#i am not in the habit of arguing with strangers on the internet and i am not starting now

[tytoalbatross]

god damn i do not post often but can i talk about intentionality for a second?? one second please

i'm gonna be talking about bg3 but this really applies to any fandom space. people will, surface-level, agree that a Black character is not getting enough content compared to their white counterparts because it's. obvious . take wyll, who is several hours behind on voiced lines compared to other origins despite being one of the original five (before they added karlach and whiteified her too but that's another post). it's hard to deny cold hard facts

but then instead of engaging in content that uplifts Black characters and creators, they'll go right back to pumping out more and more content of just their white faves. on its own, it's not actively harmful, but here's what the implication is, whether they acknowledge it or not: yes wyll has less in-game content, yes his writing didn't get the attention it deserved, therefore i don't like him as much. it only perpetuates wyll's lack of content by contributing to his sidelining in fandom spaces

what i would love for fans who claim to be allies to do is to step out of the comfort zone of their initial favorites (which can, in fact, be biased!) and start pursuing content centering Black characters with intentionality. like all things, anti-racism (actively pushing back against racism rather than simply "Not Being Racist") takes practice and effort. you can't really agree with us that wyll needs more content, then in the same breath say that it's because of that that he's not interesting to you . the point was right in front of you doing a jig and you still missed it

[max1461]

I think you're assuming certain implications here that should not be assumed.

If a random stranger I've never interacted with before tries to lecture me about aesthetic morality it is good to push them in the mud, because I want to universalize the principle that you don't lecture random strangers about aesthetic morality.

Punishing people socially ("pushing them into the mud") for the instrumental reason of enforcing a set of desirable norms does not necessitate thinking you are better than those people. You can do it without passing unnecessary judgement on a stranger that you don't really know, and indeed if your argument for doing it is pure instrumental norm enforcement then I think you would be actively unwise to get caught up in any amount of righteous anger over their having slighted you. As a rule I think it clouds your thinking. This argument is orthogonal to the claim being debated.

I am better than these people.

No, you aren't. Everyone has flaws. Lecturing strangers about morality is annoying, but it is in the grand scheme of things just not that big of a deal. You are not actually better than someone because they did something kind of annoying and you happened to see it. You do annoying things too I am sure, as do I. This I feel strongly about—judging others is almost never useful or necessary, and leads to sloppier thinking. Almost unilaterally I believe that people should judge others less. Certainly judging people for being annoying on the internet is unjustified. So some people are annoying on the internet; they're probably fine people and it isn't worth worrying about.

[I] don't need to communicate with them

On the internet this is true, but in everyday life it might not be true. You may have colleges or friends, people that you have to be around or even people that you like and care about, who do this or that annoying thing. Thinking that you are better than them because of it will probably be bad for those relationships, and likely bad for you in a pragmatic sense. It's not a useful mindset.

No, that's not a useful way to spend my time or energy.

Not judging people requires no energy, it (if cultivated as habit) requires less energy than judging them. Believing you are better than someone requires no less energy than not believing this. Certainly, saying "I'm better than these people" requires more energy than not doing so. This argument does not hold up.

My point is not that I think it's really really important to extend this particular person charity, my point is that I think non-judgement as habit makes you a better person and a better thinker, and it's worth arguing for especially in low stakes scenarios like these.

Hot take but the Renaissance guys or the Enlightenment guys or whoever it was were totally right about ahistorically idealizing the stark white appearance of Classical ruins and statues and shit. Like yeah. The austere beauty of pure shape and material or whatever. That's 100% right.

[c-is-for-circinate]

Like, is the gist "Real life pedophilia/incest/rape is bad, and stories saying these things are good are bad, but including these topics in a story isn't inherently bad, so the people being like 'hey, maybe Ao3 shouldn't have so much kiddie porn there's an entire category called "Underage"' are just overreacting and making things worse?" Because it feels like you're saying, "your negative reaction to this stuff is valid, but also you're annoying and prudish and bad and really you aren't valid."

So here’s the thing: it really does not sound like you're asking this question because you want my answer, it sounds like you want to be angry with me and have a fight. And fair enough! I'm not terribly interested in a fight, but apparently this is my day to dive into this topic as thoughtfully and honestly as I can be. Maybe I'll say something you haven't already heard from other people before. Maybe not! Only you, anonymous asker, know that.

To begin with, you got part of the gist right. Real life rape (including child abuse/child sexual abuse as well as incest) is bad. Stories about rape, about underage sex, and about incest, are stories.

They're stories. They're pixels on a screen. They're not real. Whether they claim that rape is good, or bad, or sexy, or melodramatic, or life-destroying, or a normal Tuesday afternoon. They're stories.

And having a negative reaction to them is valid. Stories can stir up powerful emotions in people. It is absolutely, 100%, fair and valid and even normal for there to be certain tropes, plot elements, events, and kinds of content that make you upset and that you never want to see in a story you read, ever. You don't have to want to read about sex. You don't have to want to read any of it. That doesn't make you bad.

There are tropes, plot elements, events, and kinds of content that upset me. There are stories I won't read. The same is true of literally everyone else I know. Even though I know the stories aren't real. Even though I know the things happening in them are happening to fictional characters, who do not exist, who I cannot protect and who also cannot be harmed because they're not real. Even then, I can be made sad and scared and upset and hurt by reading those stories. And that is okay and that is valid and I am not bad or wrong for being upset about the story I've read, and neither are you.

But that doesn't mean the story doesn't have value to somebody else. That doesn't mean the story isn't important to somebody else.

What I see most often coming from antis, possibly even including yourself, is an overwhelming desire to protect. They want to keep themselves and others--possibly people they know, possibly hypothetical people they may never meet--safe from being hurt by these stories. And that desire to protect, also, is normal. It's even admirable! The problem, though, the thing that does more harm than good, is when that desire to protect drives people to lash out against things that matter to other people.

There is a difference between actual rape and stories about rape. There is a difference between a story that could theoretically hurt somebody, someday (which is all stories, always), and a story that hurts you personally. And there is a difference between a story that hurts you personally, and a story that is inherently poisonous to everyone who touches it.

We know--absolutely, scientifically, incontrovertibly--that stories about rape do not make people rapists. Yes, even the stories where the rape is there to be sexy. Even stories where the person being raped is a child. Even then. Fiction is not the same thing as normalization; again, there are far smarter people who have written far more extensively on that topic than I, and next time I come across something that goes more into detail on this point I promise I will reblog it. If this really is the thing you're afraid of, I may not be the right person to convince you that this is an unfounded fear, but I know someone out there can elaborate on it.

(Unfounded, which is not the same thing as invalid. My mother's claustrophobia is unfounded; it flares up in many situations where there's no physical threat whatsoever, where she has plenty of space to move and air to breathe. It's still real. It still chokes her. It's still valid, she is not bad or broken to feel that way, and she still can't drive through certain tunnels. The fear is real. But the thing she's afraid of can't physically hurt her, and that is worth knowing in terms of how she deals with it.)

We know, absolutely, scientifically, and incontrovertibly, that stories about rape and many, many, many other things can hurt and even traumatize their readers. Even though the situation you're reacting to is not real and you receive no physical injury, you can still be hurt by it. The key word there, though, is readers. The fact that the horror genre is out there terrifying people who enjoy being terrified for fun does not damage me unless I do something stupid and try listening to the Magnus Archives again and end up tense and miserable and paranoid for the rest of the week. The fact that guacamole is apparently delicious to everybody else in the world does not hurt me unless I do something stupid and order the wrong thing at a restaurant, and end up itchy and miserable with a little trouble breathing for the rest of the night.

The fact that there are, yes, tens of thousands of fics on AO3 in which characters under the age of 18 have sex? It can't hurt you. Those fics do not hurt you by existing. They can only hurt you if you read them. They can only hurt anyone who reads them. That's why there is an 'Underage' tag--and it's worth noting, 'Underage' is a warning, not a category. Nobody wants you to get hurt reading the wrong fic, any more than the sushi chef wants my throat to swell up because I ordered something with avocado. Literally nobody wants that.

The flip side, of course, is that you hating each and every one of those fics individually and as a group doesn't actually hurt me, or anyone else who writes, reads, or enjoys them. By itself. You can hate anything you like, and fic writers can write anything they like, and it all comes out in the end, more or less. Except.

Except that reading fic is always, entirely, 100% opt-in, and online harassment isn't even opt-out. Some antis have a nasty habit of going after writers whose content they don't like; climbing into inboxes and comments sections, calling those writers nasty names, throwing around cruelties and aggression and insults. I know that's not the same thing as simply disliking a genre, or even passively disagreeing with its existence (although disliking a genre and disagreeing with its right to exist are also very different things). I know not all antis do that. I don't know you, anon, but based on the speed and aggressiveness of this response to my last post, I can't help but wonder if you would do that.

And that does hurt people. Just like it might hurt you if someone threw a bunch of content that makes you uncomfortable into your inbox. Including the harasser, actually--because getting into fights with strangers on the internet about things that make you angry, sad, defensive, and upset isn't good for anybody. Including both you and me.

Anyway, after yet another lengthy ramble, let's get the tl;dr response to your ask here: nobody is ever bad or wrong for disliking certain content in their stories, no matter what that content is. You and your emotions are valid. The "overreacting and making things worse" part isn't about what you feel, but what you do with it. Constantly engaging with places where the thing that upsets you will probably show up, even to argue and try to fight it, will make things worse in the sense that now you're spending way more time thinking about this thing that makes you upset and angry, thereby leaving you more upset and angry. Getting together with a bunch of your upset, angry friends to make your feelings everybody else's problem? Makes fandom a more toxic place for everyone else involved.

Don't read stuff that's going to hurt you. Don't make other people read stuff that's going to hurt them. That's the whole thing, really.

[ayeforscotland]

I'm trying to figure out how to say this in a way that will convey my meaning properly and not read as, I don't know, inappropriately talking about my feelings to strangers on the internet. Bear with me.

The photo that you posted of your 70s outfit has been so helpful for my body dysphoria. I am a trans guy and I'm shaped a lot like you. I tend to feel bad for not being one of those lithe transmasc twinks or super buff trans dudes who look like they wear a testosterone drip to the gym.

You, however, are an objectively good-looking guy. I can look at your photo, identify that you look great, and identify that you look like me. And it's a breath of fresh air.

I know you keep saying you're not used to people finding you attractive. Thanks for putting your selfies out there anyway. It's doing more good than you know.

This ask has made my day to be honest so, firstly, thank you. I'm also going to use your intro and say I'm struggling to articulate all of my thoughts on this so apologies if it is pish - please just ignore it and read the last para. Anyway, whenever I've talked about body issues stuff on Tumblr, I've learned that I really have to stress that this is my view of my body and I will always be my harshest critic. I would never say the same about someone else's body because it's none of my business. I've battled with self-image stuff since I was a teenager - I'm in a constant three-way fight between being reasonably happy with myself, not giving a shit because a body is just a flesh prison anyway, and really detesting how I look. Now when I say I sometimes really detest how I look - I do not mean that I detest how other people who are shaped like me look.

I feel like there will always be someone who argues that I'm causing 'collateral damage' but I think that contributes to a society where me, as a guy, can't talk about the challenges around self-image. Like a lot of guys, I didn't receive loads of positive comments on my looks or body growing up. That's not to say my family and friends called me ugly or whatever, but when I received compliments it never felt sincere. The only comment from my teenage years that actually sticks out to me was a lassie I met once for a single date with who said I had nice teeth. Another issue that feeds into my self-image was being an athlete when I was younger and then being put in a position where I couldn't keep it up but not being able to drop the habits fast enough to not face the impact. I'm kinda being deliberately vague with that para as I could go on about body expectation stuff for guys forever. (I've actually edited several new paragraphs into this. It was originally only 3)

Anyway, I'm just really glad to hear that it's helped you even in a small way. We all come in different shapes and sizes, and that's a good thing.

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 10: Whats up with Yoshi?

Summary: While Raphael tries to calm down with the help of Splinter, Donnie has a talk with Leonardo about Yoshi.

Tags: @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry @brightlotusmoon @rottmnt-addict

Leonardo stood up just as suddenly as Raphael had, leaving his plate at the table as he stormed out of the kitchen.

“Leo!” Donatello was the next to stand, hurrying after his brother.

Michelangelo didn't react. He just as stiff and speechless as his guests were. His expression broke. His lip began quivering as he tucked into himself and started to cry. Tears came heavy and fast; Raph was the quickest out of his seat and ushered to the box turtle’s comfort, wrapping Michelangelo in arms as big as he was. Michelangelo leaned into the hug, resting his head against Raph’s neck and curling his body into a tight ball that the older shinobi could easily embrace.

“Perhaps we… overstepped our bounds…” Splinter said slowly, his eyes holding nothing but patient understanding toward the young teen. “I apologize for causing such emotional distress…”

Michelangelo wanted to respond, but the tears wouldn’t stop to let the words through. Instead, he just leaned his weight further into his friend to hide away from the world.

***

Raphael needed to calm down. He needed to breathe and think somewhere away from questions, even the ones left unsaid. His hands were shaking too badly for the accuracy needed to knit, and when he had tried all he succeeded in doing was clacking the needles together and making nothing more than a tangled wad of yarn. Busywork always seemed to help, so that’s what he fell to doing. He settled on making up Michelangelo’s room for the brotherly sleepover that Michelangelo was so excited for. It would be cramped quarters, but he was sure they could all fit in Michelangelo’s race car bed with a little maneuvering; Raphael even had his own rubber sleeper shell so his spikes wouldn’t hurt them in the night! The bed had been a birthday gift from Donatello the previous year, and Michelangelo himself had handled the decorations of the wooden frame. As one would expect, it was just as vibrant as Mikey was.

There came a gentle knock at the open door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Splinter said in that soft, humble voice of his.

“Uh… n-no, just some... “ Raphael let out a long breath and motioned vaguely toward the blankets and pillows he had assembled into a comfortable nest. He couldn’t find the words, so he melted away into low mumbles.

“I see.” Splinter nodded, “It looks very comfortable. Are you sure you don’t mind sharing your rooms?”

Raphael shrugged. “Eh, it’s whatever. Mikey loves sleepovers, so…” Raphael bit his lip out of habit and rubbed his arm.

“Still, I appreciate your generosity.” He approached Raphael at a slow gait and held out his paw near Raphael, but not quite touching him, allowing Raphael to take that final reach if he so choosed; and he did. Splinter ran a finger carefully across the far-larger hand, his expression a splitting smile. “I’m sorry if my family overstepped our boundaries at supper. Leonardo is simply… eager to get back home, as we all are.”

“No no no, it’s not your fault!” Raphael quickly reassured. “I know how Leo’s can get when they’re antsy.

Splinter gave a cheerful laugh. “Yes; I suppose my son and your brother are more alike than we initially realized.”

“Yeah, especially recently...” Raphael caught himself. He growled, swiping at his face trying to clear the cloud in his mind. “Sorry. Just a lot on my mind right now.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded, “I understand completely.”

Raphael sat down with enough force to shake the room; Splinter sat down beside him.

“Your father is… unwell?” Splinter asked cautiously.

“Erm…” Raphael pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful grunt. “Uh. Physically he’s as well as he can be— Leo and Don make sure of that.”

“But mentally?” Splinter prompted.

Raphael couldn’t answer. It was all he could do to shake his head and give a weak, gasping sob, though no tears came to match. Almost out of habit, Raphael pressed his weight into Splinter and rested his head on the old rat’s shoulders; Splinter carried the burden of Raphael with little trouble, carefully shushing the mutant's sobs while stroking his carapace.

“There there, it is alright.” Splinter soothed. “I can imagine how difficult it is to care for your father while maintaining your duties at the same time.”

“It is.” Raphael shook his broad head. “And… and I try to balance things so we can do both, but Leo’s just making it so hard! We’re yelling at each other all the time, Donnie holes up in his bedroom, and Mikey is just so sad. I don’t know what to do…”

“Hey, easy…” Splinter stroked the unscarred side of Raphael’s face, “You will figure it out. Would I be overzealous to ask about…?”

“Uh.” Raphael took a deep breath to think. “We took him to a yokai specialist that uh… said LBD or something like that. Protein deposits in the brain or nerve cells or whatever. I… kinda blanked out.”

“Of course.�� Splinter nodded, “It is only natural.”

“Leo handles all of that medical stuff anyway.” Raphael waved a dismissive hand, “Doctor appointments, physical therapy, stuff like that…”

“You’re awfully lucky you have all those options.” Splinter said, “Perhaps we could get Michelangelo checked out— my son, I mean. Donatello is wonderful with him, but internet searches and medical books can only go so far.”

There was no verbal response, but Raphael grunted and nodded with eyes averted. Splinter frowned and lowered his head to meet the snapping turtle’s gaze, smile just as patient.

“Do you agree, Raphael?”

Raphael shrugged. “I dunno. I mean— it’s worked so far for us. I get that Leo wants dad to have all these specialists and these caregivers and—and I understand that dad needs the care, but it’s expensive and we can do half that stuff by ourselves! If dad really needs something then it’s not an issue, but Leo keeps wasting all this time and money to get the same exact answer! It’s stupid!”

“I see.” Splinter nodded, “I understand that pride may be a difficult thing to overcome with something so personal…”

“And it’s not just the appointments!” It was nice to have someone to talk to, an unbiased source, so Raphael just kept talking. He could feel a weight lifting off of his shoulders and chest. “Leo’s has it in his head that dad needs a full-time nurse!”

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know…” Raphael shook his head, “I mean, I can’t really stand the thought of some stranger coming here and… trusting someone we don’t know with taking care of dad.”

“You’re untrusting of strangers…”

“Well, yeah. We’ve been pretty sheltered most of our lives. All of this… out in the open stuff is really new to us.”

“It is a valid worry.” Splinter reassured, “Is there any alternative?”

“I don’t see why we can’t do what we’ve been doing! You know— take turns staying behind to take care of dad.”

“You would split up the team…”

“I mean… it’s for dad! And it’s what we’ve been doing for the past two months, and it’s worked out great! Leo just doesn’t want to put in the work…”

“I’m certain that’s not what it is at all!” Splinter insisted, “You said Leonardo was taking your father to all of these appointments! That doesn’t seem lazy to me!”

“It’s lazy when it gets him out of training and patrol constantly.” Raphael said bitterly.

“Ah.” Splinter understood, “Well, why not take turns accompanying Yoshi?”

“I tried that; Leo’s the only one who knows enough about this stuff to fill in the doctor's.”

“Your Donatello isn’t of help?”

“Not with medical science. He’s more of a tech nerd.”

“My Donatello is much of a… jack of all trades, if you would. Perhaps during our stay he could help out.”

“You think he would?” Raphael had a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I don’t see why not. I will ask him about it in the morning.”

“Thanks.” Raphael breathed, his smile coming back with a more genuine emotion, “Gee, we really owe you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“We didn't help you boys just to get something owed.” Splinter stated, “It was just the right thing to do.”

“I know!” Raphael insisted, “And helping you guys is the right thing for us to do!

“You are a very kind soul, Raphael, and I am so thankful that me and my sons had this place to turn to in our hour of need. Friends to rely on.”

Raphael took Splinter’s hands in his. “You’re always welcome here! We would have visited sooner but… life happened.”

“Do not be guilty, young Raphael. Guilt does not suit those eyes well.”

Raphael rumbled a laugh. “I’ll try to remember that.”

~~~

“Hey.” Donnie opened the closet to find Leonardo sitting inside; he closed the door and joined Leonardo, having to pull his knees tight to his chest to cram all seven feet of him inside.

“Hey.” Leonardo muttered, hardly acknowledging Donnie’s presence.

“Your Donnie’s looking for you, you know.”

“How’d you find me first, then?”

Donnie shrugged. “I’m a ninja. Do you… wanna talk about what happened?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Leonardo scoffed, almost laughing, “You saw what went down. There’s nothing more to it.”

“Oh, I think there is.” Donnie said; when Leonardo looked in the box turtles eyes, he was met with the cold, cobra stare that Donnie was known for. “I’m curious. Enlighten me.”

Leonardo gulped. “Just… the past six months have been an… all-round crap fest. Just one thing after the other— it’s exhausting! And arguing with Raph doesn’t make things any better.”

“Haven’t you and your Raph always butted heads?”

“Not like this!  Not every day— and not so violent! Not over something as important as this… as important as dad.”

“Do you know what caused it?” Donnie asked vaguely, but he trusted in Leonardo to know what he was talking about.

“It’s LBD.” Leonardo shook his head, “Doc says so.”

Donnie frowned. “LBD shouldn’t have progressed so quickly. You said it’s only been six months?”

“Five months, and that’s since he was diagnosed, not since it developed.” Leonardo corrected, “He’s had it for a long time we just… didn't notice. Little things like… forgetting our names and mixing up who was who…”

“That would have been around the same time as your injury, right?” Donnie asked, “I mean, I can only estimate given how much you’ve healed.”

“Yeah, right after it.” Leonardo took a shaky breath.

“That must have been… difficult to handle?”

“Raph… struggled a lot.” Leonardo’s voice began to waver, “I… let’s just say I was MIA for a while. I… wasn’t there when… But he got through it. We’ll get through this too. Always do.”

“You have access to doctor's, don’t you?” Donnie said, “Neurologists, geriatricians, physicians?”

Leonardo nodded, “All of those. And I’ve been looking into palliative care, but it’s… hard to find all this stuff in the Hidden City. Yokai illness and human aren’t the same and… and dad’s isn’t either of those.” 

“It sounds like you’re doing everything right to me.” Donnie assured.

“Try telling that to Raph! I told him that we needed a nurse to help us stay on top of this whole thing, and he nearly blew a gasket. He’s too proud to admit that we need help.”

“Pride is a dangerous thing.” Donnie agreed, “How can I help?”

“No.” Leonardo shook his head, “This is personal business. You don’t need to get involved.”

“Leon.” Donnie’s voice dripped with venom.

“D-don’t you do it.”

“Leon.” Donnie leaned closer to Leonardo, his eyes wide and slitted  as he hissed out the words in a slow voice, “How... can I... help…?”

“You can start by not looking at me like that!” Leonardo shoved Donnie away and shivered.

Donnie blinked and his eyes were back to normal. “You’re not in this alone, Leon, and I won’t let you think that you are. Just know that.”

[stormblessed95]

Have you ever watched a You Tube video and decided to go through comment section for pov of other audience but ended up witnessing verbal fights between two stranger in reply section saying mean things to each other

I am sure many of you atleast once must have argued with someone on comments over something u both hv diff pov on

If you haven't then you have my respect

I have seen plenty PLENTY of these kind of fights. Take eg of shipping videos (Especially Jikook and Taekook videos) where a Tkkr and Jkkr meet they will fight like dogs. They will say mean things to each other.

I saw a girl who told her age to be 18 years old and she was a taekooker and she was replying and fighting with Every single Jikooker in the whole ass comment section. And that little girl's word if you will read then u will realise how Harsh how abusive her words were. Everyone person whome she had said mean things to were not even wrong or saying bad things about anyone but the way she was disrespecting every single soul IT WAS HORRIBLE TO SEE

and I have witnessed NUMOUROUS people like these. You must have also seen Especially in BTS mvs where haters comment mean things about Bts nd their songs. Even I have seen on videos which had no connection with BTS or their song but still people in comment section were mocking bts

Give brainless spoiled person Phone with internet and this is the result.

People you should Respect every single soul in the world. whether Young or Old. How can you show such a disrespect to some stranger on the internet. How can you Hate on any artist just bcoz u dont like their work. YOUR PARENTS NEVER TAUGHT YOU TO RESPECT PEOPLE?? ARE YOU THAT SPOILED??

Just because no one can touch you or harm you THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TICKET TO SAY OR ABUSE STRANGERS ON INTERNET.

If you don't agree with some statement IGNORE IT. Block it. Report it. Do anything But don't Reply to start a fight.

YOU CAN'T CHANGE OPINION OF A PERSON OVER INTERNET.

If you see a hater on internet REPORT BLOCK . DONT FIGHT. Because saying mean things to hater makes you a hater Alsoo.

PLEASE if you have a child in your home before giving them access to internet Teach them to not indulge in such fights , teach them to respect opinions , teach them that it is not a good habit of abusing stranger people over internet you don't even know the Age of.

Thus goes for every social media app out there...Twitter Insta tik tok...

Cyber bullying is still bullying no matter how old you are.... I do understand that when you see hateful/spiteful comments or someone spreading false information about someone online it can be hard to not engage or say something to call that out.... but yes, the petty fights are never pretty.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty

Table of Content or Part Twenty-Nine

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 4.3k

Warning(s): Language, Drug use, Mentions of abuse, Death

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @triplehaitches @emmaelizabeth2014

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

-------------------------------------------------------

When your husband presents a week long vacation on a tropical island 3,875 miles away from your everyday civilization, it seems like an absolutely flawless plan.

Until your husband is so incoherent from drug binging the whole week prior to your trip that he can't even get his own bag packed...or hold much of a conversation.

I decided not to go, even though I'd be kinda miserable without him for a whole week, and left him and Robbin to it.

I didn't feel like taking a week to observe even more of Nikki's reckless habits.

My body's comfortably enveloped by warmth and pulsing jets that leave not an inch of tension in my body for the first time in months.

The only sound there is, is the bubbling of the hot tub as Tansy, Sharise, and I, treat ourselves to an entirely empty mansion while Nikki's away.

"This is great." Tansy vocalizes in a sigh, her sky blue eyes closed while her blonde bombshell waves are pinned on top of her head.

"No Vince screaming at the TV at a ball game, no aggravation out of boredom, no arguments..." Sharise exhales from her place in a lounging chair on the pool's deck.

"...No stepping on needles, no smell of booze or vomit. Just peace." I add in the same, relaxed tone.

"Viv!" Tommy blares from the back door.

"Baby!" Vince's voice follows.

"Tans!" Sparkie's next.

"If we ignore them, they'll go away." I mumble, the three of us not making any moves, pretending we can't hear them.

Once we hear their footsteps approaching on the concrete of the pool deck, I let out a groan.

"Why can't they be 3,875 miles away?" I ask myself aloud, picking my head up and looking at them. "What is it?" I ask them, pulling my sunglasses down my nose to look at them.

"Vince is having a party tonight." Tommy tells me excitedly.

"And?" I reply, smartly.

"And we want you guys to come." He tells me, nudging my arm with his boot. "Well, Sharise, you're already gonna be there, so, but Viv, Tansy, you need to come."

"Why on God's green Earth, would I voluntarily submerge myself in to a booze, drug, and sex obsessed enviroment?" I ask them.

"Well, you married Nikki, so it wouldn't be the first time you've done it." Tommy says cautiously and I glare at him.

"When is this party?" I sigh out, not feeling like arguing.

"Tonight." Vince tells us.

Tansy, Sharise, and I exchange looks.

"Fine." I agree.

A party I assumed would only last a night, went on for four days.

By day three, Nikki was waltzing through the door, Jack in hand, and a shit eating smirk as if he were home.

"Vince, why am I answering this?" I rub the bridge of my nose.

"Theologically, speaking, Viv." He slurs, from his spot on the couch. "Dream threesome. Two girls, two guys, a girl and a guy, whatever wets your pussy. Go." He shoots and I raise my brows.

"I don't know." I admit.

"Oh, come on!" He groans out, frustrated. "Forget you're married, Nikki Sixx doesn't exist in this parallel universe, you're not God fearing, you just have a shot to select your dream team threesome. Who're you choosing?"

"David Lee Roth, Joan Jett." I reply honestly.

"Really?" Vince sounds disappointed and I raise a brow.

"Were you expecting me to say you and someone else?" I question, knowing damn well he was.

Sharise raises her brows at Vince, daring him to say something and causing me, Tansy, Tommy, and Razzle to chuckle.

"Nope." He lies, smiling innocently at his pregnant wife.

"What about you, Tansly?" Razzle nudges her with his elbow, mispronouncing her name, as always.

She's corrected him more times than we can count, but she's stopped fixing him the past few weeks.

I think she's fond of the little pet name.

She blows smoke past her red lips, heeled feet on Sparkie's lap, as she thinks for a moment.

"Billy Idol, Lenny Kravits..." She says, her eyes falling on me. "And Viv."

I don't pay any attention to her suggestion because I know she's on a cocktail of coke, heroin and ludes, and I'm suprised she's even awake.

"Jesus, it's a threesome, Tans, not a orgy." Tommy laughs, taken by surprise.

"I have three perfectly good holes and a talented tongue. Go big or go home." She shrugs, putting out her cigarette.

Tansy talked a big game, but she despised group activities in terms of sex.

She would play her part if she was asked to join one, or if Sparkie suggested she put on a good show for his buddies, but she'd have to get stoned out of her mind, borderline comatose, in order to follow through with it.

One thing Nikki did right, even in his worst point on heroin, he always protected Tansy the best he could.

He turned on Sparkie like a rabid dog in the Summer of '87, after Tansy had to get stitches in her vagina because she passed out at a party she was throwing at her beach house, and Sparkie let his sick-fuck friends practically mutilate her by attempting to fit a Jack Daniels bottle into her unconscious body.

The bottle busted in their attempt and sliced her up so badly, some of the glass went through her and missed her left fallpian tube by the thickness of a quarter.

Tansy had us as her emergency contacts, and I was helping Sharise with Skylar when the hospital called our house and Nikki, being the only one home, answered and then came and picked me up.

The doctor explained it, and Nikki and I figured it was a kinky thing Tansy and Sparkie were trying out.

When she woke up after being repaired, she told Nikki the last thing she remembered before blacking out.

I remember coming back from the vending machine to see Nikki slamming Sparkie's head into the wall of the waiting room, screaming that he was going to "fucking kill him", getting in three good punches before I got him off of him.

Sparkie didn't press charges because he knew what he and his friends did to Tansy would have come out.

To her mom, the rest of Mötley Crüe, her friends, and her husband now, it was just a weird thing she tried out for pleasure and it didn't go too well.

I suppose if Sparkie were still alive, and Axl found out the truth of what really happened to his wife's reproductive system that was nearly jeopardized, he would track him down and finish what Nikki started that night.

I'm about to get up and go get some more water just as a familiar voice exclaims, "Honey, I'm home!"

Nikki's standing at the top of the stairs from the foyer, his arms exposed by his t-shirt turned tank top, his legs wrapped in black denim, arms open wide, Jack in his right hand, and his smile gleaming.

He must have had a really, really good trip.

He was surrounded by drugs, booze and topless women the whole time...he had fun.

I've gotten over being mad at him the past few days, and despite enjoying the quiet house, I've missed him.

Tommy's jumping over the couch, like a puppy seeing his owner return after a trip, nearly tackling him, and Nikki and him are both laughing excitedly to be back together to raise hell as the Terror Twins once more.

Once Tommy's had his turn, Nikki's pulling me into him, his arm looping around my neck as he pulls my lips to his.

I eagerly accept, our tongues dancing together.

"Aww." Tommy pipes.

"Get a room!" Vince orders from his place on the couch, over the loud music and chatter of his guests, sounding grossed out.

Nikki pulls away from me after a moment, smirking down at me before peppering my face in kisses, causing me to giggle.

"I've missed you." He tells me once he's done, squeezing me in a tight hug.

I'm kind of shocked he's admitting that, but I hug him equally as tight.

"Okay, cute, but now the real party starts." Vince cuts us up, handing Nikki a bindle of blow and his hazel eyes glitter that look he gets when he knows he's bound for trouble.

I went home that night to shower, recharge, and went back early the next morning to see almost everyone was still up from the night before, including Nikki.

Hanoi Rocks is passed out in the living room floor with half dressed women all over them. Tansy's naked and unconscious on the kitchen counter with Tommy, covered up with Tommy's jacket and a blanket Sharise drapped over her legs.

Sparkie's still up with Nikki and Vince, and Mick is asleep and minding his own business in one of the guest bedrooms.

I'm stepping over strangers that are littered on the floor, and sitting next to Nikki on his spot of the couch, closing my eyes and leaning my head against his bicep as he and Vince talk about the upcoming album.

He doesn't skip a beat as he goes on about the concept he wants for the cover, lifting the arm I'm resting on to wrap it around me, and lean back, allowing me to lay on his chest.

I curl my legs close to me to lay down on the couch and take up his silent offer, wrapping my arm around his abdomen, and drifting off.

Nikki was very affectionate and sweet when he wanted to be back then.

I wake up around the same time everyone else does, 8:00 at night.

Vince showers and changes clothes while me and Sharise clean up around people because the house is a wreck.

By the time we're done, Nikki's waking up from where he was passed out on the couch with me, and rubbing his eyes.

Mick's even joined the party, too, and I also notice that Tom Zutaut is here as well.

"Draw four." Tansy tells Razzle as she's criss-cross-applesauce at my feet as she and him are using the coffee table to play Uno.

"Wait a minute, I don't wanna draw four." Razzle argues with her.

"Razz, you gotta. It's how you play the game." She explains and he scoffs.

"You ain't gotta tell me how to play the game, I know very well how to play Uno. It's Uno. Uno means 'one'. Why fuck would I draw four when the game is called 'one'?" He asks her, his accent adding humor to his slightly booze induced argument.

"The game's called 'Uno' because whoever has only one card left, is closest to winning." Mike explains, brushing his fluffy blonde hair from his face.

"That's a bit stupid, isn't it?" Razzle replies. "Life's like one big fucking game of Uno. You're dealt more than what you were under the impression of getting when you signed up to bloody play to begin with."

He draws his four cards as Tansy and I try not to laugh.

"It's a game, Razz." I chuckle out, glancing to my right to see Nikki strategically lining coke up in the shape of a cross.

He glances at me to gauge my reaction and I raise an unamused brow as he just throws a wink at me before snorting it.

Mick sits down next to Nikki and I, sighing out in pain.

"God damn." He mumbles and Tommy and I exchange looks.

"You okay there, Mick?" Tommy asks him.

"Yeah. My back hurts from carrying this tour." Mick replies smartly, causing all of us to laugh.

Once Nikki's snorted his blow, he takes the paper he rolled into a straw and licks the remains of white powder off it.

I pretend not to notice his desperate attempt to get every bit of it in his system.

"Mick." Nikki says, nudging Mick, motioning to Vince who's getting friendly with a pretty blonde girl, obviously with ulterior motives in mind. "Hey, are you in the band?" Nikki mimics what he assumes the girl is saying to Vince.

"What do you fuckin' think?" Mick replies mimicking Vince and once again, we're all cackling.

Sharise is now standing next to Vince as he introduces her to the other woman.

"Have you met my wife Sharise? Do you wanna have a threesome?" Tom jokes next, mocking Vince's voice like Mick did but goofier sounding and it's like someone cut the track on a record.

Even Tansy turns around to shoot daggers at him along with Nikki and I.

"Tom, what the fuck is wrong with you man?" Nikki asks sternly, taking him off guard. "She's fucking pregnant, man." He motions to her. "That's fucked up."

It's obvious Tom feels guilty for saying it, but Nikki's suddenly laughing and hitting him in the shoulder. "No, I'm just fucking with you, man. I'm just fucking with you." Nikki assures him and Tom lets out a sound of relief and laughs. "But don't be a fucking dick." He sternly says again, serious this time, pointing at him. "Look at her, she's fucking pregnant, man."

"Don't be a dick, Zutaut." Mick advises, crossing his hands over his chest and laying down.

"Alright, sorry." Tom mumbles as Nikki picks his bottle of Jack back up.

"I win!" I hear Razzle yell, his arms raised in victory, cigarette hanging from his lips. "Choke on that you fuckin'..." he trails off, trying to think of an insult to jokingly throw at Tansy and she just blinks at him, waiting to hear it. "...I can't think of anything because you're perfect and I don't want to plant any bad seeds in your mind so I'll just except the money you owe me and we'll leave it at that." He decides aloud and Tansy reaches for her purse and pulls out fifty dollars.

"A dollar for the number of rounds it's taken you to finally beat me." She hands it to him.

They've been playing Uno ever since he arrived the first night of this party, four days ago.

He's worked hard for this single win.

I would've appreciated his wide, proud smile as he tucked the cash into his pocket, if I had known it would have been the last time I ever got to see it.

"Tans, can you grab something from my trunk?" Nikki asks about an hour later, digging in his pocket for his keys and she nods.

"Can I drive your car?" She raises her brows, smiling innocently.

"With what license?" He counters.

"Touché." She replies taking the keys from him, and he mumbles in her ear what he needs and she nods, stepping out.

Razzle and Tommy flip through Tansy's Miss December issue, each of them holding it open, discussing the girls like food critics pointing out good and bad elements of a dish.

"Is it just me, or does Tansly have a birthmark shaped like a saxophone on her bum?" Razzle points at something, I assume Tansy's ass.

"She does." Me, Tommy, Vince, Nikki and Sparkie, all reply at the same time and look at each other, before they look at me.

"How do you know that?" Vince asks, suggestively, and I cross my arms.

"We see each other naked all the time." I explain, plucking the magazine from Tommy and Razzle. "Not to mention her ass is plastered in almost every issue."

Tansy's coming back with Nikki's keys in no time, handing them off to him, before handing him a brown paper bag I know has gear in it.

"Viv, can you go get me some food?" Sharise asks me politely and I ignore Nikki dismissing himself to the bathroom, Tansy following, as I look up at her. "I'm having a craving." She adds and I nod.

"What do I need to get you?"

I'll be honest, when she gave me specific instructions to go to Dairy Queen, get chilli cheese fries and a swirl of vanilla icecream on top of them, I was judging.

But when I was knocked up...I was eating fried mozarella sticks with peanut butter, hot wings with watermelon, mustard with club crackers, and white peas with mayonaise.

"Ew..." I mumble, coming down the road, the smell of chilli and vanilla not mixing well as the odor continues to stain Nikki's corvette.

I look down at the cupholder to grab my Pepsi, and I look back up, about to meet the back of a car that's stopped dead in the tracks of a car pile up.

"Fuck!" I say harshly, my feet hounding the break, the tires squealing to a hault last minute, missing the car in front of me by inches.

I take a few deep breaths, hearing ambulance sirens blaring past me.

My hand opens the door, my brows furrowed slightly.

Traffic is now stopped on both sides, and I shut the door, looking towards the accident up the road.

Others are getting out of their cars, checking on each other, I don't think anyone is this particular pile up is badly injured.

"What's the matter?!" A man a few cars behind shouts out.

A woman about ten cars ahead turns to look in my direction, able to see the problem better in the night.

"Car wreck!" She replies and I let out a breath, relieved I know it's not Nikki.

Tears come to my eyes.

"Oh, God, be with them, please." I mumble, wiping my eyes.

"Some hot shot in a sports car!" Another man ahead of me pipes.

A heavy feeling that weighs my soul down invades my body.

"W-What kind of car is it?!" I ask him over the sound of more people getting out of their cars and talking.

"...Uh, Pantera, I think!" The second the words leave his mouth, something in me tells me to run.

My heels are lost to the pavement as I take off as fast as my bear feet and legs will take me, turning the bend to see Vince's red Pantera, completely crumpled on the passenger side, while the other car involved in the collision is in startling shape as well.

I see Vince sitting on the curb, cut up, blood smattering his hands and clothes.

His blonde hair is covering his face as he shakes, his arms wrapped around his ankles...rocking back and forth, a cry of the deepest fear evading him.

I'm skidding to my knees when I get to him, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my skin at the action.

"Vince, are you okay?" I ask him frantically, making him look up at me.

He looks so disoriented.

I smell alcohol on him without even trying to.

"I—I...Razzle and I—"

"—Razzle? Razzle was with you?" I try to stay calm, seeing police pulling up to join the ambulances and firetrucks.

"It came outta nowhere...I..." He trails off.

"Vince, where's Razzle?" I ask, starting to panic.

No answer.

"Where's Razzle, Vince?" I repeat, tears filling my eyes.

"He fell asleep, they got him out." He tells me, nearly incoherently, and I look around frantically to see if Razzle is anywhere to be seen.

I only see one of his high-top Chuck Taylor's sitting in the middle of the glass and blood painted pavement.

"Viv?!" Tommy's voice is panicked, probably thinking I was apart of the accident.

I turn to see him, Sharise, the party guests...

Vince's house is just up the road, they probably heard the commotion.

The guests are gawking at the accident with the people caught in the stopped traffic, while Sharise and Tommy are coming towards us.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna ask you to get away from the suspect." A police officer is saying, pulling me up and I furrow my brows.

"Suspect of what?" I demand sharply, seeing another officer approach Vince with a breathalizer.

"Possibly three murders. Depending on how good the doctors are." He replies blatantly and my heart sinks to my stomach.

I allow him to lead me away, seeing Vince being pushed into the back of a police car while the doors of the ambulances are shut, Razzle in one of them.

I turn to look forward, my eyes catching on Michael, Andy, Nasty, and Sami, now moved to the front of the crowd, the various shades of red, blue and white lights reflecting in their glassy eyes.

Nicholas "Razzle" Dingley was declared dead after nearly three hours in surgery, with surgeons that tried everything they could.

Waiting in complete silence with Tommy, Sharise, and four members of a band who were waiting to hear their drummer would be okay, only for a doctor to come out covered in blood, speaking the words, "your buddy Razzle didn't make it," completely broke something in me, that still has yet to be repaired, and probably won't ever be until I see him again.

I held it together as long as I could while Tommy, Sharise, and the remaining members of Hanoi Rocks went through a roller coaster of emotions before I decided I needed to make a getaway.

"Where you going?" Tommy asks me, sniffling as I stand up, grabbing my purse and my jacket.

"Getting Nikki and Tansy." I tell him.

"Well...they were passed out when we all left." He tells me and I let out a breath.

"I'll go check on them." I mumble.

It's obvious to him that I'm avoiding being here, and he gently grasps my hand.

"Viv, it's gonna be alright." He assures me even though it sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

I want to say: "Hanoi Rocks and Mötley Crüe are done with. Razzle's dead. Vince will get sent to prison. Everything Michael, Andy, Nasty, Sami, Razzle, Nikki, Mick, Vince, and you have worked your asses off for, is gone. It's not alright, and it won't be for a long, long time."

But I just give him my best smile and nod, and head for the car.

I got back to Vince's, taking Sharise with me. She was terrified. There she was, pregnant, promised the world by the man she loved and trusted...and he fucked it up and screwed her over.

"Sharise, I know it's a lot, but you gotta calm down." I tell her softly as we park in the driveway.

She's been sobbing ever since the doctor announced Razzle's death.

"I don't know what he expects me to do with this!" She outbursts, her eyes screwed shut as what's left of her makeup runs down her puffy, tear soaked face. "I don't know what to do, Vivian, I don't know what to...oh, God..." Another sob rocks through her as her hand is grasping mine as tight as it can, her knuckles turning white.

I love Vince. I love Tommy. I love Nikki. But they were pros at dealing their significant others fucked up cards, leaving us to pick up the pieces, accept the consequences of their actions—because they sure as fuck never accepted consequences for themselves—and repair whatever it was that they broke.

I go inside to find Nikki and Tansy, stumbling upon them in a guest bedroom, needles scattered, coke and heroin among them, and they're knocked out.

They don't know what they're going to wake up to.

I leave them in whatever high bliss they have left to escape to before reality hits them like a train.

Sharise insists on being alone to "think a lot of shit through."

I just need a fucking place to fall apart.

I could go home, but I don't like being by myself, especially not like this.

Robbin's probably in the same blacked out state as Nikki and Tansy...

But I know who isn't.

Looking back, this is probably the seed that grew it all.

The second the cheaply painted door swings open to reveal a half-awake Duff, in nothing but boxers, rubbing at his sleep filled eyes.

"V-Viv?" He asks, confused. "What're you doing here?"

Tears topple from my eyes and he seems to wake up quickly.

"Viv, what's wrong?"

It hits me at once.

A wave of grief.

My aunt, my two babies, Razzle, Hanoi Rocks, and Mötley Crüe's future...all dead.

A cry cracks past my lips as pain radiates through my chest, causing the muscles to tense and tighten, constricting against my heart as if attempting to protect it.

The sheer weight of all of it—such incredible people losing their bandmate, Vince sitting in a cell knowing he has one of his friend's blood on his hands, the fact that Nikki will wake up eventually and find the dream he had for his band is in shambles, the thought of Razzle's family and friend's getting the phone call that the only way he's coming back home is to be laid to rest—brings me to my knees.

Arms are wrapping around me before I can fall, guiding me into the apartment lit by a dim lamp in the corner, before the door shuts and we're both brought to the floor.

My head aches as more despair is vented out in tears and near shrieks, muffled by the bare skin of his chest.

He doesn't ask anymore questions, he just holds me tightly to him, rocking soothingly, his long legs splayed on either side of me as he keeps mumbling, "I'm sorry."

It doesn't take long before I'm hearing his voice crack thickly, holding back his own tears.

It was the first heart break of many in which my own husband was too fucked up to even know what was going on, or too pissed off at me to give a fuck, leaving Duff to step up and be what Nikki couldn't.

[azozzoni]

How do you feel about the whole treatment of skam españa and crisana like do you think people are right to voice their concerns about the mlm fetish in the fandom or do you think the reason crisana isn't as popular or included as much is for literally any other reason I'm interested to hear you thoughts because I've only just got into skam through crisana and lots of people I follow mention it and I really love your ships and writing so I wanted to ask your perspective

I’ve been trying to think how to answer this because I don’t like to get in the middle of the fandom squabbles and I have a habit of saying the wrong thing all the time.

First of all, everyone has a right to voice their concerns about anything. Everyone has opinions and should be able to express them without being attacked. That does not mean everyone��s opinions are right or good. 

As it relates to mlm fetishization, I think there is a special kind of ‘social justice’ that has taken over Tumblr since 2012 where the world is black and white. Where is the line between appreciating a couple and turning it into a fetish? According to some people, you can’t like a mlm couple if you are a woman or straight or... any number of other reasons. It is fully justifiable to point out that there are people who treat mlm couples as a fetish. And it is also good to question why you like a particular couple, to question if you are treating them a certain way when you wouldn’t treat a wlw couple the same.

Now, that’s not to say that preferring mlm over wlw makes you a fetishist. People have preferences. They like what they like with no rhyme or reason (I’m getting to the rest of your question, I promise). I’m going to fully admit that I have not watched s2 of Espana yet. It was airing at the same time as another remake and I have a hard time doing two at once. I think one could argue that it’s not as popular because it’s about two women. The default in the world is still white males. It takes a long time for defaults to change.

(this is where I’m going to get controversial)

As to Crisana not being included, I’m going to say that I think it’s total bullshit. Even if you hate a remake (Italia gets a lot of hate-some deserved, some not. Druck also gets left out a lot), if you’re doing a gifset of all the remakes, they should all be included. I realize gif-makers are creators, and as creators, we have control and the ability to pick and choose. But it always seems unfair and petty to leave out a particular couple because you didn’t like that version or whatever. They are part of the SKAM family, like it or not, and their season means something to someone. 

I’m not trying to tell people what they can or can’t do when it comes to their own creation. In the end, it’s your content. There are characters I choose not to include in my fics because I don’t like them as much. I’ve been in fandom for a very long time, and I’ve seen the arguments go round and round. Back in the day, it was how girlfriends of band members were villainized in fic, or how everyone hated Ginny because she “got in the way” of Harry and Draco. I’ve seen it all. I’ve also played into the tropes when I was younger, less mature, less educated. 

I don’t know how old most of the skam fandom is, but I assume mid-teens to early 20s. I knew nothing when I was that age, and luckily tumblr was not around until I was, like, 21 so I can’t even imagine being bombarded with all the messages now about how liking anything problematic means you’re a terrible person. It is hard to process even now, trying to figure out what is okay and what’s not--can you enjoy something problematic? I say yes, as long as you acknowledge the problems. Nothing is 100% perfect. If you only allowed yourself to like perfect things, you would have nothing to watch, nothing to read, no friends.

It is so difficult trying to figure yourself out, examining why you like things, especially when strangers on the internet are saying that liking (or not liking in the case of Crisana) something makes you a bad person. The world is not as simple as that.

I think I’ve gotten off-topic. But I hope I answered your question? These are, of course, all my own opinions, which I should be able to state here, on my own blog. I tend not to give my opinion on tumblr for fear of the backlash that inevitably comes. I am not an authority on anything and I don’t like conflict. I see both sides of this problem and don’t have a solution. Just try to keep in mind that while some arguments will have merit, they may not be 100% right. You have to form your own opinions and try to be fair in your judgements.

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: PG Warnings: Swearing, Homelessness,  Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now) Characters: Tony Stark, Thor(Marvel), Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Managerial Differences

Summary:  As it becomes clearer that your immediate superior hates you, and clearer that Tony needs to put someone somewhere else, you get caught up in things that are way above your paygrade.

“Mr. Stark!”

“And now I gotta deal with this.” He muttered, closing a holo-screen and whirling in his rolling stool to face her. “Florence! Surprised to see you. Isn't there somebody else to see to whatever problem you have?”

“It has to do with that new hire, Whom you forced on us. Since it has to do with her, I bring it to you.”

“Hey, do I pay you for sass?”

“No, you pay me because I am the best at what I do. I mean to continue doing it.” She slapped a paper down in front of him.

“I don't like being handed-”

“That's why I didn't.” She tapped the paper. It was an application. “She has falsified information. Look.”

He looked. He couldn't help it. Florence reminded him altogether too much of one of his old nannies. He could never disobey that woman either.

On the application, next to Secondary Gender, you had scrawled not the usual α, β, or Ω, but a θ instead.

“Maybe...it's a sloppy Beta? Like just a really sloppy B?”

“Except she writes a perfectly legible B later on. Also, this address is false. No one lives there, it's a storage center. I wouldn't put money on that phone number being legit either. On top of that-” She said, cutting Tony off. “I have caught her filching food from the employee cafeteria.”

“Oh yeah? What did she take?”

“Creamers, jelly, crackers, and salad dressing packets.”

“So...all the stuff we offer for free?”

“With purchase of something else.” Florence sniffed. “Also, I caught these this morning.”

She held her phone out, showing slightly blurry pictures of a person who might be you climbing out of the dumpster behind the building.

“Okay, that doesn't necessarily prove anything.”

“And I've caught her sleeping around the building.”

“On the clock?”

“On breaks, and sometimes before her shift.”

“So, not on the clock.”

“Sir, she is breaking the law!”

“Well, so did you when you took that picture without her consent. I don't tolerate spying on my employees.”

“Sir!”

“What's the real problem here, Florence? That she's homeless? Don't we want them to go get jobs? Then suddenly she's got one, and you're like, no not like that?”

“I just don't understand why you are rewarding a stranger for breaking the rules. Indecent exposure in the bathroom, and you give her a job. Lying on her application, and you defend her. You don't even know this girl, you don't know why she was on the street, what warrants might be out for her, what problems she might have, what havoc she might cause. That nonsense symbol on her gender identification alone shows she's not taking this seriously!”

“Theta.” He murmured.

“Pardon?”

“It's not nonsense, it's a Theta. It's just another letter. We use it in mathematics all the time; it means there's an angle.”

“Is she trying to tell us she's crooked?” Florence demanded.

“She's probably just a Beta who thinks secondary gender inquiries are an invasion of privacy. It's all the rage among the young people these days. In any case, just keep her on for a week or two. If she's gonna wash out, you'll know by then. It'll give you the chance to do a few more interviews. You're still looking for extra help, right? You've got permission, go on ahead and do it. Two, three more people.”

“Well...Alright.” Florence said, mollified. “Thank you sir.”

“You know I got your back. But we gotta shake things up every now and then, keep things fresh. Get in people from all walks of life, keep in touch with the pulse of society, all that. Now run along, dear. You've got a ship to keep shape, don't you?”

“That I do, sir.” Florence left, forgetting the application behind her. Tony held the paper up, examining it. Fake address for sure, and likely the number was for a burner phone. Age, education, and work history looked legit. There was a year and a half gap between your last job and this one: it probably marked the amount of time you'd been on the streets.

A Theta symbol. Why that, specifically?

“You're not too fond of Florence, are you?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

Tony shrugged. “Not really, but she's damn good at her job. That's all I really need from her. Would you do me a favor and look up gender expressions pertaining to Theta? There's a lot of new terminology I need to get caught up with. This might be one of them.”

                                                                                  *****

You sneaked another sugar packet from the ground floor coffee shop, fully aware that the amused barista was watching, and didn't care in the slightest.

You sprinkled a tiny bit into a little container of coffee creamer, then knocked the whole thing back like some kind of shot.

Everybody knew now that you worked here, and if they speculated about your bizarre eating habits, none of them said anything to you about it.

As long as you didn't break any rules, nobody seemed to care.

Fine by you. Even though they were small, simple snacks; salad crackers with tiny packets of jelly, butter, and salad dressing, sugar, salt and pepper packs, creamers, ketchups, mustards, and mayonaise, these were quick and easy sources of calories that hadn't been readily available to you before.

Having a fresh uniform each day was kind of amazing. Florence insisted that all uniforms be cleaned and disinfected properly, which meant they all got left behind at the end of the day, and were clean by morning. It had the added bonus of no one seeing you wearing a Stark-affiliated uniform while you were sleeping on the fire escape, or hanging around near the dumpsters outside

You weren't exactly friends with the baristas here, you never even talked, but ever since you had run a creeper out of the shop by being generally stinky and unpleasant to be around, they had started disposing of their expired muffins and cookies by wrapping them in wax papers or bags. Their boss hadn't caught on yet, but you were deeply grateful to them for every bite you salvaged from the trash.

Soon you would get your first paycheck, and then you could buy a decent meal. You'd been planning and dreaming of what it would be. Steak and potatoes? An omelet? Maybe just a regular old hamburger and Coke?

It might be the only paycheck you saw from Stark Industries though. You'd overheard Florence and Khalil talking, and she was determined to be rid of you. Khalil didn't really seem to agree, but he had kids at home, and probably couldn't afford to argue.

It didn't matter. Even if it was less than a week, you could put Stark Industries on your resume forever now. That would get you in the door. Janitorial training was a pretty good skill too. Every business needed cleaning staff, no exceptions.

Things were really looking up for you.

No one had even called you on all the weird stuff you'd put on your application.

You hadn't lied, exactly. Not exactly. Sure, you didn't live permanently at the address you'd provided, but you did sleep there sometimes. And you had gone to the school you named...before your parents completely succumbed to their paranoia and pulled you for homeschooling. The hadn't wanted public educators to fill your head with 'propaganda'.

And that was your phone number, though you'd have to buy some minutes when you got paid.

It was all at least semi-true.

Even the Theta was a symbol you had picked up off the internet, when researching what was wrong with you.

You tossed back another sugared creamer.

Having a routine again felt good. It had been over a year, but you slipped back into civilization pretty easily. You were so lucky. You always told yourself that.

Yeah, even if Florence gave you the boot, you still had options. This chapter in your life might soon be coming to an end.

Soon. You just had to wait, and work.

                                                                                                                                                    *****

Tony looked over the long, primly written list with amused disbelief.

“Is this...Is he serious?” He asked Thor. “I literally cannot tell when he is being serious, and when he is trolling me.”

“Welcome to the last thousand years of my life.” Thor said dryly, taking the list from Tony, and skimming over it. He held his hand out for a pen, and when Tony handed him one, he began crossing things off of the list.

“No...No...Absolutely not...Oh, he just put that one in there to annoy me...” Thor handed the list back. “But for the most part, yes. He is serious. Whatever else he may be-” He paused at Tony's muttering of 'war criminal' then forged on. “He is still the Crown Prince of Asgard, and the true King of Jotunheim. He is entitled to certain amenities. And then there is his...condition to think about.”

“Crown Prince of-no offense-a set of postage stamp sized fishing villages in Nova Scotia, and true King of a planet so far away that they can't even reach us to take him back. What exactly does he think he's entitled to on an enemy planet? He's here for punishment, right?”

“He's here for rehabilitation. And so that we can try to winkle out the information that we need. The goal is that he comes back to one of Asgard's 'postage stamp' villages eventually. But that man is still out there, and it's altogether too likely that he will make his way here. We're going to have to indulge my brother a bit, if we are to get information about it. Besides, he has proven himself a hero already, and suffered for it. He has earned a bit of leniency.”

“So you say, your majesty, but...” Tony scanned the revised list. “...I think I can provide most of this. But...servants? We don't really do that around here.”

“He will need assistance. And Loki has never been unduly cruel to servants who had done nothing to trouble him.”

“Okay, but what do you mean by 'trouble'? I mean, I have a few people in mind, but they all live here, and might not be instantly comfortable around him. Is he gonna whip someone over dropping a plate, or folding a cape wrong?”

“He is in no position to do so. And he never went so far back home, so I honestly doubt he would do so here. He knows full well the effect he has on the people of this world.”

“Anger and terror?”

“Pretty much.”

“Look. I'm not going to send him a servant. He'll get a maid, and nothing more. If he drives them off, he won't get a replacement. One chance. I'm not putting people at risk for his whims.”

“I couldn't ask for better than that. But time is of the essence my friend.”

“I better get some royal kickbacks for this.” Tony grumbled.

“I'll send you some Asgardian postage stamps.” Thor joked, leaving the lab.

Tony turned back to his desk, pulling up his holographic display. A short list of Greek letters that he'd been learning about popped back up.

“Okay, Theta.” He said. “Time to show me what you're worth.”

                                                                                *****

The fight started out as an accusation of theft. Florence had caught you with an Iron Muffin-a specialty of the ground floor coffee shop-which you had filched from the dumpster that morning. You'd tried to claim that you'd bought it, but then she'd demanded to see your receipt, and it had just escalated from there.

You were two words away from just quitting then and there, mostly so that she couldn't fire you, when Tony Stark had reached out of the elevator behind you, yanked you into it, waved goodbye to Florence, and shut the doors. As the elevator began to rise, you wiped a few angry tears out of your eyes, embarrassed that he had seen that.

You seemed altogether too prone to show this man your worst sides.

“I'm sorry sir.” You said. “Florence and I don't really get along.”

“She needs to be challenged sometimes. However, I am perfectly able to sass her myself, and I can't have disruption in the janitorial team. Can you imagine the uproar if the floors didn't get waxed properly at night?

Anyway, I thought we might chat about some of the information on your application.”

You were screwed. Could you be arrested for lying on an application?

“Oh geez. I'm sorry about that, but-”

“Yeah, I know. You have to write down an address, but you don't really have one, do you? But you can't leave it blank, so you improvise. I looked you up though. Your family seems to have a history of...shall we call them 'rebellious acts'?”

You hung your head. Fuck. He knew about that too.

“I'm not like them.” You muttered. “I'm not that stupid.”

“Sure hope not. Anyway, wanna tell me what a Theta is? Like, in your words.”

“You won't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Nobody does.”

“I can fly. I've been finding things easier to believe since then.”

Well, that was fair. He was Iron Man. He'd been involved with aliens, and killer robots, and terrorists. Why would this be too weird?

“It's kinda like a Beta, but I have an Omega's sense of smell.”

“And Alpha's pheremones don't effect you. Right?”

“R-right...” How did he-?

“You presented me with a conundrum, and I couldn't leave it alone. I needed to find out what you meant, but it wasn't exactly easy. I had to get on tumblr to figure this out. I had to learn what a demi-omega was, to figure this out. I never thought I was out of touch, but damn if you young-uns haven't come up with some creative new lingo.”

“It's just that the world is more complex than a mark on a paper.” You said.

“Don't I know it!” He laughed. “But that's not too bad, is it? Not being overpowered by Alphas? Sounds nice.”

“It's not so bad, but most people think there's something wrong with me. It's not just the Alpha pheremones, I just don't feel-wait a minute, where are we going?”

The elevator had passed the labs, far above the highest floor you were supposed to be allowed to access.

“We're headed to the residential area. Me and Pep aren't the only ones who live up on the top floors. Top dozen or so are basically penthouses, though they aren't all consistently occupied these days.”

You remembered watching footage on the news of a fight at an airport. Avenger versus Avenger. It was terrible; both you and your old roommate had cried a little. It was an awful thing, watching your heroes come apart.

You were kind of glad you didn't have any superpowers or anything like that. You wouldn't want to be at the beck and call of any government, much less more than one. It was something you had actually agreed with your parents on.

“Why are we going up there? I'm not supposed to be here.”

“You're with me kid; you can be anywhere. And anyway, the best way to keep cats from fighting is to separate them. So, from now on, you are a maid.”

“A maid? I don't know how to be a maid, I just started being a janitor!” You protested, then told yourself to shut your trap and not argue with the boss for not firing you.

Tony shrugged. “What's different about being a maid? You still clean stuff, only it's a home instead of a museum. You might need to cook something every now and then. Can you cook?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Not gonna lie; it's not a walk in the park. But it comes with a pay upgrade, and an apartment off the penthouse, so that's two of your problems solved.”

Suspicion began creeping in. This was all way to good to be true.

“Why me? You have to know that I'm not as qualified as the other janitors. What's the catch?”

“Well, the catch-” The elevator dinged. “Oh, look! We're here!”

The elevator doors opened. Standing right in front of them, in horned helmet and armor, stood Loki, the destroyer of New York.

[neshabeingchildish]

Hensley & Char: Friends or Whatever || Part 3

@just-a-j-reallly @junknstu1f @henryharts I absolutely pushed this bad boy out in a couple of hours, since I’m trying to hold myself to a somewhat organized schedule, with going back to a second job on mornings that I don’t have to work nights. If there are typos and such, please just remember that this is free and that I am busy. Lol. I promise, whenever I’m not pressed for time and energy, I do everything to give y’all my best, but when I am those things, my best has to dwindle a little, in terms of editing, hopefully not content. I’ve been missing Chasper, so this chapter is kind of Chasper heavy, from Hensley’s view of them, and also I wanted to get into the universe that we’re more familiar with, so while I didn’t feel like certain things needed to change - like meeting Ray and getting the job, I wanted to just sort of do the ff thing we do and look at other areas of the world while all of that was happening.

The Danger Befriends

“We’re almost 12. Her issues might strictly be hormones, and maybe that means that she’ll be less mean soon,” Jasper said.

“Shut up about hormones!” Charlotte snapped at him. “You ALWAYS blame women being rightfully angry with you on hormones! It’s NOT hormones, Jasper. It’s YOU. YOU are the reason we’re mad!”

Hensley didn’t want to get in the middle, but these were both her beast friends and she knew that this was all just a misunderstanding. Jasper wasn’t inconsiderate or stupid… Just very, very gullible. This was dirt from Jupiter all over again. “Jasper,” Hensley said, as gently as she could, “I think what Charlotte means is that instead of telling us the reason why you’re holding a filthy cat instead of our carnival tickets, you’re focused on her reaction to the fact that you handed a stranger the money for the tickets and they gave you a disgusting animal.”

“She’s not disgusting. She just needs a bath…” Jasper said, but before he could complete the thought Charlotte lunged towards him and Hensley had to collect her in a restraining hold to keep her from getting her hands on Jasper. Jasper’s eyes widened and Hensley cooed in Charlotte’s ear to try to calm her. 

“It’s okay, Char. It’s Okay. I carried a little extra money and I’LL get your ticket. Okay?It’s all good. It’s ALL good.” Charlotte struggled Hensley’s hold off of her and glared at Jasper, shaking her head, before she marched off and went to stand in line, herself. 

Jasper shook his head, “I think that a good counselor and perhaps even medication will help her with that.” Hensley just sighed. He had a point,  but he also missed the point. But, moments later, a guy in a trench coat really did come back with their tickets and three drinks, because they were waiting out in the sun with his cat. 

Hensley pulled Charlotte from the line, explained that this time, Jasper hadn’t screwed up and Charlotte said, “Well, it still was careless and under normal circumstances would have been a scheme.” Then, they got on rides and all was forgotten for a while. 

The moments where the three of them had fun and enjoyed each other’s company were Hensley’s favorite. She frequently felt like she had to pick sides because they argued so much. Jasper loved Charlotte. He had always liked her as a person and spending the past couple of years around her only accelerated that for him. The three were together everyday and always made plans as a team. No one would be left behind, because to Hensley, that would feel like choosing between them. And she really couldn’t.

Jasper was her yes man. Charlotte was her voice of reason. Those were things that she needed to always receive both of in order to make good decisions. She did not always make them, but she couldn’t comprehend what life would be without the two varying options. They were like the little angel and devil on her shoulders, except Jasper was the clueless angel and Charlotte the all knowing devil. You’re SUPPOSED to listen to the angel, but this particular angel was only right every now and then. The devil was always right, but she was an angry little person and threatening… That made her truth seem like it wasn’t so. Yet, she was usually right, and Hensley only SOMETIMES listened to her.

But, in those moments whenever Jasper couldn’t be around - they flowed better. And in the moments that Charlotte didn’t show her face, Hensley and Jasper made more sense. It was… confounding to Hensley. She NEEDED both of them, but it was so much easier to deal with them separately, usually. She wondered if they were like that too. Did Jasper and Charlotte have a harmonious dynamic whenever Hensley wasn’t there to demand both of their attention? She wondered what that was like. 

She imagined that Jasper was sweet and that in spite of herself, she would soften for him and smile a lot, maybe even giggle… She… kinda felt a little bit jealous about it. WHAT did Charlotte and Jasper do whenever SHE wasn’t there? Sometimes, if they studied together, or Charlotte’s mom gave him a ride home or something, even at times, he stayed the night over there??? WHAT? They could barely get along, WHY would he be able to sleep in the same room as her? AND… He was a boy!

Hensley watched Charlotte reading and Jasper leaning up against her, getting ready to fall to sleep. She made a frowning face at him and he quickly shuffled away and made a makeshift, non-Charlotte pillow of his over shirt and backpack. But, when he drifted off, Hensley noted that Charlotte sighed, grabbed a bandanna out of her bag, wiped his sweat off and tucked the bandanna in his pocket. Why had she done that? Did she LIKE him? Why was Hensley so preoccupied with these details?

Charlotte stared at her and looked confused for a moment, then figured it was because of what just happened. She explained, “Jasper’s medication for his sweating problem has changed. The new one makes him a little more tired. I don’t want him sweating all over me or my carpet.” Rational. Reasonable. Nothing to be concerned about, and even if it WAS… She wouldn’t be concerned, because she and Charlotte were just friends anyway. Just like Charlotte and Jasper were. But then, “He looks different when he sleeps. When he’s shut down and silent - he’s actually cute, right?” Charlotte asked. 

Of course, she meant like a roly poly rodent, but Hensley just heard cute and while she agreed, denied it. “Jasper? Cute?” She laughed. “Why don’t you just kiss him?” 

“I would get sweat on my lips,” she said, cringing, “Jasper sweat. I don’t even want my own sweat on my lips…” She looked at Hensley like she was extremely gross for even attempting such a joke, and Hensley relaxed and didn’t think about it again. 

There was no way that Charlotte liked Jasper. He wasn’t gross, but Charlotte found a lot of his habits to be. Plus, he irritated her very easily and even though she was nice to him sometimes, there was just this… Hensley couldn’t find the right word to describe a disconnect, so she thought of it as a no-no region… Though that sounded like their private parts, so she just simply stopped trying to find words and counted it as “would never happen.” Yet, she spent about a year convincing herself that Jasper and Charlotte were just friends and woul;d always just be friends. 

It was hard though. That Charlotte had two best friends of different genders who both liked girls and she seemed to like both of them sometimes and like neither of them sometimes. All of Hensley’s life, there were people who would say things like she and Jasper would wind up dating someday or that they were probably soul mates/would get married, etc. They made it out to be like boys and girls couldn’t have friendships that were just that and it never moved her before because she knew that Jasper was not her type. She and Jasper had the SAME type, for as long as she could remember thinking about it. But, now… That could/might include Charlotte. 

Charlotte wasn’t really the kind of girl that Hensley tended to be attracted to, but by 13, she definitely had become aware that it was probably because she didn’t see other girls that were like Charlotte, and that she hadn’t for as long as she had been in school, and not because Charlotte wasn’t totally pretty. She absolutely was. But, the more time went by, the more she realized that despite that Jasper had always noticed Charlotte. He knew her name. He knew about her plans and her life. He treated her like  a person who he cared about… and he did this before she became Hensley’s best friend. It wasn’t a competition, but Hensley had a problem not competing. 

.

The feelings were exacerbated whenever Hensley happened upon a part time job… No, Charlotte found her a part time job. Hensley was now, not only a productive member of society, but the actual sidekick to Swellview’s superhero, Captain Man, and that required secrecy and discretion. That required leaving Jasper and Charlotte alone and going to work to keep the city safe, to keep them safe… and she made an oath never to tell them.

“Why aren’t we allowed to stop by your job?” Charlotte asked, while Jasper drank from his bucket thermos as they walked from school. “We aren’t going to ruin anything, and we just wanted to be able to look around and possibly even make a purchase and contribute to your paycheck. You barely let us in the door…” 

Hensley nervously laughed and shook her head, “I… don’t need your money for my paycheck. You two don’t even have jobs..”

“Yeah, upon further research, I found out nobody really hires 13 year olds for anything…” Charlotte started.

Jasper quickly spouted out, “Oh, it’s illegal. It’s one of Swellview’s many stupid laws.”

“It’s not just a Swellview law, though. It’s most places. My research concluded that the jobs available for kids under 16 are generally permissions for entrepreneurial ventures, Internet personalities, highly regulated child celebrity gigs, and family businesses where they aren’t actually on payroll. I wonder why the junk store doesn’t have to follow those regulations…” Charlotte said, suspiciously. The last thing that Hensley needed was Charlotte being suspicious.

Jasper offered, “It may be a historic building, in which case, in Swellview, they are allowed to hire as early as 13, but only in a part time capacity, and if the training for said job is at least one year.”

“That’s gotta be it! Ray’s father bought the place when he was a kid,” Hensley said, unsure of what even constitutes as a historical building, but hoping that Charlotte wouldn’t investigate it. She wasn’t even paying attention to her, though.

Charlotte smiled at Jasper, “You really know Swellview laws.”

“One of Dad’s main rules is if he ever has to get a call that I’ve been arrested, it better be a misunderstanding,” Jasper said with a shrug.

“You almost always get in trouble at every bit of fault of your own,” Charlotte told him.

“Yes, but not illegally.” 

Hensley was happy to have the conversation off of her work. 

Jasper’s dad was a defense attorney, so Jasper knew a lot about laws and ordinances and stuff. Maybe that was why he was so good in social studies and language arts. He knew laws, history, and wordplay. Charlotte was good with sciences and math. Between the both of them, Hensley was able to keep her head above water in school. She would need them now more than ever, because her job as Kid Danger was taking everything out of her and she hadn’t even been doing it for very long. But, whenever she looked at her two friends, who bickered like an old married couple, but also loved on each other, she knew that this job wasn’t just about the money or even the newfound high of fame. It was about what was best for Swellview. For Hensley Hart, Swellview was her two best friends…

“So… Can we stop in sometime, though?” Charlotte asked, not being deterred.

“Oh, my boss Ray is kind of a stickler about it…” Hensley said.

“Probably doesn’t want something to happen where he has a liability,” Jasper said. 

Charlotte looked disappointed as she shrugged her shoulders and tugged Jasper’s sleeve, “Well, I guess that means we’ll see you tomorrow. Jasper gave Hensley a hug and the two walked beyond the store, debating whether they were going to get snacks before heading to Charlotte’s, or trust that her mom had something other than organic/vegan/no added sugars or flavors stuff that Jasper always felt like was a crime against taste buds…

Hensley went into the store. Just another day of Danger, for her. And her friends would be alright.

[calunavulgaris]

I’d like to think that anyone who knows me knows that I am 100% pro-choice, but in case it needs to be said: I am unapologetically, completely, irrevocably pro-choice.

There are two main reasons for this, the first being that I have known from a very early age that I never wanted to be pregnant or give birth. The idea is beyond horrifying to me. The second is much less personal. I have never encountered an anti-choice argument that wasn’t laughably easy to dismantle. I’ve been vocally pro-choice for roughly 30 years now (thanks, Mom) and in that time one thing has become painfully evident: anti-choicers have nothing but tenuous, easily debunked “arguments” that are based solely on emotional manipulation, anecdotes, and pseudo-science. They’re also dreadfully unoriginal and repetitive. It gets dull, let me tell you.

But what the hell, just for fun let’s go through some of them here:

“Abortion is MURDER!”

Nope. Murder is a legal term with a clear, concise definition. Abortion does not meet the criteria. Go ahead and look that up, it’s pretty easy to find.

“Abortion KILLS BABIES!”

It’s funny how those who claim to be on the side of science (which is ridiculous on its own) resort to unscientific terms when their goal is to evoke a purely emotional response, isn’t it? “Killing babies” packs more of a manipulative punch than “a medical procedure involving the removal of fetal tissue.” Believe it or not, I sympathize if the termination of a fetus squicks you. I get it. Being that I’m pro-choice, I will always defend your right not to ever undergo the procedure with the same fervour I employ when defending the choice to obtain an abortion. That’s what it means to be pro-choice.

“The fetus is innocent and has a right to life!”

By definition, the fetus can’t be innocent or guilty, it is purely neutral. The “right to life” does not grant anyone the right to use any part of another person’s body for their survival, no matter how “innocent” that person may be. The person carrying the fetus also has the right to life and bodily autonomy, and having sex/being pregnant isn’t something one can be “guilty” of, as neither is a crime. If we want to talk about innocence, let’s start there.

“What about the rights/autonomy of the fetus?”

For starters, the fetus has no autonomy. Its survival is completely dependent on the person whose body it’s inhabiting. That person is fully autonomous and must consent to their body being used and occupied by the fetus.

I know this is repetitive, but it seems to need repeating: There is no human right granted to anyone to use any part of another human’s body, living or dead, for their survival. If you’re in need of an organ transplant, and someone has just died with the organ you need, that doesn’t grant you the right to take what you need from them unless they consented to it before their death. You don’t have the right to take their completely viable organs that they are no longer using if that person did not sign up to be a donor, and it doesn’t matter if you will die as a result. If I’ve been stabbed and am bleeding out, and will die unless given a blood transfusion, no one can be legally compelled to give me their blood to save my life. Not even my own mother. Not even if she was the one who stabbed me in the first place.

If no one has the right to a dead person’s organs or their mother’s blood, what right does a fetus have to another person’s entire body?

“You shouldn’t get to kill a baby just because you’re too lazy to use contraception!”

Please, tell me which form of contraception is 100% effective 100% of the time. Even a minuscule failure rate (based on perfect use) means that unintended conception will occur. I have personally met several people who conceived/were conceived themselves despite multiple forms of contraception being used. It happens. If someone uses two or three methods in tandem, I think they’re making it pretty clear that they do NOT wish to conceive, don’t you? And sure, some do decide to continue with the pregnancy (I think the best reaction I ever heard along these lines was “I need to meet the person who could get past all that!). Again, that’s their choice.

Yes, some people conceive because they neglected to use contraception, for whatever reason. Those reasons are no one’s business but their own. Having unsafe sex is not a crime and isn’t something people need to be punished for. More on that coming up in the next point.

“Abstinence is 100% effective! You made the choice to have sex, deal with the consequences!”

Electing to have an abortion is one way to deal with the consequences. It’s just one that some find immoral, or icky, or selfish. Thankfully, morals are subjective, and it isn’t a crime to be selfish or icky. Even if it were, using forced pregnancy (which the UN defines as a form of torture) as a punishment is unconscionable and inhumane.

Also, what do you suggest for childfree couples? Believe it or not, there are people in long-term, committed, loving, healthy relationships who don’t wish to have children. Should they be condemned to lifelong abstinence because there’s a chance they might conceive? Have fun trying to sell that one.

Consent to sex does not equal consent to pregnancy. Now, imagine that it wasn’t consensual to begin with. (This is where they like to bring up the statistic of abortions as a result of rape, because they live in a world where every instance of sexual assault is reported, and every victim discloses how they came to be pregnant.)

We don’t deny medical care to those who develop lung cancer due to their 20-year pack-a-day habit, or those who drink themselves into liver failure. If a drunk driver causes a collision, we don’t stand by and let them die from their injuries, even if the collision caused the death of others. But somehow, there are those who think a person with a uterus should literally be tortured and have their human rights revoked if a fetus is inhabiting that uterus. That is terrifying.

“What about the father? The fetus is 50% his so he should have a say!”

It may be 50% his genetic material, but it is 100% inhabiting another person’s body, which is why that person gets to make the final call.

Let’s break down what’s being implied here: If a couple conceives and the pregnant person wants to abort, they should obtain permission from their partner in order to do so. If he disagrees, they should respect that and carry the pregnancy to term. That doesn’t seem very 50-50 anymore, does it? I think it’s funny that this argument only seems to work under the assumption that the father would want to continue with the pregnancy. If he felt it would be best to terminate and his partner disagreed, would they still argue that his vote somehow carries more weight? I doubt it.

“You shouldn’t have an abortion just because pregnancy is inconvenient!”

“Inconvenient?!” Dude. A hangnail is inconvenient. Missing a parcel delivery and having to go to the post office is inconvenient. Your cat’s preference for hacking up hairballs on your clean laundry instead of the tile floor is inconvenient. To call pregnancy “inconvenient” is absurd in the extreme. Pregnancy, even under the best conditions, permanently alters a person’s body. I dare you to tell someone who has been through pregnancy and labour that it was merely “inconvenient.” Seriously, look up third-and-fourth degree tears, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, abdominal separation, etc. just for starters, and then tell me it’s just inconvenient.

“Post-abortive women suffer from depression and mental illness!”

Find me an unbiased source to back that up, please. It simply isn’t true, the majority of people who have undergone an abortion report feeling relieved. Also, what kind of an effect do you imagine forcing an unwanted pregnancy and birth on an unwilling person has on their mental health? Hell, wanted pregnancies can take a huge toll on a person’s mental health, but I don’t see anyone using postpartum depression to argue against pregnancy, childbirth and parenthood.

“Doctors don’t know everything! I knew someone whose doctor said their pregnancy was unviable and they should terminate, but they didn’t and now they have a beautiful, perfect child!”

Cool story. I’m glad this person was able to make that choice for themselves and that things turned out okay. I’m still gonna trust the advice of someone who invested their time and money into getting a medical degree over the anecdote of an internet stranger, but that’s me.

“Infertile couples would be so happy to have your baby! Just give it up for adoption!”

I don’t know if you’re aware, but there is no shortage of children in need of families. There is, however, a shortage of people willing to adopt older children, or non-white babies/children, children and babies who are born addicted, HIV+, severely disabled/medically fragile... I could go on.

Getting back to the “Doctors don’t know everything!” point, it may be worth noting that I used to work in a foster home with severely disabled children. It was by far the hardest, most heartbreaking and exhausting job I’ve ever had. I have seen firsthand what these kids go through, how much around-the-clock care they require, how forgotten some of them are by their families, and how they are considered “undesirable” as far as adoption goes. I have seen how they suffer. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it would have been better for any of them if they hadn’t been born, but I fully understand if someone is simply not up to the task of devoting their life to caring for a child who will be completely dependent on them for everything for however long they live, which sadly isn’t long for many of them. I’m glad I did it, but not everyone can, and there is nothing wrong with admitting that.

All of that aside, adoption is only an alternative to parenthood, not pregnancy. No one owes you the use of their uterus to house a fetus you want just because you’re unable to make your own.

This is already longer than I originally intended, but I think I’ve covered the most commonly recycled arguments. The rest mainly boil down to “Abortion goes against my personal theological/philosophical beliefs or moral code!” and all I can say in response to that is that I’m so glad I don’t have to live by anyone’s concept of morality and am allowed my own. It’s pretty great.

I won’t be complacent, however. I have never been more terrified in my life as a uterus-bearing person as I am right now, and I know I’m not alone in that. We cannot allow our rights to be revoked. We cannot afford to lose the ground those before us fought so hard to gain. I will do all I can to keep that from happening.

If the right to our bodies isn’t worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.

[aspiratinganxiety]

Can I request the sleepover head canon ?💕

Of course you can, baby doll! I am sorry it took me so long to get to it… 

Anyway, I am writing these headcanons as though the reader and the character are already in an established relationship. Rather than offer a play by play of what sharing a night with this character looks like, I’m instead breaking down how the topic of overnight stays developed or effects the relationship between the reader and their partner.

If you were wanting platonic interactions or some first time sleeping over imagines, please let me know! Also, I tend to write female insert characters unless otherwise directed or inclined. 

If you’d like this same prompt with a male s/o, please tell me.  

Also, I ran out of steam before getting to Damian. I may very well come back to add him to this post. For now though, it is 3:17 am, and your girl is tired. 

Now, this prompt is the letter S from @imagine-mcu​‘s alphabet of headcanon prompts. Thank you, imagine-mcu. I am grateful for the access to this resource, and I hope you don’t mind that I am using it for DC materials 😂   

Dick: 

-Listen, you are positive that you’re not the first girlfriend whose home Richard Grayson has quietly annexed. There’s a method, okay? A foolproof strategy designed to optimize the amount of time he has with you at every opportunity. 

-As far as he’s concerned, it is the only logical way to progress in a relationship that he deems serious. His line of work is perilous, dammit. He’s a patient man, but he’s not a friggin’ saint. Tiptoeing through the awkward do-si-do of “should I stay or should I go?” every single time the two of you wind up fooling around in one or the other’s apartment is a waste of effort that could be geared toward activities that are much, much more fun.

-Even before you outright know that he’s Nightwing (you heavily suspect), Dick’s begun the invasion. First, he always wants to stay at your place. Works for you. Sleeping in your own bed is a gift, and he has a lot less to worry about in terms of hygiene maintenance.

-Why fight an agreeable tide? 

-And that’s just what he counts on for Phase 2. He wants to keep a change of clothes and some extra toiletries around your place now that it’s the go-to. 

-Some pajamas. 

-Maybe a jacket and a pair or three of socks. 

-Oh, yeah! He forgot to mention that Bruce sometimes calls him into the WE office on short notice to contract with the sub-company under his name. Could he have a sliver of your closet for a suit? He does’t want it to get wrinkled in the drawer you cleared out for his things.  

-Sure, normal enough… except that you’ve only been dating for a month n’ a half. Exclusively for a scant three weeks (Your last boyfriend lived out of a duffel bag that you kept by the shoe rack in your front room for 9 months before you even let him have the drawer).  

-Whatever. You and Dick both keep tight schedules, and it’s not as though anything is feeling rushed or overwhelming. Just the opposite: you feel like you can’t spend enough time with him! 

-You quickly make a habit of using his man-smell soap for a change of pace on occasion. Or a spritz of his cologne here and there when it’s been a busy week and you miss him, even though it’s only been 4 days since he was last there. 2 days since your lunch date. 

-Shut up.

-You haven’t quite mapped out the rest of the moves that he put into play, but before you know what’s happening, nearly all of the space in your weensy, Tupperware container of an apartment is divided equally between you and your boyfriend of less than three months. 

-All of this to say that Dick’s sleepovers don’t feel like sleepovers, they’re just Tuesdays. Or Saturdays. Or Wednesdays. Whatever the hell day he shows up, lets himself in with the spare key that you didn’t so much as hesitate to have made for him, and goes about eating all of your Frosted Flakes.

Jason:

-Sleepovers are rare for Jason toward the beginning of your relationship. Not just because he accidentally punched you in his sleep once, though that did put the kibosh on overnight visits for a while. The predominant reasoning that he cited when apologetically declining one of your invitations involved his hours being flipped completely around. Most nights, when sleepovers are meant to be happening, Jason is hard at work sussing out the details of a case or running a patrol. 

-Simply put, he felt like there was no reason for him to be skulking in and out of your place in the dead of night, disrupting your rest, just because he’s chosen to live one doozy of an unorthodox life. 

-However, this noble resolve deteriorates quickly.   

-Jason’s dedication and the singular advantage of being the only full-time vigilante in the whole batfamily also means that he’s out of the country on lengthy, long distance assignments more often than any of the others. 

-The nights Jason gets home from these missions had proven to be the best time for you to arrange overnight stays. Days, sometime weeks of being completely out of contact with one another has a way of asserting all of the comforts and satisfactions that you find in your partner’s company, both physically and emotionally. 

-He’s real weak to the line, “But baby, I’ve missed you so much!” too…

-10/10.

-It’s super effective!

-Look, it’s not like you pressed when you got the impression that he didn’t want to have you over or be at your place because he needed space to work through something risky or complicated. 

-You’re not stupid or some spoiled, manipulative brat. 

-Jason’s life is hard, painful, and incomprehensibly dangerous. He’s not looking to change one damn thing about that either. His lives exactly as he wants, minus some small tweaking here and there where old ghosts are concerned. 

-You understood this from day one.

-Unfortunately, it took a much longer time for him to figure out that you didn’t give a single fuck about missed sleep or nosy neighbors assuming he was a drug-dealer and filing complaints because he buzzed in at 4 o’clock in the morning. With the way that he lived…

-No, because of the way that he lived, you wanted to capitalize on every single moment that he could bear to spend with you. 

-Some people went lifetimes never knowing a love like the one you had for Jason. Hell would be seeing a snowstorm if you were gonna’ let the idiot continue to rob you of his presence because he was afraid of inconveniencing you. 

-Once that was through his thick, self-depreciating skull, the need to orchestrate sleepovers was no longer necessary. 

-You moved in together, renovating the loft he owned in the Cauldron district to be a bit more Welcome Home! and a lot less Marks with Bodyguards Cost Extra.

Tim:

-Oh, Tim. 

-Sweet, wonderful, awkward, angel-baby Tim. 

-The first time he slept over at your house, it was January. He passed clean out on your living room floor during a power-binge of Stranger Things that he had been apologetically procrastinating since the season release in October. 

-You didn’t have the heart to wake him, not even when he started to drool, snore, and suddenly sit bolt upright, shouting?

-His proclamations made zero sense: something abstract about Scarecrow robbing some guy named Oswald of his prized Wyandotte laying hens.

-A cursory attempt to talk to him indicated that he was still, to your horror, fast asleep in spite of sitting perfectly straight on his own and lecturing you about the dangers of yellow scented candles. 

-You settled him back down on your nest of blankets and flipped the TV off, loosely praying that this was some kind of fluke and you wouldn’t have to worry about your boyfriend accidentally leaping off of your balcony in a state of gibbering semi-consciousness. 

-You messaged him in a panic when you woke the next morning to find him missing, terrified that he slept-walked into traffic while you caught some rest on the floor beside him. You detailed the entire scenario for him, omitting nothing to spare his pride. (The man had scared you nearly to death. His ego wasn’t exactly your top priority when he said he’d snuck out because he liked sleeping in his bed better than he liked your floor.) 

- “Sexy, right?” he replied with a winky face.

-It wasn’t, he hadn’t, and he hasn’t ever since. The explanation: ”It only happens sometimes when I’m way too tired and I’ve had way too many energy shots.” 

-Even so, that first experience proved to be surprisingly indicative of the bizarre occurrences that would befall you when Tim ended up sharing a night with you.

-First the sleep talking, then staying up all night crouched over his laptop like some kind of gremlin while you slept not three feet away, arguing about the benefits of avoiding blue light in order to actually let your brain power down, and, finally, physically wrestling you to keep you from putting his phone in your nightstand drawer so that he would just lay the F down and go to bed.

-Tim does his best to gracefully make it seem as though your bickering is all in good fun despite your very real frustration with his lack of ability to focus on spending time with you and disengaging from his crippling responsibilities to both Wayne Enterprises and the endeavors of the Batman himself.

-You’re honestly still working on it, but he does forfeit all internet capable devices after 9 pm while in your home. 

-At first, it was out of obligation and only at your explicit request. Now though, having garnered some of the soundest, most rejuvenating sleep of his life every other week or so at your place, he tosses the phone in the drawer himself as you get ready to tuck in.

-Tim doesn’t know if it’s the regular sex or the down pillow-top on your mattress, but he can fall into blissful, dreamless unconsciousness in under half an hour by your side. 

-Perhaps it’s the near ritualistic way that you insist on sharing a cup of chamomile tea before heading toward your room? Maybe the laundry detergent or the weight of your too fluffy comforter?

-Regardless, shortly after he’s eagerly relinquishing his tech in favor of a solid night’s sleep and some quality time with you, an uptick in his demeanor and proficiency appears.

-You find it endlessly endearing that he needs a measurable statistic in order to justify asking you if he can stay over every week, rather than biweekly. As though you need data to be convinced to spend more time with him. 

The lovable idiot...  

[exyjunkies]

headcanon: on neil and his hitchhiking

andrew doesn’t trust neil’s hitchhiking habit, and i honestly believe that it’s not because of neil (okay, maybe a little because of neil; he was always someone who attracted trouble, wherever he went), but because he’s always primarily suspicious of strangers

like his first instinct, always, is to be wary of anyone and everyone that he is unfamiliar with. what more about the concept of riding in strangers’ vehicles and trusting them to bring you where you need to be brought?

(yeah. andrew doesn’t think so either)

so one day, when andrew’s car breaks down when they’re both in the middle of nowhere (andrew is extra pissed, then, because his BMW is his baby and he always takes good care of it, so why, why the fuck would it fail him now), the momentary panic attack is finished, and they attempt to fix the car

but then they soon find out that the BMW has a cracked alloy, which lead to one of their tires being punctured. they didn’t have a fucking spare tire, so it was a problem which obviously can’t be fixed there and then, and andrew would need to bring it in for a repair

after a few more minutes of fussing on the internet--

“Um, we can leave this car here and hitchhike the way back--”

“Not a chance, Josten.”

and neil tries to argue for a bit, but andrew is really not having any of it, so they sit there, staring straight ahead

“I mean--”

“Nope.”

a few more minutes of silence - neil has resorted to texting matt where they are, and saying things like “Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere to stay, and we’ll be back the next day.” just so the foxes don’t worry throughout the night

(this is character development on neil’s part, since he didn’t think about people who gave a shit about him before. matt boyd is a proud best friend)

just as neil was opening up a new text message for kevin (who would be the most annoyed, imo), andrew goes, “How many times have you hitchhiked?”

“I’ve done it for around... four fifths of my life? I mean, it’s worked enough that it got me here--”

“Fine. But if you get us killed, I swear--”

neil doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence and gets down from the car, immediately walking to the side of the road and looking for vehicles they can get on

and of course vehicles don’t come very often, since they’re on a highway in the middle of nowhere, so they both end just standing by the sidewalk

the wait lasts about an hour, and neil alternates between pacing back and forth and sitting down on the ground

meanwhile, andrew keeps an eye on neil and remains standing up

andrew has so many comebacks about this at the ready. something along the lines of “Yet another one of your bad ideas, junkie.” or “Once I find a way to fix the BMW, I am leaving your dumb ass here.”

but he doesn’t get to say them, because here comes a huge garbage truck, heading their way

miraculously, it was headed south, which was where they needed to go too

neil put his thumb up, and was gestured to andrew when the vehicle actually stopped for the both of them

the man in the garbage truck looks over the both of them, once, twice, then goes, “You lads need a lift?”

neil replies, “Yes, to Palmetto state?”

“Oh, boy, I’m not heading there directly, but I can get you about twenty miles from there. Is that good with y’all?”

neil nods, and andrew just shoots the driver a wary look

they both get in the front seat (andrew being small enough and neil being stick-thin, it wasn’t a problem), and for the first ten minutes, they were silent

then “So where have I seen you boys before?”

turns out, the garbage truck driver was a huge Exy fan, which pleased neil (”Oh, man, Andrew, thank God we got on this ride.”) and annoyed andrew

“Do you kids know Kevin Day? Man, that boy sure got it made for him.”

“He’s not easy to work with, but we get along when we need to.”

“I remember watching one of his games in the pub with the rest of the guys. We were all so hooked on the last few minutes...”

“How do you feel about Edgar Allan playing like how they do?”

“Shit. I don’t really know what goes on in their court, but they might as well be Exy robots.”

andrew stayed quiet all throughout, keeping his hand on his sleeved knife

the music in the car was some oldschool tune that neither neil nor andrew knew, but the driver sang along to every once in a while

it took another hour and a half of them talking about Exy (at some point, andrew had dozed off, with head on neil’s shoulder) before they got to their drop-off point, where they could get a bus back to Fox Tower

right after they got off, the driver yelled, “You boys stay safe now, y’hear? Can I get an autograph for my kids?” 

neil obliges, and yanks on andrew’s sleeve because duh, The Andrew Minyard has to give one too

they both give signed pieces of paper, neil’s having a dedication to the kids, and andrew giving just his signature

after extra bugging from neil, andrew gives in and draws a fox paw like neil’s alongside his autograph

as the driver drove off, neil says to andrew, “Now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

andrew frowns back, and says, “Good job. You didn’t get us killed.”

neil rolls his eyes, and shakes his head as he walks up to the bus pulling up beside the stop

they head back to palmetto state, both silently thankful that they were okay, with neil falling asleep on andrew’s shoulder this time around, and andrew being a little less distrustful of neil and his ways

[emilytutty-blog]

From This Date

All too often people automatically assume that when referring to the past we mean weeks ago, months ago or even years ago. Consider yesterday’s past, consider this morning’s past and even your immediate past, five minutes ago. If I were to ask you what you did half an hour ago, what you did on Tuesday, or what you did two weeks ago, what would you answer? It’s easy to forget. Your brain can’t hold every detail unless asked specifically, but if you went through the data that your phone holds, I reckon you would remember almost every minute of your day.

Your phone collects data every time we pick it up, and even in between. Recently, I remember driving to my friend’s house and as I walked up to her front door my phone notified me of the traffic conditions and how long that it would take to get home. I was very confused over this as I have never once put into my phone where I live, yet it seemed to hold this data, and accurately so. I can only assume that it understood my return location to be my home due to the ratio of time that I spend there – data collected from continuously running location services.

This service offers us great ease – we use applications based on our location, we can categorise our photos based on location and we can use the ‘Find my Friends’ feature. This feature is one that I both agree and disagree with: I think it is great where it enables parents or friends to keep tabs of where specific people are, without them having to physically be on their phone, a great safety feature. However, I also take the viewpoint that it is in fact an invasion of privacy. Yes, you can be selective in having the feature turned on or off, but for those to choose to have it on, you have never got a moment where you are not being tracked.

At times, I think we can all relate to just needing a break away from society. For me, going back home to Devon is often a small retreat allowing me to focus on whatever I choose, away from the busy life of university. But features such as these mean that there is never a moment that you are completely unattached from other people. Features similar to this have been copied and adapted onto more social platforms.

Snapchat maps, for example, mirrors this location feature where you can locate your friends down to the very street that they are on. Though I am aware of the invasion of privacy that this poses, it is the idea of not being involved that retracts me from turning this feature off, exposing over two hundred people to my location each time that I open the application. On my Snapchat, I only have people that I know, reassuring me that it is okay to have my location so readily available, but for those who are younger and may not understand the dangers of social media, their location could be available to complete and utter strangers who may have malicious intentions.

Not everyone online is truthful to their character. With the internet providing each and every one of us with so much freedom to be who we want to be online, it is no wonder that people take advantage of this to create a new social identity for themselves online. This concept can be referred to as ‘self-branding’ where users choose what aspects of their character they wish to display online.

Whereas previously your identity would vary based upon context so that your workplace would know you in a different light to how your family know you, likewise how your flatmates would know you, nowadays this identity could be argued to be the same across all communities of practice. You are likely to have everyone you know through university, family or work on your social media, so this will project one identity to each group.

Online, you have the ability to choose who you want to be. Some choose to refrain from exposing more personal details on their online platforms, yet others seem to overly expose information – information that would normally be kept to your closest friends or family. This culture of over-exposure could be linked to the trend of social media influencers that now circulates. Fame online used to be used for celebrities to show off their lifestyle, giving ordinary people an insight into how they live, but now it would seem that ordinary people can become an online influencer, should they wish to.

With this comes the need to build up a relationship with your audience, which explains the need to share every detail of one’s life, creating a more personal relationship which will draw users back to the online account to check-in on any updates on this person’s life; a person that they have usually never met. Ta-Da! We have the beginning of the social media influencer craze!

When you take a step back from this, you realise just how odd the concept is that people will spend hours of their day seeing what other people get up to in their life. But this is exactly what draws people in; they get to have a taste of fame themselves – they have an audience that they need to impress. This can either lead to inspiring content showing the ins and outs of one’s life, or it can mean misleading information is presented in a bid to gain extra “likes” or followers. With the online world, it offers us all the freedom to post exactly what we choose. With the correct filter applied you can make an average cup of coffee look spectacular, you can make the weather you had on holiday look far from the dodgy reality that you experienced and you can make your selfie look perfectly ‘Instagrammable’ with the correct lighting.

The main point that I want to get across in this blog post is that too much value is put onto our phones and our social media. All too often, instead of appreciating that gorgeous sunset for ourselves, we whip out our phones to share it with all of our followers. I’m guilty of doing this exact thing myself: when I go out for a meal it is now a running joke in the family that I will take a photo of the food as soon as it arrives (as most people nowadays would) and my Mum will joke ‘Can I start eating my food now?’. This is not a habit I am proud of yet I can’t seem to stop. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it’s habits that we all get into online.

Perhaps these are habits that need to be broken. We all need to stop and live in the moment, seeing events unfold through our own two eyes and not through our phone screens. Less importance needs to be placed on our phones – why is it that I never seem to find myself going anywhere without my phone? It doesn’t pose a matter of life or death so why would I consider my phone one of my most valuable possessions?

From this date, I am going to make a conscious effort to appreciate things more for myself, without fulfilling the need to share that moment with others too.

From this date, how are you going to change the relationship that you have with your phone?

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Ghost of you, 15/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 15/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: "She felt it, it was time to speak about the weight on her shoulders. Something she had never done before."

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“'Cause I'd rather feel your pain than nothing at all.” - Three Doors Down.

CHAPTER 15:

Amy woke up slowly. She was wrapped into a cocoon of warmth and well-being. She didn’t remember when was the last time she had felt so well. She stretched her body. She was taking all her time. She didn’t want to lose this precious well-being she hadn’t felt in ages. There was someone lay by her side. She rolled on her side and cuddled into the warm body beside her. She heard a smile and someone wrapped an arm around her. She must be dreaming but that dream was pleasurable. She liked it. She lazily wrapped her arm around that person. She didn’t know what she had expected but certainly not to be so close to a woman. This surprised her beyond words and she reluctantly rolled away from the unknown person she liked cuddling into. She couldn’t let herself go that way. The other woman reacted by trying to soothe her but Amy was too sleepy to be calmed down so easily. She needed to clear her mind first. Moaning, she pushed the hand away and rubbed her eyes. She stretched her body and looked around her. She wasn’t in her office but she wasn’t in her house either. It was a room she didn’t know. Had she done it again? Had she drunk until she had a blackout and been brought home by some stranger? There were pictures on the wall facing the bed. Pictures of a couple. Great, the woman she was with was married. She would have to deal with another cheated husband. She knew well that she didn’t have any control on herself when she was drunk. It was only a way to mute her pain. She was doing this when it was too strong, when it was suffocating her. She focused on the pictures on the wall. She wanted to see what the man she would have to face in the near future – because fate always made sure she faced them – looked like and the last pieces of the puzzle clicked together. It was Maxence Spitz. She remembered how she had ended up here. She had watched Rose work with Maxence for a while and the scientist had taken her into the private parts of the lab. They had had a quick lunch and they had settled down here. After a quick shower, they had lain down in bed and, reassured that she wasn’t alone for once, Amy had fallen asleep rather quickly. How much time had she slept? Had Rose watched her while she was asleep or had she slept too? It felt weird to be here, in this bed, with the wife of the man supposed to be her boss at the moment. But it was the start of a friendship. “How long have I slept?” A certain time according to her croaked voice and the feeling of being rested. She hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. It was before… “I’d say eight solid hours.” “Eight hours?” “You needed that sleep.” “And you?” “A couple hours.” Amy looked up at Rose. She was sat against a pile of pillows, glasses on her head and a book on her lap. She was reading and marking pages by folding their upper corner. Probably a book about her current researches. She looked as exhausted as before though. “You don’t look like someone who’s slept.” “Never said it was a good sleep.” “Do you have nightmares?” “I’m not the only one.” Rose looked away from her book to stare at Amy. Those whiskey eyes were clear on the meaning of those words. Somewhen during the night she had dreamt of this event and she must have screamed and cried and struggled against the sheets. “Sorry.” “Don’t be. I know what it is.” If there was something nice about Rose, it was that she wasn’t asking questions. She was giving her the time to consider the eventuality and if she wasn’t talking, she wouldn’t insist. She would wait until she was ready. “We all have our demons. You know mine already.” “But you don’t know mine.” “You’re not forced to talk to me.” “You’ve been comforting me, that’s the least I can do. You’re also the only one to care about me here.” Her voice was sad when she evoked this lack of friends in her surroundings. Rose was the first one to ever hold a hand out to her in this place and it felt amazing to have someone like her so close to her. Somehow, it felt easier to make friends in such a situation. She hesitantly snuggled closer to her new friend. “In my hometown, I’m known to sleep with married women,” she chuckled. “It only happened once but you know how people are.” “We all do mistakes.” “When my pain was suffocating me, I was going to a pub and drinking until I couldn’t feel it anymore. Once, I was taken home by a woman and I woke up in her bed. Only to be caught by her husband a couple hours later.” Amy fell silent after this admission. She was waiting for the judgement to come. People always judged a woman that was sleeping with someone married or that was having relations with another woman. But Rose didn’t say a thing. Instead, she pointed to a picture on the wall. A younger version of her and Maxence together in a park. Maxence had his arms around Rose and he was smiling brightly. Rose was just as happy on this picture. “This was the day we admitted our feelings to each other. It was one month after I broke up with Liv.” “You mean…” “Olivia Baxter, our doctor. We’ve known each other since forever. I’m totally bi. Not gonna judge you on this one.” “We didn’t…” “No.” Amy was relieved to know this at least. A friend that wasn’t judging her and that hadn’t let her make another mistake. Finally someone open minded. “Not enough alcohol in this building for us to be drunk. And I’m faithful.” “I used to be,” sadly murmured the therapist. She sat up and stared at the wall before her. She felt it, it was time to speak about the weight on her shoulders. Something she had never done before but Rose was offering her the trust and friendship she needed. It was all new but she knew deep down that she could say anything to this woman. She would listen and never judge. Hopefully. As a way to prove it, Rose took her hand and gently squeezed it. “The virus was already out when it happened. It wasn’t as bad as it is now. We could go out and have fun. And that’s what we did, my husband and son and I. There was a fair in our little town and we’ve spent the day there. It was a long and amazing day. My little boy, my William…” Her voice trailed off and she stopped speaking for a couple minutes. The anxiety was strangling her again. Rose didn’t say anything, she just stroked her hand with her thumb. A way to reassure her, to tell her that she wasn’t alone. After all, she was going through a loss too and she knew what it was. There was nothing to say at the moment. She could only listen. “We let him eat too much sugar and he was sick. I was driving so Bob, my husband, could deal with our son. He was blaming me for buying so much candy floss and so many sweets and I was trying to argue that our son’s happiness was the only thing that mattered. Every kid experiences sickness because of sweets at one point. But this argument signed our end. It distracted us.” She closed her eyes as the memories flew into her mind. She could see herself driving, her husband turned to watch William who was complaining about a belly ache. Two parents arguing and a sick child. She was looking for a place to stop the car so they could get out and breathe some fresh air to make the nausea disappear. And this man came out of nowhere. She brutally steered to avoid him and she lost the control of the car. No matter how hard she was trying to get the control back, the car kept sliding on the road and her husband was yelling at her and it was disturbing her. What had to happen happened. The car left the road and collided with a tree. The shock was so violent and so sudden that the airbags didn’t work. Her head bumped against the steering wheel and she thought it was over for her. “When I woke up, I was in the ICU. They waited until I was transferred to the light cares unit before telling me the truth. They haven’t suffered, they say. The collision killed them both instantly.” This was the last straw. Amy burst into tears and Rose wrapped her arms around her. She hugged her tight and rubbed her back while she cried all the pain that was still hurting her heart.

x

Zachary was worried. He had watched Maxence working and entering all the formula he had written on the wall on his personal space. Zachary had transferred the data to Tegan for him to approve of them. He would have to talk with Rose to be sure this was exact and to use those formula for their researches. But that wasn’t the reason why Zachary was so worried. After he was done, Maxence had cleaned the walls and instead of pacing around his cage, he had lain down and closed his eyes as if he was gonna sleep. At first, Zachary had thought he was doing it out of habit – a habit from when he was human – or because he was simply bored and wanted to look at the ceiling like he was often doing. Allegro was watching a movie in his cell. There was nothing to worry about for him. However, for Maxence, things were getting complicated. His brain seemed to have switched to a standby mode. A sort of sleep that wasn’t really sleep. He was just lying there with his eyes closed. Zachary was keeping an eye on his vital signs. His brain activity had reduced to the minimum, to the very minimum. If Zach didn’t have the other information under his eyes, he would think that the man was dead or about to be. Maybe he was dying. Zachary wasn’t very qualified on this field but he was clever enough to understand that something was wrong. The vital signs weren’t good at all. He entered an alert on their interactive group work. Someone needed to come and do a check up on him. Just to be sure that the fake cure given to him wasn’t having any effect on him anymore. Just a precaution not to lose him all of a sudden. Tegan was busy with the hacker and the maker of this fake cure at the moment and he wouldn’t be able to come before he was done. Rose had gone with Amy a little moment ago and they hadn’t come back yet. Jack and Clara were checking new formulas with Martha. Liv was probably getting some rest somewhere. All the qualified people of this team were busy elsewhere. Zachary hoped they would see the alert before anything happened to Maxence. That could be really bad. Allegro, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. All the effects of the ultraviolet were gone since they had turned off the lights and he hadn’t had any other fit of anger. Another check up was supposed to be done on him. If he was getting three negatives in a row, he would be able to come out of this place. It would be a relief but he wasn’t putting his hopes too high. He was bored in this cage but he was also very safe. Zachary was often chatting with him whenever he was having a small break. “Any good zombie movies to recommend to me?” It was just yesterday. Allegro was in a quite good mood and he wanted to joke. A zombie movie really was the easiest of jokes in the current times. That was why Allegro had asked for this. “What makes you think I’m a fan of zombie movies?” “You’re quite young. Young people love scaring themselves with those sorts of movies.” “Sorry to disappoint you, I’m prefer comedies and anime series. I love a good documentary too.” “Still a kid inside.” “What’s the point of growing up if you can’t be childish at times?” “I like your philosophy but I unfortunately have seen too many horrors to find my innocence again.” Just like Jack, Allegro had been a soldier before. When his contract with the army was over, he hadn’t renewed it. Instead, he had started looking for small jobs that were less stressful and that didn’t require traveling that much. That’s how he had ended up being a security member of this lab. Not a bad job during the good times. “You’re locked in there for a while, why not bringing back all those memories from your childhood? I’m sure the cartoons you used to watch are still available.” “How old do you think I am?” Zachary chuckled. He knew how old Allegro was. He was gonna turn forty soon. On normal times, some of his colleagues would have organised a small surprise party. Just to celebrate this special day. This lab could be such a perfect place sometimes. “Old enough to listen to those songs no one knows on Jazz FM.” “I like this radio. It’s relaxing.” “More a fan of Beethoven, me.” “That is surprising.” “I like rock music. I wish I could have gone to a Maiden concert. I guess it’s a dream that will never come true though.” “You can’t know. They maybe will find a cure that will save this world.” “It will take a while before people start trusting other people again to gather into public places.” “There’s this band I really like. A French band. It’s quite special but it’s really good. Ever heard of Indochine?” “If that’s not about this part of the world, then, I don’t what it is.” “It inspired the name. Listen to it. It’s really nice.” That’s how Zach had ended up on YouTube to listen to that French band while Allegro was taking a nap. Old school, bit weird, but very good. He really liked the music. Some of their songs were bringing energy and good vibes. It certainly was appreciated. “Are you watching one of those cartoons again?” joked Allegro. “Nope.” “That seems entertaining.” “It is. That’s the band you’ve told me about. I don’t understand half the lyrics but their music is nice.” “You can’t understand them. There isn’t any sense to their lyrics most of the time.” “Not sure about it.” “That’s not what’s causing you to be so anxious though.” “No. I’m keeping an eye on Maxence’s vital signs and they haven’t been good for a couple hours. I’ve entered an alert but no one has seen it yet.” “Is this that bad?” “If there wasn’t this information on my screen, I’d thought he’s dead. He hasn’t moved in hours.” “And no one had come? That’s weird.” “They’re all busy. T is on the hacker case. Rose is with the therapist. Jack and Clara and Martha are busy with some new formulas. I have no idea where Liv can be. And there’s nothing…” He was interrupted in his explanation by the striding sound and the red alert on his screens. Maxence sat up straight suddenly, gasping for air. He tapped the wall for someone to help him. Zach was powerless but thankfully, he saw Liv, fully dressed into a hazmat suit, running straight to his cage. She had seen the alert, he thought with relief. Maxence was coughing now. He still couldn’t breathe. He fell down the bed, on his hands and knees. Liv tried to talk to him but he wasn’t listening. All he wanted was air. She placed an oxygen mask on his face. He greedily breathed in that pure air finally reaching his lungs. “Breathe slowly, Maxence. Very slowly.” He wasn’t listening. He was too focused on taking as much air as he could. He was feeling better now that he could breathe again. He looked up at Liv and saw the sadness and fear in her eyes. She pressed her fingers on his ear briefly and pulled them back. The tip of her gloves was covered with a crimson sticky fluid. Blood. He touched his face, his ears, his nose, his mouth and his fingers were covered with the same blood. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. “We’re gonna have to make you go through another scan.” She had seen his latest results and they were bad. Jack had created an alert about it earlier this week. Zachary’s had made an echo to this alert and was telling them that the situation was getting worse. Maxence was fighting the virus and it was slowly killing him. Liv cupped his cheek. “You have to stop fighting. I know you don’t want to, but you have to. It’s important. You’re dying, Maxence.” Dying. The word echoed in his mind. Wasn’t he already dying? Wasn’t he dead since the moment he had been infected? He wanted to get better and he needed to be himself to find that cure. He couldn’t be himself if he stopped fighting. Rose wanted him to fight. So he had to keep fighting. Whatever it caused him. “I’m serious, Max. You might not hold on until we find that cure if you don’t let the virus win.” He shook his head and put the mask back on his face. Liv was amazed to see how aware he was of his surroundings. She knew it was because he was fighting but it was still a shock to see it. “Rose will understand. Nightwalkers don’t die from the virus unless they get involved in fights. You can’t be both. You’ll get back to your real self, but not now.” He pushed the mask away once again. His breathing was much better. He didn’t need it anymore. He gave it back to Liv. She would probably have to destroy it now. She wouldn’t use it on someone healthy. Or she would keep it for him if he was having another fit. “You can let go. It’s okay.” He didn’t want to. He refused to. He didn’t want to abandon his friends, his team. He wanted to help them as much as he could. Even if he had to die for this. He shook his head and Liv took her hand away from his face. “I’ll always be there to save you like you’ve saved me if you keep fighting. I won’t let you die.” He was surprised by the sudden change of speech from the young woman. What was making her change her mind so quickly? There must be a reason for that. “You never gave up when I was in troubles,” she murmured. “So I’m never gonna give up until you’re better.” Next thing he knew, she was hugging him tight. The plastic of the suit creaked. It was rather unpleasant to feel this against his skin but it was the first time he was given a hug in forever. So he hugged her back. It wasn’t the same as hugging Rose but it was okay. He liked it. Finally someone wasn’t afraid of the nightwalker him.

x

Tegan quickly walked to the public workspace where Camden and Donna were working. Camden had asked for him to come because they had found a clue for the patient zero. Even if it was good news, he wasn’t pleased to be interrupted in his rest. He had sorted things out with Colin and made him lock away in an empty area of the lab with guards to be sure he wouldn’t run away. It was also for him to be fed and taken care of if there was any problem. This was a solved case. While he was resting after Liv healed him, there had been this alert from Zachary that was causing him to be anxious. So anxious that he was on the edge of panicking. That was why Liv had insisted on him resting. She would check on Maxence and keep him updated. His head was pounding and his face was painful. Colin had quite a punch and doing nothing to protect himself had been a clever but dangerous move. He was paying for it but that pain was highly satisfying knowing the result. He had remained on the couch of his office for a moment before another mail came. A mail from Camden requiring his presence immediately. He had sighed and made his way there. He couldn’t refuse any clue when it was for a cure that would save Maxence. “I hope that’s not a deadlock. I’m not in the mood for fake hopes.” Speaking was hurting because it was using too many muscles that were bruised and sensitive but he couldn’t avoid this conversation. It was too crucial. Donna opened her eyes wide when she saw his face and Camden raised an interrogative eyebrow. This place was rather interesting in the end. The interactions between the scientists seemed to be highly charged. More than in a usual lockdown situation. There were personal matters interfering. It was fascinating. “What has happened to you?” “Bad moves while training.” “I’ve studied biology. This is not an accident.” “Whatever. This is not what brings me here, right?” “Jack and Clara will tell you I’m a very curious man.” “He is,” confirmed Donna. “And I never give up until I have my answers.” “That’s also true,” sighed the red-haired woman. “Well, look for all the answers you want and give me what I’ve come for.” Tegan sat down on the chair facing Camden and pushed the cardboard boxes that were in front of him. He folded his arms on his chest. He wanted to go back to his couch with an ice pack and an aspirin. But he was as curious as Camden and wanted his answers. “As a scientist, you must know what the Xeroderma Pigmentosum is.” “Yes. An extremely rare disease that makes every patient unable to bear the UV lights.” “And did you know there were researches to find a cure?” “Just like every cancer on Earth, there always has been researches for Xeroderma Pigmentosum. Get straight to the point.” Camden gathered a couple of papers that were scattered in front of him and pushed them toward Tegan. The neurologist took them. He didn’t understand where Camden was going but it was because his pain was distracting him. “We’ve found out that the most important researches were done by someone called Myrtle Appleton. Here, in England.” “However,” continued Donna, “she was sacked from the lab she was working in because she was using unconventional methods. It was a couple days before the virus hit the world officially.” “But she didn’t stop her researches. She has done them clandestinely.” “So, you’re telling me that this Myrtle Appleton was running experiences secretly and that one of these experiences might have gone wrong and provoked this whole mess?” “Yes.” Tegan put the documents down. He hadn’t even read them. His mind was focused on something else, something that didn’t please him at all. He jumped to his feet and left the workspace. He made his way to the empty part of the building where Colin was locked. Their paths kept crossing and Tegan really, really hated it…

To be continued...

Ghost of you © | 2017 - 2018 | Tous droits réservés.

×××

In the next chapter:

Colin was outrageously relaxed for someone who had been sacked and locked away. Tegan was resisting the envy of throwing him out of the lab and letting him see how he would survive out there. It was a chance that it hadn’t done it yet since Colin was gonna be really useful if he accepted to speak. Tegan wouldn’t get inside his prison. It would be playing Colin’s game. He would just do what he had to do by staying outside. One black eye was enough for him. He observed Colin. The scientist was laid on the desk of the room and watching the ceiling. He had a smirk on his face. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the whole situation. He was annoyed to have been caught but he was living it quite well. And this was infuriating Tegan. How could this mad scientist be so happy with himself when he almost killed a man?

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