve come into adulthood in a period with huge economic and political upheaval as well as a pandemic; but I don’t feel that way. I feel simultaneously old and young. clueless about young things (like tmblr) and clueless about old things (like mortgages... even though I have one)

I’ve deleted Facebook and use twitter sparingly these days so the reason joined this site is to purely vent. To write my thoughts out and send them into the internet ether to languish, probably ignored. But just getting it out might make all the difference to my physical and mental well being so I’m just going to give it a shot and see where things go.

I feel terribly alone and isolated. I have a type of social anxiety that you probably wouldn't notice. You might just think I’m an idiot or a bitch. You might barely acknowledge my existence. I’m pretty average so I may not register. But when I’m done talking I will think and think and think about it. How did I come across? why the fuck did I say that? You think I’m a fucking idiot don’t you? I will simply torture myself forever and ever. And I avoid social interaction, especially with new people, as much as I can. I can just about manage in a workplace setting but all my energy for this is taken up with that.

I feel unheard, unseen and unsatisfied. I feel a lump in my throat and a weight in my chest. I feel exhausted and headachey most of the time. I can’t bear this current situation. I have a visceral hate for my country. I can’t bear sad news. I can’t cope with news that implicates humans as ignorant, unsympathetic, inhumane creatures. I feel deep sadness at the existential threat our planet faces and confusion and sadness when I realise that barely anyone in my real life feels the same urgency and guilt. I have changed my lifestyle (probably not enough) to try and alleviate the guilt but it hasn’t worked.

So I get into things to try and distract myself; fandoms, stories, subjects, video games, novels and I feel sad about it because I feel useless “not good at it” or that they’re a waste of time. I hate myself so much that my hobbies make me sad. How stupid is that? I’ve recently been getting into DnD during lock down and watching critical role. I enjoy it but it makes me sooooo sad and jealous that I don’t have a strong friend group like that who can enjoy playing DnD with the same level of fun, ease and camaraderie. It literally hurts my heart and I’ve been feeling weird for days. So I’ve tried to make myself better by consuming things. I’ve bought a new set of dice and bought some unrelated books.

I skip from one subject or thing to the next feeling unsatisfied and discontent. I don’t practice things, I don’t finish things. I give up. And I feel like I’m giving up at life. I am lazy and stupid. My hobbies, likes and interests feel like a plaster over a gaping wound and was working but it’s not any more. Getting lost in a fantasy world just makes me feel sad I can’t create my own or be with a group of friends, either on line or on person where I can create together.

I am petrified of parent hood. I have an amazing 3 year old. She is a marvel. But I have a constant dread of failing her. Doing too much, doing too little. I want her to strive for happiness. Take on hard things, work at things till she’s good at them, whatever it may be. I honestly don’t care what as long as she enjoys it, has a passion for it and is ultimately happy. I want to push her, but I don’t want to push her too much. I worry about sending wrong messages. I worry about not doing enough with her. I do not want to bring her up the way that my mother brought me up. I am terrified of repeating the same mistakes.

I’m ultimately a kind person who is trying their best but can’t unleash my true potential due to depression, anxiety and self-confidence issues. I get so angry and sad at people who don’t follow the same ideals as me. which.... isn’t ideal. I can’t stand TERFs, racists, ableists, misogynists, right wing people, climate change deniers, ignorant people. I can’t stand it when people think that poor people only have themselves to blame. I hate capitalism and colonialism. I want to change the way the world operates even if it is to my detriment as a white CIS English women living in comfort. I feel trapped in suburbia where nothing changes and no one looks or is different.

I don’t mean to fetishize certain communities with that statement and I reliaze that it’s probably ignorant of me to suggest that everyone is the same too, given that I struggle to interact with people. And I’m not suggesting that I’m some sort of special flower or that ‘I’m not like other women’ (eeww) either, I know there are people out there I would probably get on with but like I say, I struggle.

It frustrates me when people don’t feel the same way politically. I think that people’s politics are based on their morals so I struggle with conservatives for example. I don’t understand them or where they come from. I want things that people need to be owned by the public and free at the point of access, healthcare being the main one and I fear for the future of the NHS. Yes, even if it means higher taxes (but I obviously want the super rich taxed more) I don’t believe billionaires should exist. I want universal basic income. If the human race keeps breeding, if we keep suffering from pandemics, if we progress technologically to the point where mechanization is even more prevalent, we will not need people to have jobs. We need UBI to level the playing field. And I want a vegan world. All of the above makes my head swim with anger and despair. What type of world will my child have to endure when she gets to my age? I fucking hope it’s better than this. I can honestly say that I believe I am on the right side of history with my politics. It is ultimately about being kind and humane. But no... I’m probably seen as a soft SJW snowflake keyboard warrior twat by my family (which is why I went off facebook). Even though I have a masters in Gender studies and a career in social justice work, but sure, I’m just after the ‘internet points’ or want to look ‘woke’. I feel like not many people truly know me and if they do know all of the above and don’t like what they see, I don’t know man, that kills me. I want people to think well of me. I want people to think I am a good person.

I could yap on for ages about this honestly but it would make little sense.

I think I wanted to start this as a place to get my feelings down because I am starting a journey of therapy soon. My sessions should begin in September but I feel the need to get stuff out now. I’m having a bit of a shit time in my head right now and I felt like I would burst.

I’m already worried that I will appear stupid and self centered. There is nothing particularly wrong with my life. I have a good job that I love but am also petrified of it and of getting it wrong so I self sabotage, worry and don’t believe in my abilities and I’ve been doing that since college. (I need to un pack how I feel about work and my actions around it, I have a lot of thoughts, maybe for another time)

I pick the spots on my face till they become angry red welts, I pick the skin around my nails till they get infected and then I hate myself for how I look, even though it was my fault in the first place. I don’t shower, don’t wash my face, don’t get enough sleep then look in the mirror and see my greasy lank hair, baggy grey eyes and bad skin and I just hate myself. Is this an analogy for the entirety of my personality? I am my own worst enemy and I need to give myself a fucking break. Easier said than done.

Things to unpack in therapy:

My work

My politics and how I interact, deal with people who don’t feel the same way as me

My child hood and family dynamics - It’s fucked up y’all.

My Child

My husband

My past relationship

The sick thing I do at night when i think about horrible things, like the death of my child for no god damn reason. (Is it punishment?)

It’s frustrating being so aware of my issues and not feeling able to do anything about it.

It’s probably an effect of lock down but I have been feeling really bad consistently for a very long period of time now and it’s exhausting. I always have peaks and troughs, feel great to OK for sometimes a good few months then it just comes down on me like a bag of hammers and I feel like death for 2-4 weeks.

I’ve been having those hiccups more often and for longer. I’m so fucking tired man. A couple of months ago a I had a terrible headache for 4 days, could barely move and felt tearful all the time. I just thought it was a migraine attack at the time (which I very very rarely have) but I coincided with a particular event that I’m not ready to talk about (It’s really not that juicy it’s quite fucking pathetic actually) and I think it was a major depressive episode.

I think I’m done now, I’m emotionally exhausted after reading this through and my throat hurts from trying not to cry. Maybe this is the start of my tumblr journey maybe I’ll delete it all in a few days I don’t know. I had to try something.

#mentalhealth depresson anxiety tumblrnovice isthishowhastgaswork?

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insane-control-room · 5 years

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The Concept, Chapter 5

Ao3 Link

It’s been too long since I’ve gone on.

Warning: Contains themes and scenes that are not suitable for everyone. Specifics are: overdose, suicidal ideation and related, depression, and insanity

Henry learned rather quickly the place he found himself in was hell.

Then again, he knew it from the time he worked there, but the disheveled state of the building made the tyranny of the aura all the more prevalent.

There were locked doors, broken and flickering lights, creaking floorboards, the massive ink machine he remembered Joey tinkering with and creating.

Joey Drew. The name left a sour taste in his mouth.

Henry easily powered up the machine

He almost jumped out of his skin when a plank fell from the ceiling, cursing it out and sputtering, hand gripping his heart.

The damn cutout that just… appeared, out of nowhere, almost like it was set up, it’s black, dark, venomous pie cut eyes following him, trained on him, a vice on his body.

He looked beyond it.

He stiffened, walking up to the… thing mechanically, no choice but to investigate, to try and piece together the shattered bits of clues.

The… the sight of Boris’ mangled and vivisected body. It was sick, something very wrong.

Preternatural, twisted a fairytale gone south faster than the stock market crash of ‘29.

Henry did not have very many good memories of working here, but his old desk brought in a wave of nostalgia. But from what? Maybe it was just the joy of animation. Of bringing things to life with his hands.

To grow and create.

Back in the day, Joey made him stay late with him to work on animations.

Pushed him, encouraged his workaholism.

Work hard, work happy.

Then it got worse.

Work hard, work harder.

Happiness ebbed away, and stress alongside exhaustion strained into the job.

More and more effort, pushing himself harder, forcing himself to his limits.

Work your hardest.

Looking at the doodle on his desk, the doodle he had frantically covered, marked with a note for Wally to hide it, he realized how much time he wasted there. Cowering in some strange version of friendship and fear.

Mostly discomfort.

The friend that overstayed his invitation.

The invitation being into Henry’s life.

He tried to force him from his family, pushing the idea of a ‘studio family’, neglecting his own family, his wife and his daughter.

Sure, Diane and he did not last - but he had Linda.

His daughter, who he ignored and pushed away while he worked for Joey. He should have spent more time with her instead of leaving her with Diane or with one of her grandmothers, he should have bonded with her more.

He realized that when he left.

His daughter was so happy, such euphoria coursing through her when he told her that he quit, and she had taken him by the hand to spin around their living room with him, chanting, “daddy, daddy, you’re finally home!”

Now, for some inexplicable, insane, god damned reason, he was back. He was back in the place he lied to himself about. The studio was never anything good, it was a prison, a prison sealed with stockholm syndrome, a jail cell with the most cunning locks.

And here, back in this Hell… something was so very wrong.

Starting up the machine was easy.

The ritual was strangely familiar, as though he had performed it before, but maybe in a vague dreamlike state.

Was it deja vu?

No, he had definitely done this before….

______

Red eyes.

Angry, hurt, red eyes.

Henry stared at Joey. Something was off about him.

_____

The change in the man was obvious now. There was no doubt about it, he was changed. Skin dark like black tea, eyes red like rubies, magenta glasses, a tall stature on his shoulders yet bound to the wheelchair, black jacket, white pants, all familiar and yet so strange.

“Joey?” he murmured. The man ignored him pointedly, eyes narrowing. Red eyes, red, eyes, alexandrite red eyes. Whose were those? Whose lanky body? “... Johan?”

The man before him froze.

Then he smiled nervously, a smile Henry knew very well, but why?

“Let’s talk.”

____

“You promised one more run,” Henry growled, jabbing a finger into Joey’s chest. He rose a hand in a worried protest, a hand that Henry plucked out of the air. Their eyes met, Joey’s puce fearful and confused, he did not recall making such a promise. Henry’s second hand grasped his wrist, and he twisted. Joey howled, back snapping straight with the pain he could not escape from. Seconds, agonizing seconds, passed, and with a sud- SNAP. Joey felt like he could not breathe.

Henry’s hands were on his other wrist, bringing it down onto the counter with a crack. Johan wordlessly howled, doubling over on his broken wrists.

“That should teach you not to lie,” Henry growled. Joey, on his knees, gasped in air as tears spilled over his cheeks painfully. “I expect you to finish on the next run, or if I were you, I would fear for my hands.”

Joey nodded soundlessly and slowly, shaking and shivering.

Henry walked to the door, slipping through it without a word. Johan, stuck in his kneeling position, lowered his forehead to the floor, allowing his tears to drip through his lashes.

Shakily, a smile spread on his lips. Soon it will all be over. Soon it will all end. He would be forgiven! What a benevolent master Henry was! How kind!

Forgiveness!

What a remarkable, impossible, wonderful thought!

___

Dear reader, the next moments are no fault of mine. They are the result of another, whom despite pleading, constantly put aside their wellbeing. And so, it is with a bitterness I divulge the plaintiff cry of self inflicted impairment. This is their fault in two major ways.

I am merely relaying it.

He regretted deleting the Numerica.

He had to have something.

Everything hurt, his wrists ached, more than with the pain of the chains that normally enveloped them, tight and cruel.

He wanted something to relax his mind.

He wanted it.

He NEEDED it.

He groaned.

His closed eyes snapped open, a grin lopsidedly spreading on his lips.

He knew where he could get something of the sort.

He rummaged in another’s dimension, pulling his hand back.

In it, yellow pills.

Half of one was one dose, right?

Shrugging, he tipped the whole thing into his mouth.

He smiled and let the drug take over.

Colors, brighter than he had ever seen in his life, due to his impairment, splashed over his vision. Pain vanished. Ink dripped from his lips.

The colors heightened.

Brighter.

Whiter.

Maybe death would be good.

He did not regret stealing the pills, he never would see him again, anyways.

Johan’s final gift to him, his death with the other’s instrument.

He groaned as the pain from overdose kicked in.

His stomach throbbed and his head ached.

Pain hit every nerve.

He wanted to curse him. To curse them.

But he could not, he was powerless, and he felt tears prick his eyes, only the bright green of the numbers on his vision.

They dripped down the sides of his face, slipping into his hair, shame burning into him again. He cried out in agony, needless needles jabbing into every muscle, tearing him open from the inside out like claws, ripping into every single bone and tendon, a gluttonous devour of any clean feeling he held.

He wanted to die as the pain coursed through him, but he knew he would not be able to.

He choked on his tears, unable to move as the pills wrecked his body, forcing him to scream out, his voice raw and aching, trapped more than before.

He gasped and sobbed, hating himself.

Hating his weakness.

Hating everything about himself.

Pathetic.

He tried to curl up to let the pain ebb away, but the pills kept him still.

He hated himself.

He closed his eyes, and sobbed.

Why did they do this to him?!

Why were they giving him more pain than he was in already!?

Did they hate him?

They must, right?

There was no other explanation.

Confusion sank into him. He thought they loved him. Did… did they never love him?

He felt his shoulders slump.

No one could love him.

Obviously.

He was just a glitch bitch, a worthless shit, empty code, useless machinery. Pathetic, broken, a toy. Nothing. A zero.

They were right to hate him.

He was nothing good, nothing kind, a liar, a drug addict, a murderer, and now, a thief.

Pathetic.

Such a blight.

A disgrace.

He moaned, hand clenching on the pill bottle.

He wanted the pain to end. He wanted it to all go away.

He wanted everything to go away.

He wanted to die.

And this was a reminder he could not.

He hated himself.

____

Henry’s lips kept taking his attention. He had to focus, he needed to barter this right.

“I can do it in a thousand runs,” Johan assertively insisted. Henry shook his head. Joey scowled. “How about you try to repair our world using only ones and zeroes, huh?”

“I’m not the one who committed genocide,” Henry growled, his hand fisting on the table. Johan swallowed roughly. “Fifty at most.”

“Fifty!” Johan exclaimed, disgusted. “Fifty runs will never be enough for me to code even half of south america!”

“Then a hundred will suit you just fine!”

“Seven hundred fifty!” Johan lowered.

“Seventy five!” Henry challenged, eyes narrow.

“Eight hundred!” Joey insisted.

“A hundred,” Henry returned, not planning on conceding.

“Seven hundred is my lowest,” Joey grumbled, eyes looking over Henry, slitted and frustrated. “You can’t rush art.”

“This isn't god damned art!” Henry roared, leaping to his feet. “This is my goddamn life!”

“It’s my goddamn life, too!” Joey seethed. “Y-You don’t understand what you’ll be taking from me! People I love, people I car-”

“What fucking people!?” Henry demanded in an explosion, eyes wild, hands slamming onto the counter, making Johan jump back in fright and shock. “Other yous!? Is that it!? Fuck that, when this is over I’m going to make sure you never see them again! They’re distractions! All of you, every fuckin’ version is a liar! That’s probably why you get along so nice and dandy, oh, he’s a murderer, that’s fine, we all killed someone last week! Is that it!? And how many of you share the same fucking deviance?! How many of you are sods, huh?!”

“Henry!” Joey sputtered, flushing and grabbing at his heart pin. “Y-you’re bisexual, how can you say such a thing? How can you be so, so crude?”

Henry scowled, and then stopped, sighing and slowly lowering himself back onto his chair. Joey watched him with hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, sincere. “I didn’t mean to say that, I got mad and I wanted to bother you. What I said was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Johan murmured, sitting down in his wheelchair, his hands wrapping around his cup of tea. Henry’s cold hands pressed over his, and their eyes met. Joey’s lips quirked up in a small smile, Henry’s following in his smoother fashion. “Six hundred?”

“Two hundred.”

“Five hundred is the lowest I can do,” Johan shook his head.

Henry sighed, and stuck out his hand.

“Five hundred it is, then,” he said, sealing the deal with a shake.

Johan made his way to the door, opening it, paining a blue tack on the wall.

“This is run one.”

_____

Johan messed up. Repeatedly.

The artist was trying so hard, and Henry continuously got madder and angrier with him.

He wanted to please him so badly.

To be good!

He could be good!

He could!

Please, believe him, he could b-be good….

He offered Henry runs every time he failed.

With bright hopeful eyes.

Tears in them.

He was lowered, down, down, down, to 414.

____

He could not move properly. Something familiar, horrifically, hideously familiar, pressurized his chest. He was… on his knees? Something restraining him from falling. His blue black hair was splayed everywhere, messily spiking over his eyes. He swayed his head side to side, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings. A wry, tight grin crossed his lips, like someone tearing through paper unevenly with a knife.

Right.

He gave a hollow laugh, whistling to himself and swaying.

He could wait.

He was patient.

He would wait for the good doctor.

Eventually, the door clicked unlocked and swung open.

Footsteps waxed near him, and he continued to whistle and sway, head rolling on his shoulders and chest like a twisted pendulum.

The footsteps paused, and he tensed, a grin mangling his already eerie features.

Silence.

“Boo!” he sharply snapped his head up, jolting at the doctor before him, wild eyed and beaming maniacally. He dropped his notepad on the floor, the restrained man sticking out a leg to cover it and pull it back. The doctor, with his hand on his chest, glared at him as he cackled and hooted with laughter. “Aw! C’mon doc! You’re as white as a ghost!”

“Enough, Ramirez,” the doctor ground out, trying to get back his notebook. Joey grinned at him, kicking up the pad, bouncing it off his shoulder and catching it in his mouth. Quickly standing to full height, he towered over him, grinning smugly. “Joey Drew.”

“Fine, have it your way, Dr. Stein,” Joey grumbled tossing the book. His terrifyingly happy demeanor shifted to one of melancholy, and he sat back on the floor, straight jacket making him feel horribly itchy. “What’re you here for? To gloat?”

“No.” Henry flatly replied. “The lobotomy procedure was cancelled.”

“Really?” Johan’s head slowly rose, eyes wide with wonder. “And… and that means no split brain treatment either?”

“Neither.”

“Oh, thank you,” he breathed, sagging against the wall. “Oh, Doctor, thank you.”

“Are you going to take your medication without fighting this time?” Henry questioned blandly, measuring out a thick, black liquid, into a thin, cylindrical tube. Joey stared at it in disgust, hesitating before shaking his head in the negative. Henry grimace. “Take the goddamn medicine, Joey.”

“I don’t want that,” he grit out painfully, eyeing it with disgust and some fear. Henry approached him swiftly, holding him down on his shoulder. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye, flushing from embarrassment. “I’ll do it for a kiss.”

“Just take the it,” Henry growled, pushing the vial against his lips. Johan pursed them. “Come on already! Take it!”

He shook his head.

Henry’s nails dug into his shoulder, the glass painful through his lips. Joey reluctantly, feeling contempt toward himself, parted his lips.

“There we go,” Henry hummed, running a hand up and down his shoulder. Joey shuddered, his eyes squeezed shut. The taste of the ink… ink? What ink? INK.

With a skreech, he jolted back to reality, screaming, aching, trembling, thrashing.

He made sure he had command of his limbs, sharply lifting his hands and waving them in his face. He curled up, and cried.

Was that real?

Was his entire world a drug induced nightmare? Were the people he knew here just… just other people in an asylum? Was it all fake? It was, wasn’t it? There was no explanation. He was alone.

No.

He refused to believe that he was nothing more than a dream, he was real.

Think of the others.

More proof he was fake.

No.

He was real.

Nothing could stop him.

He was nothing, and nothing would stop him.

No.

He had to believe.

Belief never got him anywhere.

No.

He had to hope.

He had to hope, as belief abandoned him.

Hope was all he had, and he would use it.

He set his fingers to the keys.

Hours passed in his work. He slipped away to visit the others, having completed the necessary amount for the run, proud of himself.

In a few runs, he would have to meet with Henry.

He was not scared, he finally reconciled with his closest, and he was ready to face one of them again, he was ready.

He saved, and waited for Henry to come.

He fidgeted, an unfamiliar dull aching permeating his body.

What was wrong with him?

He coughed, feeling the throb from the simple action he was all too used to.

What was happening?

He tried to focus on the clock. It made him smile. Time worked again. It was a big accomplishment on his end, even if he saw it as a small feat. It was difficult, but he had done it.

What was wrong, why did he feel so… off?

. .. …

Pain spiked into all his being, every limb screaming, each cell shrieking.

He screamed, darkness flaring through his sight, and he felt the wheelchair dissipate from under him.

All he could feel was pain.

Agony seeped into every pore, his lungs burning, his eyes welling, his chest heaving as torment ripped though his body.

He could not move, all he could do was feel nightmares claw at his eyes, false memories of needles jabbing into him, tight restriction holding him in place as fire swept through him, razing every nerve.

“Johan! Are you alright!?” Henry’s voice cut through like a knife. Johan felt a strong arm on his back pulling him to sit. He felt himself get carried to the couch when it became clear he would collapse again. “Oh, Joey, you weigh less than ever before… Joey, pal, wake up, I’m going to get you something to drink, stay put.”

Joey groaned as he forced his bleary eyes open. To his relief, most of the apartment was still in place, and it seemed no progress was lost. Just a bit longer, and he would finish.

He sighed contentedly, leaning back against the couch, gripping it with one hand. Solid. The sensation made him want to laugh and cry out of elation and anticipation.

“Alright, Joey, I’m ba- holy shit!” Joey’s eyes rose to view the wide eyed stare of the other animator. His gaze was drawn to the top of his own head, following Henry’s look. He looked down at the hand on his lap shamefacedly as he caught the merest glimpse of silver. Silver! The other hand hastily shoved it off his forehead and back, not wanting to see any of it. He felt so young, but he felt so tired and ancient, and his body showed it. Henry rushed over to him, gentle, broad, calloused hands slipping through the locks in wonder and with great curiosity. “Your hair… it’s not black anymore. Or even blue.”

“Sorry it’s ugly,” Johan muttered, reaching to his knees and pulling them to his chest, Henry making an odd noise in his throat. “The cause of it is likely the fact that as our world becomes more filled, and as time measuring objects like clocks and calendars appear, I started to show the age I would be. I don’t suppose I aged very well, did I?”

“Joey, listen to me,” Henry’s voice was strange. Joey slowly looked up at him. “This isn't the first time I saw you with white. This is the first time it stuck. And it’s okay.”

“No it’s! It’s!” Joey made a frustrated sound, gritting his teeth. “I don’t! Want! To die! I don’t want to grow up! I’m still twenty two, no matter what my body looks like! I! I! I!”

“Calm down!” Henry soothed him, taking his hands off his face, where he was not even aware he was clawing at in his panic. "No, hey, don't worry about it! I think it... it looks nice! It suits you. And the tips… the tips are still black and blue.”

“Really?” Joey asked quietly, not wanting to grow a false hope. Henry nodded. “I’m certain I look like a buffoon.”

“Not at all,” Henry chuckled. “It’s kind of like a paint brush.”

He ran his hand through it again, Joey leaning into the gentle caress.

Henry’s hand continued to make its way through his hair repeatedly, until Johan felt his eyes slowly drifting shut. Henry’s hand slipped to his jaw, turning his head gently, until they were face to face. They looked at each other in their daze for a long moment, then eyes widened, and they both snapped away, muttering excuses to no one, Henry’s flush more apparent than Joey’s due to their skin tones.

“Here.” Henry muttered, thursting the cup of water he got at the other old gentleman, the liquid circling the glass as centripetal force tugged on it, a small amount leaping over the side, the drops landing on Johan’s hand. Henry’s breath seemed to freeze, and he shoved the cup into Joey’s hands. “Now, drink it, and don’t stop once you start. Doctor’s orders.”

“You... alright there, Hen?” Joey asked, lowering the empty glass, wiping his lips with a small napkin that moth brought him. “Thank you, Gracehopper. Henry, you look… hungry? Is there something I can get you to eat?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Henry shook himself out of it. “Uh, should we see how else you aged?”

“Sure,” Joey sighed in defeat. “It’s not like I’ve ever had go-”

A rumbling tore them from their conversation. Joey groaned.

“It’s destabilizing again. You should go.”

“Fine.”

Joey glitched himself into his wheelchair as Henry made his way to the door. Joey stirred before his computer before looking over at the man.

“I’m almost done,” he called out behind him. Henry paused, and left.

______

And then he was done.

He wept.

He cried his heart out.

He sobbed and shook.

Since, when all is finished, the shock hits.

Henry stood before him as he cried.

He hugged him, awkward from the wheelchair.

“Ten more runs,” Henry reminded, and Johan nodded and wiped his tears. Time to make them last. Hold each precious moment, for he will never have it again.

____

Johan waited quietly for Henry to appear.

When he did, they strolled onto the streets of Manhattan, weaving through the people.

People, something that had been missing for thirty long, long years.

Still, thirty years of life stolen.

Henry and Joey knew it was time to set things right.

They came back to the studio, the ink machine powered on, the computer on, and the world turning to black and green.

Joey typed in the formula with tears in his eyes.

Tears of hope.

The reset button appeared, and he and Henry silently approached it.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME, JOHAN!” a voice that never was roared, calling the name like a mockery. “LISTEN TO ME, I AM GREATER THAN YOU WILL EVER DREAM TO BE!”

Pipes swirled up onto his ankles and ink welled against his limbs, restricting and grasping him, pulling him back to hell. He cried out, and Henry turned back to ask what the matter was, and his eyes widened as he saw Johan, being pulled back even as he dissipated, an arm wrapped tight around his throat.

Henry let out a battle roar, running back, punching the attacker in the face.

The man, for man it was, swore and stumbled back as Johan wheezed and typed a code as fast as he could to get him and Henry back to the button, and paused everything. Henry looked back at the man behind them frozen in time.

He stared at him.

“Joey?” he said, pointing at the default with confusion, eyebrows quirking at Johan.

“No.” Johan grit out. Henry scowled, pieces falling into place. He forced Johan to face him, the dark man refusing to meet his eyes. “What is your problem?”

“You have to deal with him,” Henry insisted. Joey bit his lip and looked to his shoes. “That man, that thing, that, that monster, he’s your problem to deal with. If you don’t get rid of him, he will always be a part of you. You will never be comfortable with who you are as long as you don’t face him. So go! Fight back!”

“Forget it,” Johan muttered, wheeling himself to the reset button. Henry let out a huff of frustration, going over to join him. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry curtly answered. “And you?”

“Yes,” he lied. He put his hand to the grey button, watching it fade into a deep indigo. He looked to Henry with a tilt of his head. “Your hand, if you please.”

Henry, saying nothing, placed his hand on the button as well, gold flowing from where his fingers met the code. It entwined with the blue, merging and dancing as one, sapping and strengthening each other, growing and changing and making something completely unheard of. There was a hum, and the button glowed green.

Active.

“Are you ready?” Henry inquired, his fingers twitching on the button, starting it.

“I am,” he fabricated. Inhaling sharply, he said, “Let’s do this.”

“Just so you know,” Henry’s hand tightened into a fist. “I don’t want to see you again. After whatever this is. I never want to see you ever again.”

Johan felt his heart break.

Again.

Something was wrong.

“Okay,” he whispered, ignoring the pang racing through his body.

“Well?” Henry prompted right hand pushing Joey’s left onto the button. “Click it now. On the count of three.”

The world was going to end, and Johan found it shoved in his face.

“Three!”

“Henry! Please, please, wait wait wait!”

“I thought you wanted us to end it all?��

“I don’t know!” he wailed.

“Two!”

“Please no! God, please wait, please, no, wait!”

“One!”

“Henry!”

He pushed their hands onto the button, slamming it and making the bright green glow gleam and glitter and glint and spread, time slowing, Johan able to see the numbers slowly making their way to the activated event.

He stared at the green numbers, eyes widening, and then

NOT THE FIRST TIME.

He gasped.

NOT THE SECOND TIME.

N-no… no, no, that does not make any sense, unless he had…

THIRD TIME.

He deleted his own memories.

Tears dripped down his face, memories flooding him, leaving him trembling, shaking, a tsunami of horror and disgust.

“Are you okay?” Henry’s voice asked him.

“Are you okay?” he asked twice before then.

Johan could not breathe.

Memory wipe?

Again?

Should he do another?

A fourth?

He looked back at the default Joey.

Henry was right, he would never leave him be if he did not fight back against it.

They stared at each other.

With a sharp turn, Johan wiped his memor

Johan Ramirez woke up in an abandoned apartment in Brooklyn.

He went to work and quit it.

He built a studio called “Joey Drew Studios”.

He built a computer.

He built an ink machine.

He deleted himself.

He destroyed his world.

He rebuilt everything, so slowly.

He stared at the default Joey.

Memories flooded back.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

How many times will he repeat this?

How many times will he meet the same people?

If he moves on… what will change?

He would have only met others twice, if met at all.

Could he move on?

He hesitated.

“Joey?” Henry asked for the first time.

A chill ran down his back.

Everything will change.

It is changing now.

He turned his wheelchair slowly to face the fraudulent version of himself, sitting high and proud as he rolled to him.

To it.

To nothing.

He was the mother fucking Johan “Joey” Drew Ramirez, and nothing could take it away.

“You. Are. Not. Real.” he forced from his mouth.

The copy grinned.

“You never were.” he breathed, closing his eyes. “I am me. I am Joey Drew. You are not. You are coding that broke off of the original, because I was afraid of who I was not.”

He rose his head and stuck his chin forward, hands… perfectly steady.

“I’m not good looking. I’m not confident. I’m not smart.”

He inhaled, long and slow.

“And that’s okay. I don’t need to be.”

“I have been told that I am kind. That I am funny. That I am okay. You are not.”

He opened his eyes. The man before him wavered and snapped.

“I love who I am. And you are not me. And I deserve everything I’ve made for myself.”

He turned back around, and wheeled back to Henry.

No more memory wipes. No more feeling wrong.

Meant to be like this.

He was proud of who he was.

He shined his pin on his palm, smiled, and reset with Henry along him.

“Hey, so,” he called to him in the vortex, everything being pulled to them. “Henry, can… do you think we can meet up after all this? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Henry looked at him.

“I know you said that you don’t want to see me again, but… it’s important.”

“Can’t you tell me now?” Henry asked, testily. “While this is all ending?”

“This has happened before,” Joey told him. “All of this.”

“Really now?” Henry asked, curiosity sparked. “Among everything else that’s happened from what you’ve done, this one might just take the cake.”

“Will you meet me?” Johan questioned, tilting his head. “Tuesday, at the old park?”

“I’ll meet you in nineteen thirty, eh?” he smiled at Joey. “Change some things up?”

“N-no,” Joey shifted. “As soon as possible. I’ll probably… go home.”

Henry gazed at him.

“Tuesday at the old park it is,” he quietly affirmed.

Joey smiled at him.

He smiled back.

“I love you, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry muttered. “Love you too.”

Joey blinked, then beamed as reality warped around them.

Things were going to be great.

The end.

No.

He still has so many problems.

So much delicious fear, insanity, pain.

He’s not done yet.

Not by a long shot.

He has a job to do, he has a world to fix, and when all is said and done, it will end.

And it is not the end.

It cannot be….

Three pairs of feet surrounded the code that once was the body of Joey Drew.

It will not be...

“Well?” A wavering, glitching voice prompted. “Do we know who’s next?”

Not for a long long time…

“I believe he is,” a pulsing, tired one replied, turning to the last of them. “What do you think?”

Not until the drawing is done and framed and hung….

The ink demon only grinned, all teeth and no happiness.

…. The End.

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tsaomengde · 7 years

Text

Interview with a God

The instant a writer wants to make a point to their readers, especially a political, ethical, or moral point, they leave the realm of pure art and begin to preach. But I’m tired and have a lot of feelings, so here’s a very political story about guns, the American psyche, mass shootings, and sacrifices. Apologies to @neil-gaiman for doing the American Gods thing, but less well than him.

He smiles at me as I sit down across the table from him. The Starbucks we’ve chosen is quiet, at low tide. He’s blandly handsome, white, dark-haired, wearing a dark blue suit with a red tie. “I ordered a macchiato for you,” he says, indicating the drink already waiting for me on the table. “My treat.”

I return his smile, knowing mine is brittle and not caring. This sort of thing is par for the course in my particular line of journalistic work. Gods don’t tend to understand that their instinctive knowledge about us, the supernatural, encyclopedic list of facts they know by virtue of being what they are, is unnerving. The being sitting across from me probably knows the names of all the people I’ve dated, where I went to school, what I’m most afraid of. He clearly knows what I order at Starbucks.

He also must know what I think of him in particular.

I place my phone on the table between us, set it to record. I pull out my pen and pad, too, because old habits die hard and sometimes recordings fuck up. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I tell him.

Now he flashes me a grin, revealing perfect, white teeth. Naturally. “Happy to be here, Ms. Feinberg. I really enjoy reading your interviews with us.”

“For the record,” I ask, “could you please state your name and position?”

He nods amiably. “Remington,” he says. “God of Guns.”

“No relation to the American rifle manufacturing firm, I take it?”

A quick shake of his head. “No, though it’s an obvious association. At least, to my knowledge, the Remington firm has never claimed to have had any influence on my name.”

“First, the obvious question. Why do people want guns, Mr. Remington? And why do they then want to use them, once they have them?”

Remington leans back in his seat, head cocked slightly to one side. “It’s ultimately a power thing, of course,” he replies after a few moments of consideration. “The knowledge that you can kill any other human being you can see.”

“Not a sexual thing?”

“If it is a sexual thing, it’s because our – excuse me, your society has so conflated sexual congress with power.” Remington adjusts the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Most people who buy a gun want to feel powerful.”

“To put it simply, the common arguments against gun control in this country is that guns are useful for self-defense in situations such as a home invasion, and gun ownership is necessary to combat potential tyranny from the ruling government. You don’t believe these are influential factors?” I try to keep my tone even, professionally uninterested, even though the only person to ever hear the recording is going to be me.

“No. A person who buys a gun and says it’s to protect their home is really waiting for the chance to shoot someone and get away with it.” He grins again, faintly. “Usually, the person they picture breaking into their home is a black man. Obviously that varies by demographic, but it’s prevalent. Perhaps surprisingly, though I don’t know if it’s a surprise to you?”

I choose to ignore his question. “What about protecting themselves and their loved ones from authoritarianism?”

“There are certainly people who think their assault rifle is what will stand between them and the government coming in and fucking them.” Remington chuckles. “Of course, the fucking in question usually takes the form in their minds of the government coming in and taking those assault rifles away. So they buy more assault rifles to protect their assault rifles. Tremendous fun.”

His flippancy makes my stomach twist, but I’m a professional, Goddammit. “If you believe gun ownership is ultimately about power for most gun owners, then do you believe that says something about our society?”

The skin around Remington’s eyes wrinkles slightly. “Certainly, but I couldn’t possibly say what that is. I’m the God of Guns, not a social scientist.” He glances at the macchiato, which I have yet to touch. “Don’t you want your drink?”

“After the interview is over,” I reply briskly. “So, in regards to –”

Remington holds up a hand. “Ms. Feinberg, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can feel that you have one question in particular you want to ask me. The rest of this feels like padding. I’m happy to answer that one question and call it a day, if that’s what truly interests you.”

I take a deep breath, lock eyes with this supremely affable creature. “Why are you so pleasant?”

“That’s not the question.”

“I know, but I am genuinely curious.”

“I have no horse in the race you’re concerned about,” he says. “I know your feelings on guns, and by extension your feelings about me. But I have to emphasize to you that I truly do not care if your politicians pass such-and-such a bill requiring background checks, banning certain kinds of guns, et cetera, et cetera. I am the future, Ms. Feinberg, and guns will continue to play an instrumental role in the business of killing people. Whether those people are soldiers or civilians is immaterial to me. So, given the choice between being hostile just because you don’t like me, or being pleasant, I’ll go with pleasant. I enjoy being pleasant.”

With an effort, I keep myself from glaring at him. It’s easy to have no horse in this race, I think, when he damn well knows that nobody is ever going to shoot him.

“Fair enough,” I say. “So. Would you care to comment on the epidemic of mass shootings in this country? Particularly given that, as a god, you draw strength from human sacrifice?”

Remington smiles coolly at me. For the first time, his flippant mask drops. “Here’s what you’re really keen on,” he observes. “Would you like me to say that I think mass shootings are a good thing because they give me more power and influence, so you can spread that sound bite around the web? Or are you interested in my honest answer?”

“Honest is fine by me,” I reply.

He blows out a breath, letting his lips vibrate slightly with the sound. “Do I like the fact that so many people are sacrificed to me, on a daily basis? Yes. Is the fact that they’re usually innocents, the best kind of sacrifice, a bonus? Yes.”

“So, by that logic, you do have a horse in this race,” I point out. “If Congress passes stricter gun control measures, then the number of sacrifices will decrease. You’ll lose out on power.”

“That I will. But let me pose a hypothetical question to you, Ms. Feinberg. Suppose that, on the blog where you post these interviews you do with various gods, you have a particular kind of advertisement. It’s an annoying kind, one you have to click the little ‘ex’ button to get rid of so you can read the damn blog post, but it makes you, say, ten percent more money, and more money is better. Suppose that Congress then passes a stricter ad control measure, depriving you of that source of income. Are you upset? Yes.” He nods at the macchiato he bought me. “Maybe you have to buy yourself less treats at Starbucks as a result. But you still have the other ninety percent of your revenue stream. My question is this: are you actually all that upset?”

Now I do glare at him. “This is false equivalency. You’re comparing me losing out on money to you losing out on human beings being shot and murdered. One is an inconvenience, and the other is a moral imperative.”

“It sounds bad to say,” Remington tells me, looking somewhat chagrined, “but I am the God of Guns. My stock in trade is human lives. After all, what else is a gun for? Hunting?” He blows a raspberry at his own suggestion. “So, for me, it isn’t false equivalence. It’s the regular kind. If I lose out on ten percent of my sacrifices – and ten percent is an exceedingly generous estimate – then I’m upset. But should I poison the well by forcing people’s hands when I still have the other ninety percent?”

“So you’re really not concerned at all about what might happen if there’s eventually a ban, however limited?”

He holds up his hands in an ironic gesture of surrender. “I won’t say that, no more than you would say you’d mourn the loss of ten percent of your income. But, since I’m being honest, I have to say that there won’t be one. Your society has decided that they like feeling powerful, and that other people’s lives are the sacrifice they’re willing to give me for that feeling.”

I close my eyes and focus on just breathing for a few moments. “You see no possibility of a gun ban? Ever?”

“To be frank, no. Soldiers are going to keep killing one another. Angry spouses are going to keep killing their so-called loved ones. Depressed, suicidal people are going to keep killing themselves. And in every instance, the preferred tool to accomplish this will be a gun, because it’s quick, easy, and more effective than any other method.” He shrugs elaborately. “As I said, Ms. Feinberg, I’m the future. I’ve been the future since the first arquebus killed a man. When Oda Nobunaga’s riflemen slaughtered the famous Takeda cavalry en masse, I was there. When men were cut down by the hundreds trying to take six inches of ground in the trenches of the Great War, I was there. I will never stop being there. Unless you all decide to stop killing one another and yourselves, forever, this is just how it’s going to be.”

“And you don’t feel any guilt or remorse about this at all?” I ask.

He shakes his head and flashes a shit-eating grin. “Why should I? Guns don’t kill people. People do. I’m just lucky enough to benefit from the absolute.”

I nod, put away my pen and pad, and tell the phone to stop recording. “I think that’s what I need. Thank you, Mr. Remington.”

“My pleasure,” he says earnestly. “For what it’s worth, Ms. Feinberg, I understand where you’re coming from. And I want to assure you that for me, it’s nothing personal. It’s just what I am. Survival.”

“I know.” I get up, taking the drink he bought me. “That’s the worst part.”

The macchiato is delicious, and I don’t want to waste it. But I don’t enjoy it.

#writing #guns #gun control #sacrifice #gods #political #tagging this one is a weird exercise

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multamusae-archive-blog · 6 years

Text

ASK ME THINGS ABOUT SEBASTIAN MOR.AN. –– @gunmetclgrey

What are his feelings on his discharge?

He has a lot of mixed feelings about his discharge. On one hand, he knew it needed to happen, as the circumstances weren’t great and he was mentally no longer capable of being in the army, but on the other it meant his entire life had to be renewed and he had no idea how to live civilian life anymore. It was definitely bittersweet for him, with both pros and cons to it.

How exactly did his dishonourable discharge come about?

Actually, his discharge was honorable! I know that’s a super uncommon headcanon in the Mor.an sphere, but I really liked the idea of him being discharged for something he didn’t really have control over, only making it all worse. He didn’t fuck up. He didn’t kill someone he wasn’t meant to or do something he wasn’t supposed to. He simply cracked. His mental well-being was not at all good anymore and it become clear not only to him ( though he ignored it the best he could ) but to his higher ups and peers. He completed his tours, he did everything that was asked of him and then some. But he cracked, and he had a breakdown after a particularly bad few days, and they decided he was done, that he was no longer suited for military life.

What does Sebastian look for in a romantic partner?

Sebastian’s not even sure himself. He never really looks for romance, because a very large part of him thinks that he’ll never be able to find love with his past + present. Ideally he’d like to be with somebody who is incredibly understanding, or in the very least tolerable, of the things he does, even theoretically. Someone who will help him through his struggles even if he finds it difficult to allow their help.

Where would he put himself on the Kinsey scale?

He’s definitely very into literally everyone on the planet, but he does lean more towards the homosexual side of things. He loves women a lot, but he falls to men more often.

How does he reconcile the fact he kills for a living?

Down the bottleneck of whiskey. Since he’s trying to stay sober, more so with sex than anything. He is incredibly guilty of everything he does and that guilt only disappears for a short while when he’s either knee deep in alcohol or getting ( very ) roughed around in bed.

What is his biggest regret?

Not being stronger. If he was just stronger, he’d still be in the army. If he was stronger, he wouldn’t be a struggling alcoholic. If he was stronger, these things wouldn’t have happened.

What achievement is he proudest of?

Making colonel. He’s never been prouder than in that moment.

What are his thoughts on ghosts and the supernatural?

He loves stuff like that! He’s not a hardcore believer, but he does believe something like that exists, even if it’s not what we all think it is. He loves learning about it and hearing people’s stories. What’s his thoughts on religion?

He is not a religious man, not really. Religion was never really prevalent growing up and he continued that into his adult life. Sure, a few times he broke down and would pray to whatever god he thought might be listening. There are things he can’t explain and the world is a vast, unknown place that anything is possible. But he doesn’t believe in anything directly and just sort of goes day by day with it. What’s his football team?

I can’t accurately answer this question because I know literally nothing about soccer / football but I’m just gonna go with the popular one?

What’s his favourite song?

I don’t even know my own favorite song, man.

What’s his music taste?

His taste is sort of all over the place and what he listens to definitely depends on his mood, same as anyone. His music library is a mix of every genre out there + popular music from India. What he listens to most would probably be alternative, though.

What’s his most cherished possession he could never live without?

Honestly? He doesn’t have a thing like that. Everything he has he’d be able to live without. Would he want to? Not necessarily, but his world won’t end if he doesn’t have something in his possession anymore.

What’s his favourite smell?

He really loves the smell of a campfire. Burning wood, that smokey smell. He loves when it settles into clothing and he’s able to smell it well after the fact.

What are his exact feelings on cats and is he more a cat or a dog person?

Sebastian loves both cats and dogs! I’d say he’s a bit more of a dog person. I used to headcanon him having a dog but his lifestyle just doesn’t really allow for that most of the time, so if he would have a pet it’d be a cat because they’re much more lowkey and solitary.

SEBASTIAN / VICTOR VERSE:

How would he describe Victor ( @agenttrevor ) ?

The best man he knows and one he’ll never deserve no matter how hard he tries. A man who is far too understanding of everything Sebastian does but obscenely critical of all he does on his own. One who cares way too much, who will never get everything he deserves in the world by being with Sebastian, but damn Sebastian will try. Also, super sexy.

How would he describe their relationship?

Menaces. They’re a couple of menaces, that’s what they are. He’d say their relationship is one that never should have happened in the first place, yet everything just kept working out that way. It’s one of understanding, extreme care and love. There is no doubt in his mind that Victor loves him as much as he says and shows. It’s real, the first real thing he’s ever truly had. Life-changing, affirming, concrete, and eternal.

BROTHER / SISTER VERSE:

What’s his thoughts on his birth parents?

He doesn’t think much of them. He never really tried to seek them out, never felt the need to. Whatever the reasons were, they either couldn’t or wouldn’t keep him, and regardless of either he doesn’t want to speak to the people who gave him up.

What’s he getting Alex for Christmas?

This.

What did he think of Alex enlisting after him?

He was a weird mix of concerned and proud. Proud because being in the military was important to him and helped shaped him into who he was, both good and bad. But it also broke him down in a lot of ways and he never wanted her to see all the terrible, horrible things he saw or do the terrible, horrible things he had to do.

How often do they talk? Is he a texter or a caller?

They probably talk at least a few times a week, more often through text since that just tends to be easier. Phone calls are a much more present act that shooting off a text every few minutes, and it’s just easier on him to text, especially if he’s not home or answering a text while at work / on the road.

What’s his ringtone?

Whatever generic, built-in, default one that comes on the iPhone when he buys it. It’s on vibrate most of the time, so he rarely hears the ringtone anyway.

#about –– s. moran.#bless you for these GOD.#long post //

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bartsugsy · 7 years

Note

Which period of relationship has been your favourite and which has been your least favourite? Boyfriends, fiances, just marrieds or exesbutclearlystillinlove? and why.. For whenever you next have spare time to answer, I always enjoy reading your insightful Robron posts :)

ooohh ajsksk this is sO HARD BECAUSE THERE ARE POSITIVES AND NEGATIVES IN EACH OF THE ERAS AND LIKE… THEY’RE HARDCORE POSITIVES AND HARDCORE NEGATIVES BUT OK I’M GONNA DO THIS

So my brain roughly sort of splits it all up as:

Pre-affair era

Affair era

First and Second Break up era

Abuse era

Boyfriend era

Fiancé era

Husband era

Third break up era

U KNO IM JUST GONNA SIT HERE AND RANK THEM BECAUSE I LOVE AND HATE THEM ALL OK LETS GO

also happy long post day, this shit is going under a cut

ROBRON ERAS RANKED FROM WORSTEST TO BESTEST

7. FIRST / SECOND BREAK UP ERA

Now on the one hand... OK THIS IS WHY THIS IS HARD BECAUSE THIS ERA HAS MY FAVOURITE STRING OF EPISODES BUT ALSO MY LEAST FAVOURITE STRING OF EPISODES -. Ultimately the "least favourite" string lasts way way longer than the good stuff, which is why it's sitting pretty at the bottom. But like. The good stuff is real damn good.

CRYIN IN A GOOD WAY OVER: Cain vs Robert, Aaron to the rescue, FLIRTY! FARMING! FUN!, the portacabin, THE GOD DAMNED LODGE, some of who shot robert, some of the affair reveal, everything about robert getting aaron out of prison

CRYIN IN A END IT ALL HERE WAY OVER: most of who shot robert, most of the affair reveal, ☠️Donny☠️

IN CONCLUSION: ok ok oK DONT GET ME WRONG. THE GOOD STUFF IS FUCKIN INCREDIBLE AND MONUMENTAL AND WHAT ULTIMATELY MADE ME THE HARDCORE SHIPPER I AM TODAY. SO. I HELLA WOULD NOT BE HERE WITHOUT IT. I ACTUALLY WOULDN’T THAT WHOLE LITTLE BIT OF TIME IS EMOTIONALLY WHAT LED ME HERE. IT SHOULD BE HIGHER TBQH.

I JUST HATE THE DONNY PERIOD THAT MUCH.

6. AFFAIR ERA

WHERE IT ALL STARTED. ICONIC. GREAT. ENJOYED IT ALL BUT… IT NEVER QUITE REACHES THE HEIGHTS OF ANY OTHER ERA IMO. THERE’S A LOT OF GOOD BUT NONE OF IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH TO MAKE ME THROW IN EVERYTHING I OWNED AND COMMIT MYSELF TO THEM FOREVER.

THE GOOD SHIT CELEBS ARE BUYIN: HOOOOME FAAARRRRM WEEEEEEEK, that time rob killed katie and had to go to his own wedding immediately afterwards, christmas, the barn, the hotels, just… all the sexin’, rob telling aaron he pushed katie, high! drama! everywhere also the fact that they literally jumped straight into a relationship after two bones is incredible.

THE STUFF THE RANDO IN THE TOILETS IS TRYING TO SHIFT ON U: rmr how we never actually knew whether rob was being sincere at any point, aaron ending up in hospital and everything being terrible, their relationship was just pretty awful as a whole tbh lbr

IN CONCLUSION: GET READY FOR THIS CONTROVERSIAL OPINION BUT LIKE… everything in this era was reaching highs of 7 where every other era has stuff that, to me, hits highs of 52? On the other hand, the lows are much higher than every other era - this is the one era where you can say that as much as nothing soars quite as high as SSW, but equally, nothing is hitting the lows of rebecca. I look back on this era a lot more fondly than I felt about it originally and I'm trying not to rely too heavily on my hindsighty feelings because that's unfair to more recent eras. So. NO RISK NO REWARD KIDS. THIS BAD BOY IS GETTIN PLACED DOWN LOW AF SORRY SON

5. BOYFRIEND ERA

OH MAN THEY!!!! ARE!!!! BOYFRIENDS!!!! AND THERE’S NUTHIN BUT DRAMA AND PAIN. COOL.

LIVIN MY LIFE AND LOVIN MY TIME: REUNION BABYYYYY, Rob basically moving in immediately, Rob actually moving in, Rob and Liv bonding, ~Get stuck in~, slowly understanding that DOMESTICITY WOULD BE THE WAY FORWARD FOR A BIT AND GETTING A HELL OF A LOT OF IT

HATIN THE WORLD AND BEING SAD AT MY SCREEN: The Chill™ was a thing. Memories.

IN CONCLUSION: IT WAS GREAT ONCE THEY WORKED OUT WHAT THEY WERE DOING BUT THEN IT WAS A LITTLE BORING AND ALSO CHRANDY

4. HUSBAND ERA

THE ERA OF BIG! FUCKIN! INCREDIBLE! EPISODES! AND PRECIOUS FUCK ALL IN BETWEEN.

TOLD ME THEY LOVED ME AND ONLY ME: THE WEDDING, THE GOODBYE EP, THE FIRST PRISON VISIT, THE ROBLIVION EP, THE ONS YEAH ITS IN HERE I FUCKIN SAID IT WELCOME TO CONTROVERSY LAND STARRING ME IT’S FASCINATING ROBERT CHARACTER WORK IMO, CHAS FINDING OUT, THE REUNION, THE REVEAL, MY BEAUTIFUL HUSBAND WHO I LOVE AND THE EPISODES EITHER SIDE, THE WEED HEIST PLUS THE MIIIIIIILL

KNOCKED UP THEIR EX: well… rob knocked up his ex didn't he

IN CONCLUSION: if I were to rank these eras by how much fun I had in fandom this would be at both the top and the bottom and lbr…. lbr that about sums up this era in general, doesn't it? Horrendous, horrible, terrible pacing - everything post-incident pre-Aaron getting out and everything before the reveal and urgjejd why…. BUT but but the good stuff was just… legendary. that’s why this shit is bang fuckin in the middle.

3. THIRD BREAK UP ERA

CURRENT DAY TIMES THIS IS IT THIS IS WHERE WE ARE. And I’m sure this will change when the era is over but like. My current rn feelings are all for it.

PARTY ALL NIGHT: THE BREAK UP! EVERY SINGLE ROBRON SCENE SINCE THEN. EVERY SINGLE ONE IM NOT JOKING THEYRE ALL ICONIC! THE FESTIVAL AND FUCKIN JASON COMING BACK AND BEING HORRIBLE AND WORRIED AARON AND WORRIED ROBERT AND THE BARTSY AND BARTSUGSY AND THE TWO OF THEM GOING OFF THE RAILS IN THEIR OWN SPECIAL WAYS AND JUST. THEYRE SO FUCKING IN LOVE. PLUS ROB IS GETTING A NUTTY #WILD STORYLINE AND THEY MADE ME INVESTED IN THE STUPID PLOT BABY FROM THE SHEER LOLS OF IT ALL AND THE ROB/LARRY MESS AND JUST AARON AND ROBERT GUYS THEYRE IN LOOOOOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE AND ITS JUST SOMEHOW SO MUCH EASIER THAN BEFORE LIKE THEY NEEDED THIS STUPID BREAK UP GUYS I WILL DEFEND IT WITH MY LIFE AND MY SOUL

DISCONNECT MY INTERNET AND CRY: where's my make outs. also it's painful and sad. also we all have to come to terms with plot baby. did i mention it's sad af? the lead up to the break up was the worst too like murder me right here why

IN CONCLUSION: IM RIDE OR DIE ABOUT IT ALL UNTIL THEY FUCK IT UP BUT ITS STILL SAD AS HELL

2. ABUSE ERA

Can u believe this time was real no me neither

IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES: THE SMITTEN KITTEN DATE, rob being ride or die aaron and aaron slowly growing to trust rob again because of it, ILL WAIT FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!, the whole best friends who are totally in love but not in the right place to do anything about it vibe,

IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES: it was hardcore A Lot because of the subject matter but mostly they knocked it out of the damn park and so idk what the bad would be honestly it was just… real good

IN CONCLUSION: just real real good and like… as a redemption storyline for rob and a vehicle for danny to do his thing and fuckin kill it and liv’s entrance… oh i just love it my dudes (but i can't rank it right at the top purely because it's TOO MUCH to rewatch on the reg for me because it is so big and heavy and dramatic)

1. FIANCE ERA

THIS COVERS EVERYTHING FROM JUST BEFORE ROBERT PROPOSES TO JUST BEFORE THE WEDDING. IT WAS… PRETTY BIG. Pretty… big….

‘GOLD.MP3′: SSW. There’s other stuff but like. Who cares. That’s enough of an explanation. Tbh.

THE FUTURE POP ONE HIT WONDER ‘POOP EMOJI.WMA’: Rob and Rebecca kissing that one time (hilarious but pointless). Rob and Rebecca kissing that second time (less hilarious slightly less pointless). The general Aaron being jealous at all times and prevalence of Rob/Rebecca and just… the absence of fun things… outside of a few key episodes. The whole initial weirdness over buying the Mill that I still hate bc it completely ignored Robert’s presence.

IN CONCLUSION: THE LOWS ARE REAL FUCKIN LOW KIDS LIKE IT GETS BORING AF TOWARDS THE END OF THE YEAR. ALSO ALL OF NOVEMBER UP UNTIL MAXINE’S EPISODE WAS WANK. T B Q H. THE GOOD STUFF THOUGH… THE GOOD STUFF IS THE STUFF THAT I REWATCH AS OFTEN AS A HUMAN BEING CAN. EVERY BIG ARGUMENT. THE!!! JANUARY!!!!! ARGUMENT!!!!!!!!!! AARON’S BIRTHDAY! AARON ROBBING HOME FARM, THE PUB QUIZ, ALL THE BARTSUGSY, CHRISTMAS. AND. YOU KNOW. SSW. WAS. OK. I GUESS. YEAH. NO RISK NO REWAAAAARD!!!!

HON. MENTION: PRE-AFFAIR ERA

LITERALLY PERFECT IN EVERY WAY BUT I CANNOT JUSTIFIABLY RANK IT ALONGSIDE ALL THESE OTHER MUCH MEATIER ERAS, GIVEN THAT IT LASTED ABOUT 3 EPISODES BC THEY COULDN’T ACTUALLY KEEP IT IN THEIR PANTS IF THEY TRIED

AND ROBERT SURE DID TRY

DURING THAT… ONE HOUR… WHEN HE WAS BANGING CHRISSIE… uh.

~~~~ THE END FOR NOW ~~~~

#this ask was... a true blessing #i had way too much fun #emmerdale meta #robron #ed #answering anons #THIS IS ALL HIGH CONTROVERSY I FEEL IT IN MY BONES

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azure7539arts · 7 years

Note

Prompt:Q notices the Minions are acting strange when anyone(especially the 00s) enter Q Branch. He learns they are all "Team 007"! Making sure NOBODY but Bond gets near Q.

Hello! Thank you for your ask! Tee hee~ I had fun! And it turned out much longer than I thought, too. I hope you like it, @klaine43!

Factor 1: Appearance (87% approval)

Factor 2: Charms (95% approval)

Factor 3: Skills (92% approval; other areas still up for debate)

Factor 4: Compatibility (verbal spats that sound like flirting) (93% approval)

Factor 5: Loyalty (97% approval)

Factor 6: Caring (including bringing in tea and food) (85% approval)

Factor 7: Q-Branch briberyPresence in Q-Branch out of mission (8/10)

Factor 8: Sincerity (without baiting for new equipment) (89% approval)

There were rhythms to how Q-Branch worked. In time of crisis, everyone contributed and worked together at matching speed and a high level of synchronization, like a well-oiled machine, the sound of quick typing and humming of computers prevalent despite the occasional raised voices to announce reports and results.

Q had always appreciated this about his minions, and he had always made a point to congratulate them on a job well done whenever they had finished preventing another disaster from exacerbating and going tits up (even more so that it already was, that is).

“Ah, 004,” Q looked up from where he had been working at the central computer, adjusting his glasses. It had been a long day filled with 007 and his infuriating shenanigans again, in Seoul this time, and his eyes were itching some. “Welcome back. I trust Peru didn’t turn out too hot.”

004 grinned, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. “Hot would be an understatement,” she said, hazel eyes bright under the unforgiving fluorescent light as she regarded him.

However, before he could answer her, Jessica rushed over. “Q,” she called, there was an odd note of urgency in her voice. “There’s a document that you need to sign?”

He looked at her, eyebrow raised. “I’ll look at it once I’ve—”

“It’s a day late already, and the accounting department is harassing me about it.”

“Oh.” He blinked before making a slightly disgusted face. “They’re demanding the receipts for Project LL-03, aren’t they?”

In other words, Project Laser Lipstick Take 3.

When Jessica nodded quickly, he sighed and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Sorry, 004,” he turned to tell the agent. “Duty calls. R will oversee your equipment check-in.”

And with that, he followed Jessica away back into his office. Never once stopping to analyze the small sigh of relief that went about his entire department.

During normal working hours where the most chaotic a scene could ever get was in the face of a device exploding and triggering fire alarms overhead, the atmosphere was one of easy-going efficiency, a few screams of burnt eyebrows or singed hair or not.

All in all, Q knew how his minions worked—he had hand-picked them through tight selections after all. He was confident that he did.

“No, I’m here to see Q,” a familiar voice caught his ears, and he turned around to see 009 sauntering, literally ignoring Nathan’s slightly shaken questions by his side. But really, who wouldn’t be just a bit afraid of the Double-Os; these people were highly dangerous and reckless, and with a license to kill to boot as well. Traits that 007 was demonstrating remarkably well in Saudi Arabia right then, to Q’s dismay.

“009. You’re here for your equipment, yes?” Q approached him, spotting a few minions scurrying off somewhere out of his peripheral vision.

The man nodded, raven hair slicked back and hands in his pockets, a charming smile unfurling on his lips.

And suddenly, there was a scream, accompanied by: “Fire! FIRE!”

Q’s eyes widened, already turning there to see what was going on. “My apologies, 009, but it seems like R will have to outfit you this time.”

“But—”

Ly was already showing Kim from accounting, who everybody knew took every chance she could get to go down these tunnels, to the door. “Don’t worry,” she assured the woman briskly. “We’ll make sure Q receives the documents.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Jessica already promised she wouldn’t have them half-buried in the trash accidentally anymore.”

Jessica, who had been watching the whole ordeal, smiled and nodded innocently as if on cue.

“I have something to talk to Q,” Kim insisted. “Q!”

And heavy metal door slid closed behind her, successfully cutting her call off.

Q looked up from his drafting table, blinking. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing!” was the quick, general reply.

“I think it’s the draft!” One minion spoke up, and immediately, the others nodded in agreement.

“It’s been horrible lately, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes. Definitely so.”

Q frowned pensively before going back to work on the prototype idea he had been brewing for days now, which should have been realized on paper, at least, by then if it hadn’t been for James-Bloody-Bond’s pesky fiasco in Italy.

“Miss Moneypenny,” Nathan greeted, and instantly, he knew he was right when he said that, No, he couldn’t do this.

But then again, it was Eve Moneypenny. Secretary or not, the woman was a force of nature of her own. Who among them could even really go up against her?

Oh, why did R have to take her bathroom break now?

“Are those for Q?” he prompted. “I can make sure he gets it later—” She pulled the files out of his reach, and smiled in that attractive, supposedly benign way that sent cold shivers down Nathan’s spine. “—on…”

This was one of the reasons why they couldn’t afford to cross her off the list in the first place.

“I can do it myself, thank you,” she said, stilettos clicking decisively on the floor as she continued her strides into Q-Branch. “Where is Q anyway?”

“Uh… he’s busy!”

She scoffed softly. “Isn’t he always.” Her eyes spanned the entire room of minions who were working and decidedly trying hard not to look like they were paying keen attention to what was going on. “I’ll check the office first then.”

“Really, Miss Moneypenny,” he hurried to follow her, taking a breath and doing the brave thing: sliding to stand in front of her and successfully stopping her in her path. “I-I can take care of it.”

“Nathan.”

If he had only felt a bit of a shiver before, his stomach was positively dropping now, the one frosty word of his name creeping at the nape of his neck.

He turned around. Q was there just a distance away, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed in front of his chest. “Nathan,” he repeated, slowly. “What are you doing?”

Q stepped closer to the center of the room. “In fact, what have you all been doing? And don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s been going on.”

The entire branch fell silent.

Q sighed and turned to Eve, extending a hand. “I’ll handle this from here.”

“Oh no,” Eve replied, leaning one hip against a desk, amusement quirking her lips. “I’m quite fine where I am. Carry on,” she waved a hand, “I won’t disturb.”

Sucking in a breath that didn’t quite turn into a sigh, he turned his attention back to his minions, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well?” he prompted again, impatient, arms crossed in front of his chest.

When no reply was forth coming, Q closed his eyes. “Answer me now before I put all of you on cleaning duty in TSS and volunteered technical assistance for the Help Desk.”

They all paled. And quickly, previously tightly-sealed lips were then stammering at the same time.

This was the reason why they weren’t active field agents.

Q frowned in exasperation but tried to listen anyway, and the only phrase that he was able to make out was this: “Team 007.”

“What in the bloody hell is ‘Team 007′?” Q snapped, turning now to inflict the entirety of his baleful glare on Nathan, who squeaked once.

Oh God, Nathan swallowed. Just why? “We’ve agreed that… I mean, after a lot of calculating and data-collecting, we decided that…” He attempted at stalling and looked around: his comrades seemed to have abandoned him in the middle of the battle field. Bugger them all to Hell. “We’re-team-007-and-Bond’s-the-most-worthy-agent-to-woo-you-so-far!” he blurted out in quick succession.

Q stood there, stock still, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate the proper response to this. And Eve’s sniggering wasn’t helping.

“First of all—” he began.

“Well, I have to say I’m flattered,” a familiar voice spoke up, and it was Q’s turn to stiffen. There Bond, James-Goddamn it-Bond, was, rugged with a hint of stubble on his face, most probably the direct result of his recent extended mission; tired, yes, but thankfully whole.

The man even had the audacity to smile that charming, disarming way of his.

“007,” he cleared his throat, straightening his back. “You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

Bond rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. “I hopped on the earliest flight back.” He smiled, striding in, posture all confident and very much at home. Well, to be fair, he had been spending an increasing amount of time down here whenever he was on British soil as of late. “Apparently the right decision, given the highly interesting conversation that’s going on here.”

Blue eyes looked around, and the minions ducked, some blushing out of embarrassment.

“Yes, apparently, I no longer have the right to decide on my own love life anymore,” Q said, directing this to the room at large. The minions were now practically disappearing under their cubicles. Scared, he was sure, of the punishment they knew Q was very seriously considering. Chastised, however, was a different matter altogether.

“How can you blame them?” Bond was now in front of Q, and in the full bright light of the central station, Q finally realized that the damning man was wearing that all-too-fetching navy blue suit of his. “They are just defending the best result of their little project.”

Q glared. “Don’t let this stroke your ego too much. Something must have malfunctioned somewhere in there. Faulty codes and all.” And no, the back of his neck wasn’t burning up.

“Come now, Q. You need to have some degree of confidence in your subordinates,” Bond implored.

“Yes, the same subordinates who purposefully nearly burnt down a quarter of our lab,” Q scoffed. Nathan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

“There are goals that are worth fighting for, after all.”

Q snorted, indignant. “What? Like your goal of wrecking every single piece of tech I give you?”

Bond hummed. “No,” he said, voice lowering a timbre and the hint of innocent nonchalance in it was just too strong for Q to ignore. “Like my goal of asking you out for dinner.”

Q’s eyes widened before he started flushing a wholesomely lovely shade of red.

“W-Wha—”

“Will you?” Bond smiled, encroaching rather too close now. However, Q detected no contrived playfulness in his eyes or tone. “Go out to dinner with me?”

Perhaps it took him a little long to process what was going on, but Q immediately jolted out of his mind when Eve nudged him in the ribs.

He smoothed down the front of his rumpled cardigan, cleared his throat after what suspiciously sounded like ‘must we do this here’, and said, “Yes.”

If Q-Branch had screamed and cheered that day, no one would be the wiser.

They were too far under ground to bother anyone anyway.

Factor 9: Q’s personal approval (91%) (100%)

#00Q #My writing #00Q prompts #00Q prompt fills #more please!#thank you!

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but-the-desserts-were-okay · 7 years

Text

And y’know, the whole “mentally ill people are ~crazy~ and scaaaarryy” trope that is so prevalent in many types of media has more consequences than the ones that immediately come to mind. Because of course, they teach neurotypicals to be afraid of us - which is Bad and Wrong, but that’s another post. BUT they also teach us to be afraid of ourselves.

I seriously don’t think neurotypicals realize the constant self-regulating mentally ill people do 24/7 to exist in the world around them, all to lower the risk of looking “crazy”. It’s exhausting. It requires an absurd amount of control. When you see a mentally ill person who is seemingly losing it, know that prior to that loss of control they have been keeping things under wraps using more mental strength than you could imagine. Picture them walking on a tightrope, and each symptom is a few more balls to juggle as they go. And if people see that you’re faltering, they start shaking the rope beneath your feet. That is what it is like trying to function when your brain so desperately does not want to.

But when you, as a mentally ill person, see these tropes, these stories and characters that boil down to “crazy person is out of control, not self aware, can’t self-regulate and be Normal and therefore we must punish them” it is crushing, it is a reminder that no matter how well you’re managing, the whole world is just watching and waiting for the day you slip up. It is a reminder that you can’t keep control 100% of the time, which guess what? We already know! And we live with that fact every day, we carry it on our backs and take it to bed with us at night, this truth that our lives are a series of breakdowns. But to see it reinforced in media to the point that the person’s whole life is a breakdown - that represents an unbearable future so many of us fear. It’s a constant fear: what if I get worse? What if I regress? What if my treatment stops working, or some unforeseeable life event blindsides me and knocks me off the tightrope? Because even if that happens, and you get thrown from the highwire, everyone around you still expects you to keep juggling on the way down, and if you can’t? You’re crazy.

And you know, not all of us will reach that point! Thankfully! But when every mentally ill person we see in popular media does reach that point, the spectre of catastrophe begins to hang over the heads of people who may not have the most solid grasp on reality to begin with. It’s not as though we can just ignore it and say “well the chances of that happening to me are slim” - because guess what? Doesn’t matter! You’ve got anxiety or OCD? Doesn’t matter what the chances are, once the possibility is planted in your head it might be hard to make it leave.

Not only all that, but mentally ill folks are a lot more self aware than you see in the movies. Remember that self-regulating I mentioned? Would be impossible without an acute sense of self-awareness. But the portrayal of mentally ill people in media as not knowing a damn thing about their illness, thinking they’re completely neurotypical, plants the seeds of doubt in our heads. “Oh shit - what if I’m not as in control as I thought?” As much as you can analyze and pull apart these characters and where the writers were incorrect in their portrayal, again, it’s very hard to un-think something when your whole illness is focused around thinking the same thing a lot.

I just felt this was important to say because I’ve been having an paranoid episode all night and along with the symptoms themselves, there was the ever-present fear of “oh god what if I become one of those people in the movies? What if one day it doesn’t go away in a few hours? Will my friends and family still love me? Will I still love me? Will I remember what love is, or will I lose that the same time I lose my freedom if I’m ever institutionalized?”

And I think neurotypicals who write mentally ill characters have a responsibility to get the fuck out of their own heads for a second and try thinking about how people will be affected when all they see of their identity is violence, death, and suffering.

#mental illness #while i knwo my episode wasnt SOLELY because of seeing that triggering portrayal of a mentally ill person #id be lying if i said it didnt play a part in the panic #for all of the reasons listed above #some thoughts.txt

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anonymoustalks · 4 years

Text

I'm the first male in 6 generations to not become a coal miner. Dads a preacher, grandpas a preacher. I dont line up much with them.

(6-19-20) You both like politics.

You: hiyoo

Stranger: Hello

You: what's on your mind?

Stranger: Where are you from?

You: us east

Stranger: Same here. And mostly just different environmental roll backs. You?

You: mhm bail laws

You: which environmental rollbacks?

Stranger: Ones pertaining to furthering waste dumping into my local streams

You: oh...

Stranger: Making the fish inedible

You: are they local roll backs?

Stranger: Federal

Stranger: With local gov support though

You: ah...

Stranger: Yeah. Money over clean water I guess.

You: yeah I guess

You: are there rollbacks of bills or executive orders?

Stranger: Well this was from rolling back regulations in the clean water act a few months back. But my understanding is there are about 100 other regulations pertaining to water and air quality going to be rolled back.

You: ahh okay

Stranger: So what's on your mind?

You: oh I was just reading about bail reform, nothing particularly specific

You: I'm curious about the clean water act though because I'm not that familiar with it

Stranger: Oh damn, you mentioned that, my bad.

You: did congress vote to repeal it?

You: or does like trump/epa just have the authority to change parts of it?

Stranger: I think this was done by andrew Whittaker, head of EPA. But with urging from trump.

You: ahh I see

Stranger: Former coal exec and lobbyist in charge of the EPA. Lol

Stranger: What a time to be alive

You: yeah... trump clearly just wanted to gut the organization

Stranger: Yeah. I have many disagreements with trump but his stance on the environment is the number 1 thing that irks me.

You: I sometimes get asked by people "what bad things did trump" and I'm not informed enough to list things

You: so it's helpful to know about the clean water act specifically

Stranger: Yeah. If he believed in human driven climate change I could handle a lot more of the stuff he does.

Stranger: He has said the sound from wind turbines cause cancer lol

You: mhm my brother isn't very compelled by moral/stupidity arguments, so if I can't find like legitimate policy changes that trump has done, I don't think I'll be able to convince my brother very well

You: like he doesn't care if trump says stupid stuff

Stranger: Yeah I get that. I'm from west virginia, coal country. So even many of the bad things hes done dont matter with many folks here.

Stranger: I'll give trump credit on his foreign policy and that's it. I really thought we'd be in another war by now.

You: mhm

Stranger: Is your brother a hunter?

You: nope he's like an english major

Stranger: An english major who supports trump. That's an interesting combo.

You: yeah weird, right?

You: or well, he doesn't support anybody

Stranger: But he hates one side more than the other?

You: I'm not sure if he hates either side really

You: it's more like he believes that not that many bad changes have happened under trump

You: so he's fine with him getting reelected

Stranger: Well I guess ignorance is bliss. I dont know how to change someone like that's mind.

You: yeah idk

You: I think he's kind of politically apathetic

Stranger: Besides just pointing out things hes done lol.

You: like things don't affect him so he doesn't care

Stranger: Yeah I get that. I could see how trump would be appealing to people like that. If you remove all real life ramifications trump is funny as hell.

You: mhm

You: so what does your family think?

Stranger: I'm the first male in 6 generations to not become a coal miner. Dads a preacher, grandpas a preacher. I dont line up much with them.

You: ohh ^^

Stranger: But they're good people. Sometimes it's just hard not to lose my mind when discussing politics with them.

You: ahh yeah... do they get heated as well?

Stranger: Only on certain issues that I see as irrelevant. Things like gay marriage still gets them worked up.

You: ahh are you religious at all??

Stranger: Not really. I dont know if there is a god nor do I care. I just try to not be a dick.

You: right

You: I'm kind of visualizing a huge rift in your family haha ^^;

Stranger: Haha well it's not that bad. I keep in much of what I would say for the sake of preserving relationships.

You: ahh true

You: do you have other siblings?

Stranger: I have a sister. Shes turned out like the rest of the family.

You: oh is she older or younger?

Stranger: Older by 2 years. She has a couple children, married to a coal miner, goes to church 3 times a week.

You: ahh sounds conservative ^^

You: do you still live in west virginia or did you move out?

Stranger: I live here currently but only due to covid. I'll be moving to South Korea soon to teach english.

You: ohh wow!

You: that's really cool

Stranger: I'm excited. I've known a few people to do it and they've all loved it.

You: yeah that sounds really exciting

Stranger: I hope I can tune out some of the US politics while I'm there. If that's possible

You: mhm exhausting?

Stranger: Yeah and it's my fault for continually reading about it. But I cant seem to stop.

You: mhm for me I feel like i'm on and off

You: like I can go for months without reading the news

You: I think the protests drew me back to omegle haha

Stranger: That's amazing. I've kept up with it all consistently for 10 years. I love geography so sometimes I can take a break from US politics but it all leads back to politics eventually.

Stranger: I get on here for an hour every day while visiting my grandparents.

You: oh my goodness, that's a lot haha

You: I feel like you must have seen so much on omegle lolol

Stranger: Haha. I try to match on geography but I typically only get politics.

Stranger: It's new to me. Maybe been doing this for a month

You: ahh I see

You: I was like totally thinking to myself (omegle for 10 years?!)

Stranger: Hahahaha. I tried it probably 10 years ago but that was a different time and had nothing to do with politics lol

You: mhm yeah idk what it would have been like 10 years ago

Stranger: About the same. Back then video chat had less people jacking off and more people just goofing off and talking.

You: ohh

You: I never use video chat lol

Stranger: Dont

Stranger: It's terrible now lol

You: I think I might have tried it once and it freaked me out a little lol

Stranger: Yeah definitely. There are many strange people in this world.

You: mhm or at least

You: to some extent it's kind of amazing how many people can be horny at any given time

Stranger: No kidding. It makes me feel strange because of how un-horny i am 99% of the time.

You: i know right?!

Stranger: What's peoples fascination with sex? Like it's fun and all that but people are addicted to it lol

You: mhm yeah, or at least, I would ordinarily think that there'd be better things to do than come onto omegle for it haha ^^;

Stranger: So many of my friends have just always been focused on getting laid. Just never been a top priority for me.

You: ahh I've always been curious what that kind of culture is like

Stranger: Yeah lol. Wanting to jerk off to random strangers after 100x skips...

You: yeah I know lol

Stranger: I was like that in senior year of high school but it quickly lost its appeal. Not the omegle stuff

You: mhm

You: like I've never done tinder so I've always wondered what it was like

You: I read a statistic somewhere that like 50% of college kids did it or something

Stranger: Like if a girl is attractive but has no personality or interest it's impossible for me to be attracted to them

Stranger: Yeah I've never used it either. I considered it once but you needed a facebook and I didnt want to make one.

You: ohh

You: I didn't know it needed a facebook

You: you're pretty oldschool for not having one of those either haha

Stranger: Hahaha. It's because I have too high of an opinion of myself and find it easier to critique others :p

You: lol haha

Stranger: I have one opinion of facebook and even though I know it's incredibly diverse in the way it can be used I stick to my one notion of it

Stranger: I dont have any social media besides a WhatsApp that I downloaded to keep in contact with some international students form college

You: mhmm

You: I have a facebook but it's basically unused haha

You: I'm a bit too introverted I think

Stranger: That's a good quality. The thing that frustrates me about Facebook is however shares their opinion on everything.

You: facebook the company?

Stranger: How everyone*

You: ohh okay

Stranger: No just users

Stranger: I hear so much from friends about unfriending people over political beliefs.

You: ahh wow, I didn't realize there was so much of that kind of stuff

Stranger: Idk if there is for sure. But its prevalent in my friend group lol

You: mhm I'm basically silent and don't post anything haha

You: I don't think most of my friends know my political opinions

You: idk if that's a good or bad thing though

Stranger: Both probably lol. Save yourself some unnecessary conflict but I guess bad in the sense that you should stand up for what you believe

You: mhm right

You: I'm probably a terrible activist ^^;

Stranger: Hahaha. Most activists are terrible and 99% will never see what they want come true. I might be cynical though..

You: mhm, but I mean, I live through inaction, so I feel like it's not my place to criticize since I'm not even doing anything

Stranger: I can respect that. I criticize activists a lot mostly due to the order of my priorities. I can agree with activists but still be angry that they're not rallying against what I'd consider the most important issue.

You: ahh

Stranger: It's an issue

You: yeah it's definitely easy to get drowned out

Stranger: Hopefully living abroad with make me reexamine my beliefs

Stranger: Where there are so many things going wrong at once I just feel hopeless and I believe thinking badly of others is some sort of defense mechanism or something.

You: mhmm

Stranger: But I do have to go. It was nice talking with you. Good luck in your life friend.

You: you too!

You: it was great talking

Stranger: Goodbye

You: bye!

Stranger has disconnected.

#omegle #politics #environment #environmentalism #clean water act #epa #west virginia #coal mining #conservative #social media

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