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wandascrush · 8 months ago

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Let the light in

Summary: The Avengers are separated after being hunted down and forced to live life on the low, causing a painful break up with the love of your life. What happens when she finds you again? Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

A/N: Based off of this request

Warnings: Angst, violence, loneliness, blood, breakup, team separated, depression, kissing, comfort

Song: Let the light in- Lana Del Rey

The team sat around the dark living room, the familiar voice of one of New York's most famous news anchors echoing in through the air, “Good evening New Yorkers, today we open our headline with some shocking news: Former Stark enterprise building, located on the upper east side, exploded earlier today by a missile attack on the Avengers. Sources say Tony Stark was currently using it to house new plans for an updated Avengers training arena and larger compound. Two architects, three investors, and one security manager was injured. Two of the victims later succumbed to their injuries after the explosion. Reports confirming the source of the violence are still unknown, however the Avengers were believed to have been inside the building at the time- hence the attack. The founding members of the Avengers Initiative such as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Y/N L/N, and Clint Barton have yet to speak out. This marks the second targeted attack on our world’s heroes in nearly a month since the Maximoff twins incident in Barbados, where Pietro Maximoff was nearly assassinated. It raises the question for us all: Are our heroes being hunted?”

The screen went black, bye bye news lady. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “What’re we gonna do Tony?” You got no answer.

“Cap?”

For the first time in the decade you’d known the team, (except for the Maximoffs & Peter) you saw uncertainty in all of their eyes. Tony threw his classic sunglasses on the couch, squeezing the middle of his nose in a useless attempt to massage an oncoming headache away, “Fury… thought it’d be wise if we split up for awhile-,” he was quickly shut up with protests from the group.

“It’s too dangerous. This isn't easy for me, but we're facing a threat that's beyond anything we've encountered before. I've crunched the numbers, run simulations – the Avengers need to disband temporarily. We scatter, go off the grid, and regroup when the dust settles.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. You know it is. This is exactly what they want-”

“Tasha,” your gentle touch on her back always softened her heart, but not today. She didn’t even look at you.

“It’s not the end, Nat. It’s like a strategic retreat. We're ensuring we'll live to fight another day. For once, I’m with Stark on this. We play it safe, keep low profiles, and spread out,” Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a hard look at everyone, “we’re family, we keep each other safe. And this is how we do it.”

As much as the idea made your stomach churn, he was right. He always was. This was your family. Every holiday, happy memory, laugh and cry and battle and bruise was all with them. This team is how you met the love of your life. You loved each other, and if this is what needed to happen, then you’d do it.

But that didn’t sit well with your girlfriend.

“No, end of story. We’re not separating.”

“You know I don’t think it’s just you’re choice, Natasha. I mean we have to decide this together,” your fingers lightly brushed the edge of the bed, nervously playing with the soft sheets you had just bought.

“Exactly, and I. Said. No.” She was acting like a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat her veggies, crossing her arms and raising her voice an octave.

It was then when you saw something different in her eyes, those beautiful green orbs that held so much sadness and joy at the same time. But today they were cloudy, like a storm was brewing in her mind. You gently slipped off of the bed and stood in front of her, pressing your forehead to hers, “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” soft palms caressed the side of her cheek, immediately feeling her sigh into your touch. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You wish your words were true.

Two months later the Avengers were spreading out all across the U.S., saying choked up goodbyes and packing your things. It was agreed upon that there’d be a team meeting once a month, every month, for the next year until you could figure out who the threat was, and how to eliminate them. You thought San Francisco sounded nice, fresh, and a little more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of New York. And it was, for a time. You got a haircut, dyed your gorgeous h/c locks to a rich h/c shade. You bought a sweet little home with a bay window over looking the Golden Gate Bridge, started building an in home gym and library, and kept an extremely low profile. You finished file work and other Avengers paperwork at home, with a high security grade laptop. Natasha on the other hand, refused to dye her hair, or keep a low profile. She didn’t want to admit that she was depressed, but it was glaringly oblivious. Being thrown out of her comforting routine put a wrench in Natasha’s life that not even you, her beautiful girl, could fix. All day she would do her paperwork, workout, and just keep to herself. It was like you weren’t even girlfriends anymore. Finally, in the fifth month of living “undercover,” she finally agreed to go on a low key date with you to a small, cozy bar on the outskirts of the city. You got dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever, did your makeup real pretty, and even did braids on Natasha’s silky hair. She looked happy, finally. Adorning a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a low cut green top- her classic silver arrow necklace sitting pretty on her chest- your girlfriend looked like her old self again...absolutely perfect.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” swift arms swept you into a gentle kiss, smirking against your lips and pulling you close to her waist.

You thought that night would be perfect, but by 11 pm you two were home and icing her bloody knuckles, static tv voices echoing in the background. You felt hot tears rising to the surface, but you never let them fall. It’s not like you were just mad or angry or disappointed…no this was something more. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed by Natasha. You thought you’d never say that sentence, but then there you were, apologizing to the bartender for your girlfriend's rowdy behavior, and throwing $20 to the guy she completely knocked out before nearly carrying her out of the bar and into a cab. Within the next two weeks she packed her bags, and your home was changing once again, now empty.

8 months later

The team said that you’d only be separated for a year, or less, but you were coming up on a year pretty soon and none of you were any closer to figuring out who the threat is. But you, you moved on, strived forward, and kept going. Your breakup with Nat had been one of the most painful moments of your life, but you didn’t let it stop you. These days you hardly cried over her at all, never even thought of the old days. Well, except for last Tuesday, when you saw one of her old sweaters and lied in bed for the rest of the day, or on Thursday when you heard her favorite song and- well, never mind that. You were at the top of your fucking game.

Ms. Romanoff, on the other hand, had moved out of San Francisco completely and settled in Washington D.C. from the last you heard. She attended the monthly zooms, same as you, but you two never addressed one another. Natasha pushed all of the heartbreak she harbored deep, deep down until she would lie down for bed and reach out next to her…but you were never there.

#natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #avengers x reader #avengers fic

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itssimplythesims · 29 days ago

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Ryan O'Neil

37 ･ Male (He/Him) ･ Gemini ･ Moodboard

Ryan O'Neil grew up an only child in a small suburban home a block from the beach in South Carolina. His mother, Hailey, sold handmade shell jewelry at Myrtle Beach's boardwalk, while his father, Aaron, lived on the road as a sports news anchor trying to make a name for himself. Watching his parents struggle to make ends meet, Ryan worked several jobs in high school, from busboy to oyster shucker to surfing instructor. His junior year, Ryan's father let him tag along to the local fairgrounds where he was covering a major show jumping competition. From the moment Ryan saw the first horse soar over a fence, the boy knew he wanted in–in on the money, in on the parties, in on the fame...

Not a year later, industry veteran, Ana Rosenthal, took him under her wing. Coupled with his raw talent and ambition, Ryan went on to rise up the ranks to the international level. He raked in the money, partied from here to Europe, and ate up the fame, until everything came to a screeching halt with a career-altering accident that left him and his horse hospitalized, right before they were set to enter the 2008 Rio Olympics. Unable to find his footing again, Ryan retired to coaching and opened up his own riding school in Twinbrook, Georgia. Now, nearly a decade later, the man has been handed a second shot at an old dream with a promising horse that could take him all the way to the top. But not all that glitters is gold. As Ryan makes his return to the world of show jumping, he faces old foes, demanding investors, and a new reality–one where he, the man who came from nothing, now has nothing else to lose.

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cbsghostsmetasandtrevor · 1 month ago

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Finally got a chance to see the season 4 premiere AND IT WAS AWESOME.

Patience is bat shit crazy and I love her.

Issac as an "investor" with a say in anything is annoying.

It was nice to see Crash, if only for a brief moment.

Why IS Nigel still in the house?

Pete rubbing it in about his power is going to get old.

No Carol. Yeah.

I thought so too! It was SO GOOD. And I am so glad I go into things without being spoiled because I know they tend to spoil the best stuff.

Patience is insane but it's kind of nice? Like we need a ghost that wants to just F things up!! <3

Isaac as the investor will continue to piss me off so much. Like WTF it's just a reminder that she gave a ghost money. I kind of wanted him to Patience's captive for a little longer.

I was SO shocked be the random Cash-body cameo. Wasn't expecting it, but loved it! Especially with "At least I know he can't sneeze". Lmao.

RIGHT? Jay was right - Nigel should leave, instead he's camped out in their other den???

Oh yeah, I imagine thought that Pete's just excited. I feel like the others probably did the same when they discovered their powers at first and his power is the coolest. But hopefully they let that go.

I'm surprised Carol wasn't seen in line with the other ghosts in the chain. But she's probably on her honeymoon.

Thoughts on Trevor's Plot with Thor (basically)? It really bugs me that they aren't consistent with his power. He can reset up a website, chat with Bela, and generally have no issues in some episodes, and then it takes him like an hour for a button in others? It really drives me nuts.

The other thing that bothered me - jokes about his legs because it relates to his lack of pants.

OTOH, he was the anchor with a GREAT idea and "Suck it, Thor, Pass it on." :)

#cbs ghosts #ghosts cbs #trevor lefkowitz #ghosts #ghosts cbs spoilers #cbs ghosts spoilers #spoilers

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Insurance companies are making climate risk worse

Tomorrow (November 29), I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Conservatives may deride the "reality-based community" as a drag on progress and commercial expansion, but even the most noxious pump-and-dump capitalism is supposed to remain tethered to reality by two unbreakable fetters: auditing and insurance:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community

No matter how much you value profit over ethics or human thriving, you still need honest books – even if you never show those books to the taxman or the marks. Even an outright scammer needs to know what's coming in and what's going out so they don't get caught in a liquidity trap (that is, "broke"), or overleveraged ("broke," again) exposed to market changes (you guessed it: "broke").

Unfortunately for capitalism, auditing is on its deathbed. The market is sewn up by the wildly corrupt and conflicted Big Four accounting firms that are the very definition of too big to fail/too big to jail. They keep cooking books on behalf of management to the detriment of investors. These double-entry fabrications conceal rot in giant, structurally important firms until they implode spectacularly and suddenly, leaving workers, suppliers, customers and investors in a state of utter higgeldy-piggeldy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/29/great-andersens-ghost/#mene-mene-bezzle

In helping corporations defraud institutional investors, auditors are facilitating mass scale millionaire-on-billionaire violence, and while that may seem like the kind of fight where you're happy to see either party lose, there are inevitably a lot of noncombatants in the blast radius. Since the Enron collapse, the entire accounting sector has turned to quicksand, which is a big deal, given that it's what industrial capitalism's foundations are anchored to. There's a reason my last novel was a thriller about forensic accounting and Big Tech:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

But accounting isn't the only bedrock that's been reduced to slurry here in capitalism's end-times. The insurance sector is meant to be an unshakably rational enterprise, imposing discipline on the rest of the economy. Sure, your company can do something stupid and reckless, but the insurance bill will be stonking, sufficient to consume the expected additional profits.

But the crash of 2008 made it clear that the largest insurance companies in the world were capable of the same wishful thinking, motivated reasoning, and short-termism that they were supposed to prevent in every other business. Without AIG – one of the largest insurers in the world – there would have been no Great Financial Crisis. The company knowingly underwrote hundreds of billions of dollars in junk bonds dressed up as AAA debt, and required a $180b bailout.

Still, many of us have nursed an ember of hope that the insurance sector would spur Big Finance and its pocket governments into taking the climate emergency seriously. When rising seas and wildfires and zoonotic plagues and famines and rolling refugee crises make cities, businesses, and homes uninsurable risks, then insurers will stop writing policies and the doom will become undeniable. Money talks, bullshit walks.

But while insurers have begun to withdraw from the most climate-endangered places (or crank up premiums), the net effect is to decrease climate resilience and increase risk, creating a "climate risk doom loop" that Advait Arun lays out brilliantly for Phenomenal World:

https://www.phenomenalworld.org/analysis/the-doom-loop/

Part of the problem is political: as people move into high-risk areas (flood-prone coastal cities, fire-threatened urban-wildlife interfaces), politicians are pulling out all the stops to keep insurers from disinvesting in these high-risk zones. They're loosening insurance regs, subsidizing policies, and imposing "disaster risk fees" on everyone in the region.

But the insurance companies themselves are simply not responding aggressively enough to the rising risk. Climate risk is correlated, after all: when everyone in a region is at flood risk, then everyone will be making a claim on the insurance company when the waters come. The insurance trick of spreading risk only works if the risks to everyone in that spread aren't correlated.

Perversely, insurance companies are heavily invested in fossil fuel companies, these being reliable money-spinners where an insurer can park and grow your premiums, on the assumption that most of the people in the risk pool won't file claims at the same time. But those same fossil-fuel assets produce the very correlated risk that could bring down the whole system.

The system is in trouble. US claims from "natural disasters" are topping $100b/year – up from $4.6b in 2000. Home insurance premiums are up (21%!), but it's not enough, especially in drowning Florida and Texas (which is also both roasting and freezing):

https://grist.org/economics/as-climate-risks-mount-the-insurance-safety-net-is-collapsing/

Insurers who put premiums up to cover this new risk run into a paradox: the higher premiums get, the more risk-tolerant customers get. When flood insurance is cheap, lots of homeowners will stump up for it and create a big, uncorrelated risk-pool. When premiums skyrocket, the only people who buy flood policies are homeowners who are dead certain their house is gonna get flooded out and soon. Now you have a risk pool consisting solely of highly correlated, high risk homes. The technical term for this in the insurance trade is: "bad."

But it gets worse: people who decide not to buy policies as prices go up may be doing their own "motivated reasoning" and "mispricing their risk." That is, they may decide, "If I can't afford to move, and I can't afford to sell my house because it's in a flood-zone, and I can't afford insurance, I guess that means I'm going to live here and be uninsured and hope for the best."

This is also bad. The amount of uninsured losses from US climate disaster "dwarfs" insured losses:

https://www.reuters.com/business/environment/hurricanes-floods-bring-120-billion-insurance-losses-2022-2023-01-09/

Here's the doom-loop in a nutshell:

As carbon emissions continue to accumulate, more people are put at risk of climate disaster, while the damages from those disasters intensifies. Vulnerability will drive disinvestment, which in turn exacerbates vulnerability.

Also: the browner and poorer you are, the worse you have it: you are impacted "first and worst":

https://www.climaterealityproject.org/frontline-fenceline-communities

As Arun writes, "Tinkering with insurance markets will not solve their real issues—we must patch the gaping holes in the financial system itself." We have to end the loop that sees the poorest places least insured, and the loss of insurance leading to abandonment by people with money and agency, which zeroes out the budget for climate remediation and resiliency where it is most needed.

The insurance sector is part of the finance industry, and it is disinvesting in climate-endagered places and instead doubling down on its bets on fossil fuels. We can't rely on the insurance sector to discipline other industries by generating "price signals" about the true underlying climate risk. And insurance doesn't just invest in fossil fuels – they're also a major buyer of municipal and state bonds, which means they're part of the "bond vigilante" investors whose decisions constrain the ability of cities to raise and spend money for climate remediation.

When American cities, territories and regions can't float bonds, they historically get taken over and handed to an unelected "control board" who represents distant creditors, not citizens. This is especially true when the people who live in those places are Black or brown – think Puerto Rico or Detroit or Flint. These control board administrators make creditors whole by tearing the people apart.

This is the real doom loop: insurers pull out of poor places threatened by climate disasters. They invest in the fossil fuels that worsen those disasters. They join with bond vigilantes to force disinvestment from infrastructure maintenance and resiliency in those places. Then, the next climate disaster creates more uninsured losses. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finance and insurance are betting heavily on climate risk modeling – not to avert this crisis, but to ensure that their finances remain intact though it. What's more, it won't work. As climate effects get bigger, they get less predictable – and harder to avoid. The point of insurance is spreading risk, not reducing it. We shouldn't and can't rely on insurance creating price-signals to reduce our climate risk.

But the climate doom-loop can be put in reverse – not by market spending, but by public spending. As Arun writes, we need to create "a global investment architecture that is safe for spending":

https://tanjasail.wordpress.com/2023/10/06/a-world-safe-for-spending/

Public investment in emissions reduction and resiliency can offset climate risk, by reducing future global warming and by making places better prepared to endure the weather and other events that are locked in by past emissions. A just transition will "loosen liquidity constraints on investment in communities made vulnerable by the financial system."

Austerity is a bad investment strategy. Failure to maintain and improve infrastructure doesn't just shift costs into the future, it increases those costs far in excess of any rational discount based on the time value of money. Public institutions should discipline markets, not the other way around. Don't give Wall Street a veto over our climate spending. A National Investment Authority could subordinate markets to human thriving:

https://democracyjournal.org/arguments/industrial-policy-requires-public-not-just-private-equity/

Insurance need not be pitted against human survival. Saving the cities and regions whose bonds are held by insurance companies is good for those companies: "Breaking the climate risk doom loop is the best disaster insurance policy money can buy."

I found Arun's work to be especially bracing because of the book I'm touring now, The Lost Cause, a solarpunk novel set in a world in which vast public investment is being made to address the climate emergency that is everywhere and all at once:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

There is something profoundly hopeful about the belief that we can do something about these foreseeable disasters – rather than remaining frozen in place until the disaster is upon us and it's too late. As Rebecca Solnit says, inhabiting this place in your imagination is "Completely delightful. Neither utopian nor dystopian, it portrays life in SoCal in a future woven from our successes (Green New Deal!), failures (climate chaos anyway), and unresolved conflicts (old MAGA dudes). I loved it."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/28/re-re-reinsurance/#useless-price-signals

#pluralistic #doom loop #insurance #insuretech #climate #climate risk #climate emergency #the lost cause #market forces #risk management #price signals #control boards #decarbonization #bond vigilantes #climate resilience

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thetirisfaltheatretroupe · 2 months ago

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Coming October 18th: The TTT's DOUBLE FEATURE at the Dance of the Dead!

(Original background from Quince Media via Pixabay, free-for-use license terms apply) An all too familiar chill is in the air, and the dead rise again to march in solidarity with their brethren. The Dance of the Dead, an event hosted for many, many years by the Undercity Nexus crew over in Caer Darrow, has returned once more this year! Last year, the Tirisfal Theatre was proud to perform on stage for them, and we return once more this year with gusto! Join us on October 18th over on the blood-soaked isle of Caer Darrow, and come to the burned down house across from the fountain at the town's center as we take you on a haunted house tour you won't soon forget with two tales of horrific homes gone wrong! That's right, it'll be like HGTV - but with affordable property! Our first offering of the evening is our delightful horror comedy show based on a chilling song by Jonathan Coulton, where an aspiring real-estate investor attempts to flip his first property. As he is fixing the place up to be sold for a pretty copper, he soon realizes it came with a resident already inside - and it's happy to see him! A little too happy... Will our everyman find a way to make his fortune on this old home? Or will he decide to throw it all away and destroy everything he worked for?

My guess is the latter... Find out, as we explore the horror of the creepy doll in...

THE HOUSE ON RAVEN HILL!

Then, stick around for a story that will chill you to the bone, as we go back in time to an era long ago. A wealthy Lord, known for his benevolence and generosity, gives everything he has to the people of town and is adored in return. But when he takes in a stranger cloaked in mystery and lies, he may find that he has given far too much in exchange for nothing. As the days go by, he may find that his world will change considerably, and not for the better.

Join us as we delve into the mind of a man who has much to give, and everything to lose, and discover this cautionary tale in one of our few non-comedic scripts, the tragic and suspenseful tale of...

THE ALTRUIST!

As we progress through the night, the troupe may stop for brief Q&A segments, put on a few surprise short skits for everyone, and have much ado at the theatre! For those taking part in the Dance of the Dead's D20 competition, pop in and enjoy our show while you wait for your matches! Or if you got your proverbial rear-end handed to you, heal your wounds with laughter and sorrow! The Tirisfal Theatre is pulling out all the stops to make this evening one to remember for all at the Dance of the Dead! So seek out a Moon Guard anchor, come on over to this frightful locale, and join us for a night like no other - only at the Dance of the Dead!

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

The Dance of the Dead is a large Forsaken-themed event hosted every year on Moon Guard server! Despite it being a Moon Guard event, anchors are available to pull you in from other servers to enjoy!

Our performances utilize player characters from both factions. As such, it is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED you have Elixir of Tongues and TRP to follow and enjoy the show! Typically people will sell these or give them away before and during the show, but try to have some on hand!

As with any of these night-time events, Inky Black Potions are also recommended for maximum immersion!

There will be a brief intermission of 10-15 minutes between shows to allow our crew to take breaks! The total runtime of both plays should be about an hour and a half at maximum, but it may run over depending on technical difficulties.

We cannot host parties or anchor once the show begins! Remember that this will be taking place on the Moon Guard shard of the game. As we find out more information about how anchors are being handled, we'll be certain to edit this information!

Remember, the show starts at 7 Central / 5 Wyrmrest Accord time on October 18th

Below is a map of the performing area! The blue marked area is where the audience should sit as to not interfere with the cast and crew, as well as to be able to see and hear the entire show! If you sit in the white area, or the 'nosebleed section' as we call it, you may be unable to hear a lot of what happens on stage!

We hope to see you all in the audience, and please be sure to check out all the information on the Dance of the Dead, happening October 18th and 19th on Moon Guard server! TL:DR SUMMARY WHO: The Tirsfal Theatre Troupe (Along with the Undercity Nexus and Dance of the Dead staff and crew!) WHAT: Double Feature at the Dance of the Dead! Two spooky plays written and performed by the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe WHERE: Caer Darrow, Western Plaguelands (Moon Guard shard, non-War Mode) WHEN: October 18th WHY: BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU!

A HUGE and grateful thank-you to Banshih and the crew of the Dance of the Dead! We're honored to return this year and perform for you all! This post will be updated as more information becomes available to us! Keep an eye out for any potential changes or new info!

#tirisfal theatre troupe #wyrmrest accord #horde rp #roleplay #wow roleplay #moon guard #world of warcraft #dance of the dead #undercity nexus

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oediex · 8 months ago

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My love for gaming is partly anchored in my love for stories. I gravitate towards games that weave a rich narrative involving complex and thoughtful characters in a world to be discovered slowly but impactfully. That's what Dragon Age: Inquisition, with all its flaws, did for me six years ago, and it's how the Mass Effect trilogy crashed into my life only a few months ago, birthing an obsession I didn't know I needed. It's why the Ezio era of the Assassin's Creed series is, in my opinion, still undefeated, and it's what, years ago, kept me playing Horizon: Zero Dawn all the way into the early hours when I really should have been sleeping.

When sequels get caught up in the hype of their forebears and their disappointing ambitions fail to remember their origin in tale-telling, especially while chasing some passing trend only desired by money-loving investors, a light dies in my heart.

Assassin's Creed: Odyssey was, as per Wikipedia, complimented by critics for its story-telling, but I have yet to find the parts that would have brought about such praise. Kassandra is fun, certainly, and her backstory is promising, but I fail to understand her motivations. Perhaps the choice system has something to do with this, but she also seems to be thrown into larger situations that are not warranted by our knowledge of who she is, a young girl growing up to be a mercenary on a small island under the wings of a silly, get-rich-quick schemer who has a penchant for getting into trouble. How does she come to be in command of a ship, despite seemingly having no previous experience with it, and embroiled in a battle of the Peloponnesian War as if she's been fighting wars her whole life? I don't know who this woman is, what drives her, and which experiences inform the actions she undertakes.

I do like her muscled arms, though.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed odyssey #kassandra #story-telling #gaming #dragon age: inquisition #mass effect #mass effect trilogy #horizon zero dawn #the ezio collection #writing #my writing #a story every day #7 april #2024

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sehtoast · 9 months ago

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The Fall (Conqueror Homelander AU)

18+ | 2.7k, graphic violence, murder spree, conqueror!Homelander | Fic Directory

God cannot give a mercy he's never been shown.

Art by the wonderful @homelanderbutbig , who i couldn't have done this without <3 (Link)

Should god have to beg? Must he line up at the heel of some master, perform his little tricks and pray that scraps would fall his way? Where is his dignity? Where is his worth?

Where is his rage?

Where, under layers of conditioning and desperation for approval, is this dog’s teeth?

When they stripped the first parts of him away, they did so in a lab. Controlled and concise, they chiseled him into perfection. Do as we say; bark on command. Bite not the hand that feeds, but, rather, bite for it. Where we point, you must go– tail between your legs– and do all that we instruct. Only then will you have earned it.

Only then will this dog get to eat. Only then will god earn his scraps.

Always with the promise of love, he performs. Vogelbaum’s love, a nonexistent, virulent thing. Something that bites as much as it rewards.

A father.

A father who wanted a perfect son. A creature built to withstand, a child strapped to a critical nuclear reactor. The boy drowned in boiling water by day and incinerated by night. Carved and cut, poked, prodded, injected.

More, more, more… All for the love of a father.

The fists of supes, gods in their own right compared to that little boy, beating him senseless all to nurture him. The hands of doctors, invasive and uncaring, all to manufacture him.

When will he earn it?

Did the young man, overwhelmed by the world, crying fifty miles down the highway earn it? Did he thrill the investors– make the company look good? Were his lines delivered with poise and elegance, but not so much that he was too synthetic?

Why hasn’t he earned it?

Maybe, he thinks, he’s meant to earn something different. Pretty lips and soft, golden locks of hair. Firm and unwavering in her treatment of him. Direct and to the point, with something in her voice he’s never heard before. She is new, she is unfamiliar, and she is what he must earn.

Her approval. Her good graces. Her love.

Promised for years– for more than a decade.

Jump through this hoop. Say this line. Good boy. But don’t touch. You have to knock, you have to wait, you have to be patient.

He did it all for her. Watched her climb higher and higher because of everything he ever did– all for her– but she never took him with. Merely held his lead and kept the carrot too far from his desperate, starved fangs.

You cannot be bad.

But he wasn’t! He’s done everything– everything!

Shouldn’t it be enough?

It was supposed to be enough…

But when does it all become too much? When does this trained dog finally gnaw himself free of the leash and tear its anchors from his very bones?

When does the little boy in the lab finally free himself?

When he is stripped of everything, when god has his makeshift throne pulled out from under him– that’s when.

Edgar tells him plain and simple, with Madelyn by his side.

“You’re out.”

She does nothing to protect him.

But he doesn’t believe it. How could they discard their most loyal dog? Sure, he quakes and whimpers, but his bite is still fierce. He’s tested the boundaries so many times, but he’ll still rend flesh from bone to protect them. He can still do every trick asked of him.

He doesn’t believe it when the construction crews disassemble his penthouse. Even watching the fabrication of his personality ripped from the walls, he doesn’t believe them. They’re merely redesigning things, of course! Something new to represent him. Something better.

When his ‘retirement’ is announced, he still doesn’t believe it. He must be taking over a new team– a better team. One that was made for him. One that was worthy of him.

But it never comes.

They demand the suit be returned in exchange for something more… human. He denies, of course. He is their crown jewel. Why would they want to take that away?

Too much, too much, too much–

He flees to the cabin, but even that is gone. Flattened earth and sealed pipes, tread tracks leading away from whatever machine tore down his solitude.

“I’m The Homelander! You can’t just do this to me!”

“Not anymore.” Was the only response Edgar gave him, coupled with that disapproving gaze. Like he was a nuisance, a beast of burden that had long since outlived its usefulness.

The next day, his fingerprints no longer registered in the security scanners.

His funds had dried out. There would be no breakfast at whatever cafe he chose to grace with his presence after being refused service at the tower.

Card declined. Card declined. Card declined.

Madelyn wouldn’t pick up.

Edgar’s line was forbidden from outside callers.

Card declined. Card declined. Card declined.

Too many stares. Too many whispers.

His first attempt at normalcy.

They even took that away.

They took everything.

They took fucking everything.

That poor little shop is the first to feel his wrath. Cashier lasered in two, customers reduced to pulpy piles of viscera, the front of the building decimated from the deafening boom of his takeoff.

He rips through the sky toward Vought. There are no thoughts when he pierces through the building. He doesn’t even know what floor he picked, only that he’s there and that’s all he needs to know. His eyes stay primed, indiscriminately mowing down every petrified code monkey or researcher who dared cross his path– or simply was unfortunate enough to be there.

The emergency alarm blares just loud enough to rattle his head.

He severs the elevator cables. Pries the doors clean off the shaft entrances and goes to work. Screams echo as the cars plummet, growing softer and softer until the massive bang at the end leaves him closing his eyes in satisfaction.

If he can’t escape his doom– his undoing– then why the fuck should they be able to?

There were more screams to snuff out. More roaches who have seen his glory and declared him unworthy, who have rescinded their adoration with such telling, instinctual noises of terror.

They don’t love him.

They never did.

He zips out and around the building, targeting a structural support this time– barreling clean through it, but only one. Just enough to make them all feel exactly how he felt when the world was pulled out from under his feet. Unsteady. Afraid.

At least he could fly when everything crumbled.

They cannot. He will rise when they fall, which is exactly how it was always meant to be.

His eyes roll back into his head with the next wave of shrieks. The steel beams creak and moan under the imbalanced weight and the building itself seems to sway. He picks a random level of windows and unleashes his lasers with an intensity he’s never used before. They pierce through everything– glass, concrete, steel, anything at all that could have been holding Vought Tower together. They rip through to the next building over and the screams of terror, the gurgles of blood– it all fills his ears like a symphony.

The world is so loud, but, for once, it’s truly all for him. The sirens, the wails, the crying and pleading– it’s all his.

One in particular calls to him.

Her.

She screams his name as though she deserves to utter it– calls out to him, begs for mercy.

But did she show him mercy? Did she show him anything of the sort when making him jump through hoops and do his little song and dance? For every time he fabricated stories of his nonexistent family, for every lie about a baseball birthday cake or every tear he ever cried imagining what could’ve been– what should’ve been– did she ever show him mercy?

Every touch and caress was to get what she wanted. Every teased kiss and wandering hand was simply bait to keep her dog obedient.

No more.

He flies inside, bursts through the windows and takes her by the neck. His eyes burn a raging crimson, sizzling away with tears that could never shed past the heat of his fury.

“Did you show me mercy?” He grits, hand tightening around her airway. “Did you show me love? Did you!?”

“I– I do lo–” She gasps helplessly, nearly inaudible over the concerto of terror.

“Oh, please.” Homelander scowls, teeth bared. “You loved what I could do for you. You loved what I could fucking help you gain!”

He drags her through shattered glass. For all of her thrashing, she could never escape his grasp, and he can see the moment she realizes she shouldn’t want to. He dangles her over the ledge, watching through blazing eyes as her heels plummet to the streets below.

Ninety-nine floors up.

“Oh g-god!” Madelyn squeaks out, gripping desperately at his wrist. “P-Please!”

He likes the sound of that.

“God help me!”

He lets his eyes flutter shut and blows a breath through his nose before letting a contented smile creep onto his face. He brings her close enough to whisper, close enough to see hope flicker in her eyes when she’s above solid ground.

“Why would god help you… when you’ve abandoned him?”

Watching the hope rot in her eyes was delicious.

She falls.

She screams.

And then she’s nothing more than a mark on the pavement. His heart twists for but a moment, and then he’s off to visit a few others.

Stan.

Easily his favorite moment of the day. He leaves that office tossing the decapitated head between his hands like a ball. His only regret was that he didn’t draw it out long enough to hear Edgar beg for his life.

He sets it on the ground before a gaping hole in the side of the tower, winds up, and kicks it as hard as he can. Sure, the head is practically mush upon impact from his god-like strength, but the thought of it arcing across the city, maybe even going into orbit, is glorious.

He’d never be looked down upon again.

Never.

His next visit is to the man he called father. He feels sorrow in droves as he presses his heel to the old man’s head– perhaps even more so when his fingers pierce through the muscle and sinew surrounding his spine. It was the screaming he didn’t like.

Ever the authority figure, Jonah Vogelbaum was not a man who cried out from pain. In turn, he expected his test subjects to be the same. To scream was to be punished for being so weak– whether because of fear or pain that his body hadn’t quite learned to protect against.

He almost flinches in preparation for the floor grates of his cell to charge with enough electricity to incapacitate him.

But that was then and this is now. He stands upon freshly waxed linoleum, not metal grates. The walls are lined with books and photos of great minds his father found inspiring, not blank white panels. On the wall ahead is the painting of God creating Adam.

He stares at it as he wraps his fist around his father’s spinal cord and rips it clean out.

His ears ring.

He, too, has sinned against his creator; however, he had been damned from the start. There was no Eden for him. Not unless he took it.

When he finishes, he leaves a trail of bodies. Workers, supes, emergency teams– anyone he came across. Not even The Seven was spared his fury.

The only one he makes it quick for is Noir.

The rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

He wipes the Pentagon off the map entirely. Targets military installations around the country– torches them all and leaves nothing but craters and ash once he’s done.

The little boy once strapped to a nuclear reactor is a force greater than anything they can throw at him. He practically giggles when he walks off the first atomic bomb. He’d been just south of San Antonio when they lobbed it at him.

The pilot who dropped it wasn’t so lucky. Nor the town a few miles away.

He takes out every missile silo his x-ray eyes can find. Chokes out every detail he can from every soldier with rank worth a squirt of piss until he’s squeezing it out of politicians.

Eventually, even the president.

He paints the White House red.

Kicks his feet up on the desk, utterly drenched in gore, as he declares himself America’s new leader over the emergency broadcast network– the former’s head rests beside him on the table. He promises the world will be his. He vows.

The UN scrambles. Every nation considers their options.

He laughs.

When they come for him– when he’s eviscerated every supe or cockroach with a gun who dares to think of challenging his rule– he simply smiles. He laughs and laughs as he litters America’s streets with carcasses of soldiers– of tanks and aircrafts.

He even dives down to find the submarines, pulling them deeper and deeper until the ocean’s pressure devastates their hulls and crushes everyone inside. He sinks the boats, throws the jets into space, destroys everything until his path of destruction leads him to the front door of every world leader who even so much as humored the thought of taking what was rightfully his.

He makes sure to present the corpses in broad daylight. He wants everyone to see.

Some cheer. Tyrants dangled above their heads, blood dripping over the masses.

He is their savior.

Others jeer.

Their heads roll.

He thins the herd of every nation in this way. Reminds them all of who they serve now, of what god has seen fit to free them of their spineless rulers and protect them.

All he demands is their love.

That they fall to their knees and pray to him in their time of need. That they respect the natural order, revere those who have been elevated above them and tear down those who would seek to destroy it.

He reminds them: he can hear everything. He can see through everything.

He will know.

God will know.

Months later, he has them adorn him the way he should have been all along. He hosts a competition from his new throne– from the tower now stable and powerful once more. A testament to his glory.

“The winner earns my favor.” He told them. Thirty costume designers tasked to create a suit worthy of a king. Something regal, something fierce.

Something for him.

He cuts down those who put forth no effort, offering only designs rotten and abysmal, unbecoming of their god. They should have known better.

They serve as a warning.

One by one, he rages about how they must see him. Ugly colors, a lack of originality, stupid designs. One by one, he hands out punishments in abundance.

Until one designer in particular approaches him. The very last one. A steely eyed old woman who had worked for Vought for some time. He recognizes her from his first ever fitting. She designed the one he wears now.

Before him, she holds a piece of paper and an item covered by fabric. Homelander chooses not to spoil his own surprise. Had it been anyone else, he’d have assumed it was garbage beneath that covering, but that look in her eyes dared to differ.

She doesn’t kneel the way the others did. Doesn’t sputter through justifications on what she shows him or why she thinks it would look best. She simply hands him the paper and waits.

“And where is this suit?” He asks with a hint of excitement.

“All good things in time, my lord.” The woman replies. Instead, she extends her arms and offers him the covered item. “For now, I have this.”

A grin carves into his face, eager and pleased with such a creation. Something fitting for a king. Something he should’ve had all along. Carved laurels and gems of deep crimson nested in that touch, that flair he’s been missing this whole time.

For what is a king without his crown?

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #the boys #antony starr

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ptseti · 4 months ago

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AFRICAN COUNTRIES REPATRIATE THEIR GOLD FROM U.S.

In this video @RedactedNews anchor Clayton Morris explains why several African countries have begun withdrawing their gold reserves from the United States in recent months. The moves are a reflection of growing concerns over the stability of a waning hegemonic power and its economy. The trend also marks a real shift in global economics, as these and other countries grow increasingly skeptical of the traditional safe-haven status of US financial institutions and the dollar.

The decision to repatriate gold reserves is driven by a deeper unease among these nations about the trajectory of the US economy. Persistent inflation, mounting debt levels, and concerns about the Federal Reserve's ability to maintain stable monetary policies have eroded confidence in the US dollar. Additionally, geopolitical tensions and uncertainties surrounding trade relations have further fuelled apprehensions among foreign governments and investors.

Video credit: @RedactedNews

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obsessedbyneon · 5 months ago

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How did you fall in love with malls?

The mall in my hometown, where I lived with my parents, used to have a typical 'American' concept (anchor stores with small shops in between and parking garages around it) and recognizable style. During the years they kept changing bits until it didn't function properly anymore and looked aweful. This is the same fate many malls became victim of and it's all because non-designers are in charge and only want to please investors. Then I saw how beautiful malls in America used to be and how painful their demise was and a fascination was born. My hometown's mall went through a proper renovation and they changed the whole layout, the only reason it still exists is because of urban planning with housing.

#ask #answered

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owlrageousjones · 5 months ago

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Is Blanche Devereaux a Landlord?

Random thought of the day: Is Blanche Devereaux of the Golden Girls a Landlord? And if she is, does she deserve the guillotine?

Obviously, in the strictest sense, she is a landlord. She owns accomodation, and she derives income from renting that accomodation out. That's a landlord.

But in saying that, Blanche lives in that same house - she rents it out to the other women because she has space and she's a widow with no dependents anymore. She had a large house to raise children and live with her husband, but her children have moved out and her husband's moved on (to the afterlife).

The absolutely moral thing to do would be to either let her roommates stay with her for free (because housing is a human right) OR to downsize.

And it's easy to say that's what she should do, but the absolutely moral thing for most of us to do is to sell most of our belongings and give the proceeds to charity but that's the kind of behaviour you'd expect from a saint, not some random person. I think we generally agree that there's a gradient between the extreme ends here.

And although it's kind of a meme, landlords do provide a service - as someone who has owned their own home with a mortgage, owning a home can be annoying and stressful. Owning your own home makes you feel like you put down an anchor, and when you want to move, you end up asking yourself if it's worth raising that anchor. For some people, it's better to have the freedom and flexibility that renting can provide.

(Also technically you don't have the stress of wondering how you're going to pay for repairs because that's the landlord's responsibility, but you know, that also puts you at the mercy of the landlord.)

In some ways, I think there wouldn't necessarily be anything wrong with having landlords if those landlords weren't private investors whose desire is profit - if the government owned my house, and I just 'rented' it from them by paying taxes, and then I would be able to move at some point if I chose, that'd be a neat solution.

(But then it also raises all sorts of questions such as: should I, a single bachelor with no dependents, be allowed to have a house with more than one bedroom? Under the capitalist system, I could have as big a house as my pockets could afford, even if that is a terrible allocation of space and housing.)

Looping back to Blanche, neither Rose nor Dorothy seem like they might've been in a position to buy a house - Rose sold her previous home, so maybe she would have the funds, but she was also moving from a small town to Miami, so the houses would probably cost a lot more (but she could probably afford a condo or small apartment). There's also the fact that living in a shared accomodation with each other was almost definitely good for them, socially wise.

I know living on my own was kind of sad in some ways, even if it did mean I didn't have to wear clothes in the summer.

So is Blanche bourgeouise? I mean... probably, but if the Revolution came, would she be up against the wall?

#penkind rambles #long post #dumb thoughts i'm having whilst applying for new jobs #i personally think she's a landlord but shouldn't be launched into space #i think we are forced into participating in a capitalist system and trying to be comfortable in that system isn't necessarily evil #like if you study hard and work hard and become a doctor or a famous actor #or just an instagram influencer or whatever #and you make lots of money because of that #i think whatever #but if you do become very wealthy and then use that wealth to keep clawing after more wealth and exploiting everyone #then get into the space cannon

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laf-outloud · 3 months ago

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Looks like we know why Librarians was pulled now (and its not the smart thing you suggested about holding it so they had basically one anchor show in the spring):

https://tvline.com/news/tnt-drama-series-librarians-the-next-chapter-1235322458/

TNT Grabs Librarians Reboot From The CW as Part of Plan to Replenish Drama Slate

So basically they had one show that people were looking forward to that had an at least somewhat established fanbase (I never watched the og so I don't know how big the fandom is, but I know they're there), and they.... sold it.

I get needing an influx of cashflow but its sooo short sighted! If you continue to sell off, cancel, or just never air the shows that people are interested in just to get cash then yea, you have cash now, but when no one watches your network in the upcoming years because you have ruined it and cancelled or sold off all the shows people want? Then you're going to be in even more trouble because a network with no one watching is making less money than the CW was already struggling to make. They aren't "making the cw profitable" they are trying to get fast cash as they make the network completely unrecognizable to its loyal fans thereby destroying all good will they had.

Yes, to everything you said! I always side-eyed the "make the CW profitable by 2025" because it forces whoever's in charge to make the kinds of decisions that generate immediate cash for investors, but don't allow for an extended growth plan. Nexstar may be able to pay off investors in the short-term, but their long-term prospects are dwindling with every short-term decision they make.

(But yea, for TNT bringing the Librarians back home! I might even watch it now knowing that the CW won't get my views for ad revenue.)

#ask box #anti nexstar #anti the cw #anti brad schwartz #the librarians

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alphaman99 · 11 months ago

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FORGOTTEN HISTORY

A Daily Dose of History

Suggested for you · 1d ·

In 1920 the yacht building business that Bill McCoy operated with his brother Ben was struggling. So, Bill assessed the situation. He knew that he was a good sailor who knew how to make fast boats. And he knew that Prohibition had created a huge demand for liquor in the American northeast. Recognizing the business opportunity that presented itself, Bill McCoy seized it, becoming the king of the rumrunners, one of America’s most celebrated and notorious bootleggers.

McCoy bought a 127-foot fishing schooner capable of carrying 6,000 cases of alcohol and retrofitted it to make it one of the fastest commercial sailing vessels on the Atlantic coast. He registered his ship in Great Britain and renamed it “Tomoka.” He was in business.

He would load his cargo of spirits in Nassau in the Bahamas, then sail to the Jersey shore, anchoring between Sandy Hook and Atlantic City, just outside the three-mile boundary of international waters. Customers would come out to him in small boats that could evade the Coast Guard, and McCoy would sell them the booze in sacks that held nine bottles each. Ben McCoy would bring out supplies to the Tomoka, so that she never had to port.

McCoy made no effort to hide what he was doing. In fact, he welcomed the publicity. He boasted that he never diluted his product (as many bootleggers did), and that he never paid a dime to organized crime or to bribe law enforcement. And no law prohibited him from selling liquor in international waters. His enterprise was so successful that he soon added four more boats. In a little more than two years he sold an estimated two million bottles.

McCoy’s brazenness and his celebrity status infuriated government authorities, however, and they were determined to shut him down. In 1923, after first getting the tacit consent of British authorities, the Coast Guard was ordered to arrest McCoy, and to sink the Tomoka if he resisted.

On November 25 the Coast Guard cutter Senaca steamed out to the Tomoka and sent over a 15-man boarding party. When they were aboard, the commanding officer ordered McCoy to bring his ship into port. Instead, he set sail and raced away, with the boarding party still on board. The Seneca opened fire with her four-inch deck guns and the Tomoka’s crew answered with a machine gun set up on her forward deck. But as the shells from the Seneca started dropping closer to his ship, McCoy realized the game was up. He lowered his jib and surrendered. On board the Coast Guard found $60,000 in cash (about a million dollars in today’s money) and only 400 cases of the original 4,200 case cargo.

Once brought ashore reporters asked McCoy how he intended to defend himself against the charges. He answered with a smile, “I was outside the three-mile limit, selling whisky, and good whisky, to anyone and everyone who wanted to buy.”

But after two years of legal wrangling, McCoy ultimately decided to accept a plea bargain. He pled guilty to violating the Volstead Act and was sentenced to nine months in jail.

After serving his time, McCoy retired from rumrunning, returning instead to the boat building business. He also became a successful real estate investor and when Prohibition ended he cashed in on his notoriety by putting out his own brand of whisky, called “The Real McCoy” and featuring the Tomoka on the label.

William Frederick “Bill” McCoy, the King of the Rumrunners, died in Florida at age 71 on December 30, 1948, seventy-five years ago today.

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