#we had to use it

[faofinn]

No.9 "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days."

@whumptober-archive

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | "You're a liar."

Harrison hadn't long been back in the UK, slowly settling into life with Tai and Levi. Having a baby around was great, really, but it was a lot. Finn was still recovering too, and Harrison spent most of his time in the basement looking after him. He'd had some plans to update the place too, especially since they were expanding their medical side. 

Of course though, Fred always had work for him, and so he found himself in the middle of town in the small hours of the morning. He still wasn't used to the cold, his pacing doing nothing to help. Eventually, money was exchanged and he was good to go. He was grateful to crawl back into bed, immediately snuggling up to his boyfriend’s warmth. 

Fred was happy with the outcome, grateful for Harrison doing the legwork for him. He'd missed him, both as a colleague and a son, and he was glad he was back in the UK. He could tell Steve was too, and the way the other man paraded his grandson around was beyond adorable.

Steve had had Levi staying over the night before, Harrison not wanting to disturb him when he'd returned from the meet up. Tai had an early start planned, as much as Harrison protested his departure from their bed. After a little lie in, he decided to get breakfast. The small caf in town was still going, and he'd missed their sandwiches. 

It took a bit to drag himself out of bed, though the promise of bacon helped, but eventually he found himself on his way. It wasn't that far of a walk thankfully, his car not yet finished, and his coat was keeping him warm. He wasn't paying too much attention to his surroundings as he walked, just enjoying his time out, but a shout behind him pulled his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. Two men, obviously carrying, and obviously looking for him. 

With his own hand on his hip, he stopped. "What do you want?"

"You. You need to come with us."

He laughed. "Yeah, not happening. Nice try. See you later." 

They pulled their gun. "We're not joking. You need to listen, make this easy for you."

"Oh, fuck off, will you? I want my breakfast."

“You’re coming with us. Now.”

"Try again another day, eh?" He kept walking. 

“I said now.” They said, grabbing his arm. 

Harrison pulled his arm back, reaching for his gun. The last thing he wanted was to draw a weapon in a populated area, but he didn't have a choice. 

“Now now, let’s not have any of that. Come with us, there’s no need for this to get ugly.”

"I don't know who you're after, but you've got the wrong guy." He smirked. "You've definitely picked the wrong guy to mess with."

“We know exactly who you are, and you’re coming with us. I’m sure the boss will be very happy to see you.”

"Don't think I'm going to go easily." He warned, a split second before swinging for the closest man.

The other men reacted quickly, punches thrown as they tried to subdue him. They’d not expected so much of a fight. 

He had warned them, and he had every intention of carrying it out, putting up as much of a fight as he could. 

As unprepared as they’d been for quite how much he was going to fight, they outnumbered him, one quickly countering his punch with their own whilst the others came at him from both sides. 

Harrison got in a few good shots before he was wrestled to the ground, a knee in his back. His cheek was grazed from the pavement, and the way they held his arms pulled at his shoulders. He swore at them, beyond pissed. 

“Yeah, yeah. All talk.” They teased, holding him down.

He turned to look at the one closest to him, spitting at his captor. "You're a cunt."

“Oh, shut up.” They smacked him, hard. 

Harrison breathed through the nausea it brought, closing his eyes. Tai was going to be beyond pissed at him for this, and he was genuinely upset about missing his breakfast. 

They hauled him to his feet, dragging him down the street to their van and shoving him inside unceremoniously, uncaring if they hurt him as they did it. 

His leg twisted as they threw him down, the plastic stabbing into skin. He let out a quiet groan, unable to stop himself.

They didn’t care, slamming the door hard before they drove off, keen to get him back as quickly as possible. 

"Yous are cunts, y’know that, right?" He muttered to the one staring at him. "If you've damaged my gun, I'll fucking shoot you with it."

“Hard to shoot with a broken gun.”

"Maybe I'll shove it where the sun don't shine then."

“You’re a mouthy one, aren’t you?”

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

“Stupid cunt.”

"You should be nicer when you talk about yourself."

“Beginning to wish I’d knocked you out.”

"Me too. You're a bit boring." He looked him up and down. "And you're not my type."

“Shut up, you cunt.”

"Hey, don’t be so mean." He laughed, taunting him. "We have feelings too, y'know?"

“Not interested in your feelings. Shut up before I shut you up.” He said roughly. The driving was even rougher, uncaring if they jerked him about, speeding and cornering hard. They pulled up where they’d agreed to meet their boss, with the promise of a big collar, someone who had been working against them for some time, and then dragged Harrison out onto the concrete. 

Harrison smirked. "Hope you brought your camera."

They aimed a solid kick to his ribs. “Shut up.”

"Aw, come on." He tried to hide how winded they'd made him. "It's gonna be a good show."

They didn't bother with a retort as the car pulled up, obviously who they'd been waiting for. Two very expensive shoes appeared out the driver's side, and he snorted. Whoever had picked him up was going to be in a world of trouble. 

"You owe me two bacon sarnies now." He said, only slightly joking.

.

Fred froze, turning away from his conversation as he fully focused on the figure on the floor. "Harrison?!"

"Told them they'd got it wrong." He explained. "Wouldn't listen. Think they've broken my gun and my leg."

The guard by him went pale, and Harrison felt some flare of satisfaction at it. Fred moved to his side quickly, crouching to unlock him."Are you hurt?

His eye was already starting to swell and bruise, blood trickling lazily from his nose. He'd had worse, so much worse, but he was currently more pressed that he was missing his breakfast. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and he looked up at Fred. 

"This is bullshit." 

Fred shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened."

"Oh? Maybe the dicks over there can fill you in." He grumbled. "I just wanted my breakfast."

“You’ll get your breakfast.” He murmured, straightening up. 

“What on earth is this? You better have a damn good reason for what you’ve done.”

"They're vegans." Harrison muttered from the floor. "Got something against the bacon."

"He's…he's someone else. He works for someone else, behind your back. We caught him."

“The people I’ve asked him to work for?”

"No." They took a step back. "With others."

“No, you’re not following. He’s always worked for me.”

"They're not on our roster."

Realisation dawned on Harrison. "They caught me when I was with Slug. After he, y’know, and you wanted it moved." He wasn't sure how much the others were allowed to know, especially since they'd decided that he was rogue.

“I’ll deal with this.” Fred said harshly. 

"And buy me breakfast?" Harrison was still on the floor, not trusting his prosthesis to weight bare. 

“Yeah, I’ll get you breakfast.” He muttered, before he turned on the guys who’d brought him in. “Do you realise the consequences of your actions?”

"We were just doing what was best. He's lying."

“No, he’s not. How many people saw you?”

"He is."

"A dog walker and two cars." Hars spoke up. "I remember their reg."

“Who else?” He demanded. 

Harrison's captors were struggling. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?”

"I don't know!"

“Fucking ridiculous.” He snapped. 

Harrison groaned from the floor. "Can you deal with them later? I need Steve to check this out."

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you back.” Fred said, helping him up. He’d brought men with him, and snapped his fingers for them to deal with the men who’d grabbed Harrison. 

He tried taking a step, his prosthesis immediately giving out on him. He grabbed at Fred, swearing. 

Fred looped his arm around him. “Careful, I’ve got you.”

"They've fucked it. I can't believe it. I felt it when they hoyed me in the back." He grunted. "It was my new one."

“We’ll get it sorted.”

"You fucking better." He turned to glare at his attackers. "They fucking owe me breakfast, too. I want it out their paycheck."

[shrubsparrow]

It's in the eye of the beholder

[idoodlestuffsometimes]

I need to share how the IT guy at work greeted my department on CrowdStrike Blue Screen Friday. Never have I seen a man so shocked by the sight of perfectly functional computers

(They were off during the update)

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

I’m sorry but if there is one thing the Tumblr left needs crucially, it’s the ability to celebrate.

I remember when marriage equality was called and there were waves of rainbows and love wins posts. When we successfully defeated Donald Trump, there was lukewarm relief, a reminder that you were only allowed one or maybe two days to celebrate and then it was back to work. That is if you were even a good person for voting Biden. We never did settle if he was better than Trump. (We did.). We didn’t celebrate student loan debt relief or any of the accomplishments of the Biden administration, or any of the times Trump was blocked, or other countries succeeding in keeping fascists out of office. Who cares if we had successes? It’s not good enough. Back to work!

And this anti-celebratory attitude stretches back to the past. On the 100th anniversary of female suffrage in America, we were reminded that not all women had the vote and so we weren’t allowed to celebrate. The only post I saw about Juneteenth was reminding us that there were enslaved people who were killed instead of freed and therefore celebrating the end of chattel slavery was wrong, and besides, we have prison labor so nothing really changed or got better and there’s nothing to celebrate anyway. Trans Day of Visibility comes with Trans Day of Remembrance so that people don’t fill the tags with hate crimes and death. So on and so forth. Nothing gets better. Nothing changes. Back to work!

So of course when we have a major setback, we fall apart and have to start frantic damage control. Frantic discourse ensues over how much people are allowed to unplug before it becomes bad and selfish. Yes, maybe you can have this one day off Mr. Cratchit but you better be here and miserable early the next morning. Like abusive bosses always insisting you squeeze out more, more, more, and any achievement is just proof you were lazy the other times and impetus for more work.

If we are never allowed to acknowledge any of our victories, how are we supposed to survive our defeats?

[edwardbonnets]

how to ask the demon you've been smitten over for 6000 years to dance: an angel's guide

bonus:

[sadclowncentral]

while i was trying to wade through the large amounts of people trying to leave the central subway station, everyone abruptly came to a halt in front of the subway turnstiles. two french girls had misunderstood the tap-out process, and one of them was now stuck behind the gate. as i was wracking my brain on how to explain the tap-in tap-out process of the milan metro to both of them with my rudimentary french while they both got increasingly upset at the closed gate between them, a young teenager suddenly pushed me to the side.

i was just about to give him my most scathing disgruntled glare when he took out his ticket and, after realizing they had no common language, started gesticulating wildly in front of the french girl left behind. he pointed at the ticket, then at her, and very seriously said: “on three, we go.” she nodded, and after he counted to three, holding up his fingers so there could be no confusion, they sprinted through the gate together, giggling profusely afterwards as if they had just pulled off the heist of the century,

it was just a small moment during the morning commute. but i realized then and there that the time i had spent trying to intellectualize the problem and wondering if my lack of language skills would be awkward the situation could have already been resolved. and that while i had been mad about being pushed aside, the teenager got it exactly right: no questions, no fear or shyness, just direct action to help where you can and rushing there to do so. i think about him every time now when i run to lift someone’s pram or ask a lost looking person if they need my help despite the fear of being rude. on three, we go.

[sniperct]

"Why didn't the Democrats codify Roe v Wade?"

They didn't have enough votes to bypass the filibuster because of Joe Manchin

"Why didn'-"

The answer is probably Joe Manchin.

"They had 60 votes in-"

For a few months and that entire time was spent wrestling with like 11 Joe Manchins from a bunch of red states in the senate to get health care reform passed.

"What about the Filibuster-"

JOE FUCKING MANCHIN

[nando161mando]

[nenoname]

Stan Pines' drawings

Plus a Stan drawing of debatable canonicity but I love his signature being a dollar sign

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Of the 19 hijackers who carried out the Sept 11 attacks:

15 were from Saudi Arabia (a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

2 were from the United Arab Emirates (also a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

1 was from Egypt, 1 from Lebanon.

None of the hijackers were from Iraq.

None of the Sept 11 hijackers were Iraqi.

None of the 9/11 hijackers were from Iraq.

[nnobodoodles]

Huh.

So I randomly remembered Croc is pretty much Italian.

[theshadowrealmitself]

I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them

People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human

“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”

“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”

“Yeah!!”

“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”

“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“

“How illogical”

“That’s what I’m saying!!!”

[hellenhighwater]

When my nephew was four, a friend of the family passed away. The man was in his 90s and died of natural causes, and we were going to the funeral. We sat my nephew down and explained who this was, and that he had passed away, and now we were going to a sort of quiet party to celebrate him, and that there he might see the gentleman in the casket, and he might be very still, because he had died, but that everything was alright.

My nephew contemplated this calmly for a few minutes, and then said, "I think he will be very flat."

What.

It turns out that at age four, my nephew's only real context for death was roadkill, which he frequently pointed out while we were driving. He therefore believed that the only way anyone died was getting run over by a car.

[indigo6f00ff]

need to share an experience i had 30 minutes ago

(edit: thanks to @walks-the-ages for providing and reminding me to put alt text, sorry it slips my mind alot lol)

[egophiliac]

can't believe that skeleman has turned on us, and Halloween Prom is tomorrow.

(what a top-tier UM...we are about to be just totally obliterated in the absolute silliest way. what possible use could this power have outside of bringing us to the brink of utter holiday disaster.)