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my-my-my · 9 months

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modern Aizen??!! What type of dad would he be? Or husband? What type of life would he have?(job,money,hobbies,etc.)

I love modern Aizen concepts. I've thought so much about this - I have way too many ideas. I'll break this up into chunks for easier reading.

TW: none!

... as a husband:

A very career-oriented, driven man = very busy. There will be some days where you won't physically see him (because your work schedules don't align), but he will call you each day when you have free time.

He's very attentive. He can tell when you're upset, hurt or angry about something, and he'll listen.

He doesn't like nagging and passive aggressiveness. If you're upset with him, be direct! He trusts you and expects you to trust him as well.

He loves cooking with you, especially if you're curious about new recipes, or try something in a restaurant and want to recreate it at home with him.

He doesn't like leaving household chores with you - he tries to meal plan and prep with you. He's the one that offers to hire a cleaner so there's less stress for you.

When he has time off, he will spend it with you. He will plan elaborate, details days off, vacations, anniversaries, etc. - it's his way of "making up" to his intense schedule.

... as a father:

Extremely, and I mean EXTREMELY patient. He may not be all that understanding with his child, but he tries.

I think Aizen "handles" older children better than new borns and infants.

New borns and infants give Aizen a small seed of fear - this tiny, precious child is someone who inherently has to rely on Aizen. I think in this sense, Aizen's philosophy of "the weak need the strong" changes - of course his baby needs him!

Aizen will always, and I mean always, read them bedtime stories. He loves to encourage his child to read more. One of their first gifts from him (once they're old enough/develop memories) is a little bookshelf.

Library days are important! He's one of those parents who will sign up for parent-baby classes at the local library.

Aizen is definitely the "I'm not angry, just disappointed" parent. He won't shout at his child ever, but they develop an inherent respect for him.

I don't think Aizen would like the concept of private schools (inherently classist/elitist), so he's very much fine with his child going to a public school.

Summer vacations are also for travel! He would encourage his child to see the world - he doesn't want them to be ignorant of the world around them.

... his job:

I've talked about this before, but I can see Aizen in some type of medical or education-role (or both!). I often picture him as some kind of psychotherapist (requires a medical degree) at a world-renowned hospital/institute who's also an associate professor at the major university. He would be one of those people who would have the HBSc + MSc + MD + PhD lol

He would also be a graduate-level supervisor for students. But he's very selective on who he takes under his wing (i.e. Ichigo...). He would encourage his students to think critically about what he's teaching them, but also be supportive in their endeavours.

I think Aizen develops his supervisor persona because it was, unfortunately, something he didn't get to experience as a graduate student. His supervisors were very hands-off and while Aizen was an extremely competent student and fellow, I can see him wanting a mentor during that period of his life.

Aizen only sees a few patients a year, on a consultancy-basis, if he's more research-focused. But some years he does go back into the clinical practice route.

Aizen has definitely had a TEDTalk or two.

Aizen is always competing with Urahara for grants and funding lol it pisses him off.

If Aizen is on a thesis committee with Urahara, it frustrates him, but he tries to be nice and polite - often times he's ignoring Urahara in these meetings and at the time of a student's defence.

Aizen would be a notoriously difficult Comprehensive Examiner for PhD students. Again, going back to thinking critically - he expects students in his division/unit/stream to not regurgitate what they've learned, but demonstrate areas of improvement, new techniques, etc.

Aizen teaches one undergrad-level course in psychology, another one in sociology and then one last one in philosophy (at the 300 level). Many undergrad students flock to his office hours.

Overall - financially - Aizen is definitely not hurting for cash.

... his hobbies:

Reading: whether that be manuscripts, chapter proofs, fiction and non-fiction alike. I think Aizen is inherently a student for life type-of-person. He wants to know more, he has such a thirst for knowledge.

Coffee/tea-hopping: he's not one for gimmicky cafes, but Aizen's curious to try new spots for their coffee and tea selections. Even when he travels abroad, he will try local cafes and buy some beans and blends for home (if he likes it).

I think Aizen would still hold on to calligraphy - it's such a rare talent these days I find. It's an expensive hobby for sure - but one he plans and budgets for. Very, very rarely does he sell some of his prints - it's a way for him to decompress.

I think Aizen would be hesitant to introduce his child to calligraphy - he doesn't want them using his expensive inks and pens lol. I think he'd get them a "child" version of them, but he wouldn't pressure them to continue with calligraphy if it doesn't interest them.

In a similar vein, I can see Aizen enjoying playing the piano in his (very limited) spare time (he's trying to master Rachmaninoff and that unbelievably finger span). I don't see him playing the piano necessarily for the music - but rather, I think it's a test of almost all of his senses. It requires his focus, his ability to read music - translate that ability into finger movements, and be able to interpret the composers own feelings into the piece of music. I don't think he'd be able to tell you who his favourite composers were, but he would be able to tell you pieces that gave him a "challenge" (that he conquered). He would enrol his child in piano lessons.

I can see Aizen being into hiking, and maybe mountaineering. I think it gives him a sort of thrill to climb mountains (always reaching to the top).

Weirdly enough, I think he'd be into foraging as well? Foraging for edible mushrooms specifically (I guess there's something to be said with curiosity and mad scientist types).

Aizen avoids social media. He knows of it, he probably has a twitter account for his academic stuff, but that's about it. I also don't see him as a podcast listener - but he has been invited on to podcasts as a guest!

Overall, I think Aizen would have a life similar to a well-known, top-earning clinical researcher! Someone who's constantly learning, but also wants to share that knowledge to a few select students. This leads him to having a very limited home life, but he makes it up with his attentiveness and understanding. I think Aizen would be a devoted partner to a person who is as equally curious as him - someone he can also learn from.

Thanks anon for this ask! I hope this is what you had in mind.

#bleach #aizen sousuke #aizen sosuke #sosuke aizen #sousuke aizen #aizen x reader #aizen headcanon #answered #anonymous #bleach writings

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listlessdionysian · 4 months

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Short fiction, fantasy: Broehain (BFS Horizons, 2020)

And here's the second (you can find the other one on my blog). This piece was a palate cleanser after finishing the novel that formed the bulk of my PhD. I'll probably share some chapters and extracts from that at some point.

Broehain was a minor character who showed up around the halfway point. He has a boat and rows two of the central characters out to an island to speak to a group of sages. But there was something about him - his little allusions to a sad, hard life - that kept bringing me back. I've always loved the Death of the Wild-West story structure, people living by violence to be later undone by it, and always thought it worked well in a fantasy setting. At the time my head was also full of the stories and accounts in David Stannard's "American Holocaust" and I found myself then, as I still am now, haunted by the poem 'Broken Spears'. These two things combined into a short tragic piece set a little while after his brief appearance in the novel.

It has its flaws. There are parts of the story that are underdeveloped, but I like the character. I like his daughters too - and I've a feeling they're still rattling around the world, preparing to have stories of their own. This is set in the same world that On Well-Wishers was an early glimpse of. Here, things are a bit more settled. I know which big bits go where. Still figuring the rest out. I'll shut up now.

Broehain

Broehain looked to the east, at the waves, and the winds that drove them, and the shrouded mounds of the archipelago in the distance. It had been four days since he’d sailed out there, with a storyteller and Aos Sí royalty to consult the sages that lived on the island. The winds had been high. Almost storming. Filling the boat, and their eyes and mouths, with briny spray. When he had collected them, after their meeting, they had not told him what the sages had said.

Broehain had not asked.

He had been eager to get away. To get home to his daughters, to see if today was the day when the soldiers and traders from Pyllwic decided to push him out of his home.

As they neared, he saw cookfires and lanterns burning in the windows of his disorderly cluster of shacks. The worried, dark face of Mairead, his eldest, peering out of the window at him. Deflating a little with a relieved sigh, before drawing deeper into the shack to see to her younger sister - Rhona.

When they disembarked, hauling the boat over the pebbles and hard sand, scraping and grating as they went, the storyteller and the queen went to their people and left. Broehain didn’t watch them go.

Mairead and Rhona were already tucked up in their bedrolls, closest to the hearth. Mairead curled around her sister. Knees drawn up under Rhona’s bare and grubby feet. Standing in the doorway, looking at them, Broehain felt something in him tremble, threatening to break. He turned away from them and stepped out into the night.

He took his bow and quiver, climbed the small rise behind his home, and hunkered down in the dry, sparse grass with his pipe. Broehain watched the curve of the road, in the distance. The mountains high above, lit up in silver and blue by the light of the moon.

Even in the dark he saw a few caravans and wagons. A slow procession of horses and humanity, ferrying their worldly goods to Pyllwic, to sell or to stow in the holds of their fat bottomed ships. Broehain watched those ungainly vessels bob past his home, some days, and wondered how they didn’t capsize. Weighed down in the water by the sheer quantity of their cargo.

He heard their voices. His ears twitching at the sound. Saw a few heads turn his way. They wouldn’t be able to see him, not in this dark. Their eyes were dim, where his were keen. He cupped his hand around the bowl of his pipe, masking the glow. Those watching eyes slipped away from him, returning to the road ahead.

Not today, then.

But soon.

He felt it on the wind.

‘Father,’ Mairead said.

Broehain jerked his head up from the netting he was fixing. Her bright eyes were looking over his shoulder, at something coming down from the road. Rhona, beside her, stood up. Eyes bright, always keen for some new adventure, some strange thing to happen.

He stood and turned.

Riders peeled off the road. Four of them. The one in the fore was all dressed up in furs and fine fabrics. A bronze chain around his throat, almost lost in the fat, sunburned folds of his neck. The man had a smile on his face. A smile that filled Broehain’s belly with ice and bile. Behind him were warriors. Armed. Missing teeth, or bits of ear, or strips of flesh from their faces.

‘Take your sister inside,’ he said.

He heard Rhona take in a sudden lungful, prepared to scream and shriek and stamp her feet in the sand. Mairead clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth and lifted her, before scuttling indoors. Broehain looked back at the nets, half mended, behind him.

There’d be no work today.

No work. No food.

Shit.

The thought gave him just enough anger to hold him firm. Keep him upright. He’d be having some words, soon. Words that could see him and his girls dead in the water or tossed out into the night to wander and starve.

The sun flashed on the fat man’s chain, in time with the rise and fall of his horse’s gait.

‘Help you?’ Broehain called.

The riders came to a halt. Their mounts, frustrated with the sudden stop, tramped and stamped and wheeled while their riders fought to control them. All save the fat man. He had the money for a good horse. Meek and mild. It stopped when it was asked, and he sat on it like you’d sit in a plush and comfortable chair.

‘Perhaps you can, my good sir, perhaps you can,’ the fat man said.

Broehain hated him already.

The fat man’s escort had taken charge of their horses and sat leering and staring at him. Gap-toothed sneers promising violence. Broehain cursed himself for not keeping weapons to hand. First time in a long time.

‘My name is-’ the fat man began.

‘Don’t want your name. What do you want?’

The fat man’s left eye twitched. But he masked it with a smile.

‘Charming place you have here,’ the fat man said.

‘It’s mine.’

‘Wonderful views of the sea.’

‘It’s mine.’

‘Really?’ the fat man’s smile spreading like oil on water, ‘I thought you Aos Sí didn’t believe in property.’

‘This one does. We done?’

The gap-toothed bastard on the left leaned forward in his saddle and said, ‘You’d best listen to the boss man.’

‘Really, Gib,’ the fat man shook his head, ‘There’s no need. No need at all.’

Gib didn’t blink. Kept on staring at Broehain. Broehain stared back.

‘I’ve come with a proposition,’ the fat man said. ‘Perhaps we could speak, in doors?’

‘Don’t care for propositions, and I like you just where you are.’

Again, the eye twitch. A slight twitching at the lips.

‘There’s no need to be so hostile,’ the fat man sighed. ‘We’re here as friends.’

‘Humans always come as friends,’ Broehain said. ‘Then they stay as conquerors.’

‘The old ways-’ the fat man began, shaking his head.

‘The always. Take your flunkeys and go.’

All the friendliness and charm vanished. The fat man gave him a hard stare. Broehain hadn’t marked the darkness in his eyes until that moment. Seeing it made him wish for his bow. The fat man sat, unblinking, before shrugging and turning his horse.

Gib gave him a last, long look. Smiling. Then he turned and followed the others.

Broehain watched them go. Four riders fading into a dust cloud, to join a larger caravan that waited, watching, on the road. Had to be another eight out there. Armed, as shifty as the rest of them. He watched them mount up and set off down the road, some looking back at him and talking to each other. Heard a few laugh.

He watched them go with his fists shaking at his sides.

For the next few days and nights, Broehain took to going about his day and his work with his bow and quiver with him. He made no trips out onto the water. Focused, instead, on whittling and forming the oddments and trinkets the townsfolk liked to barter for and cultivating what few crops they could grow on the harsh sands and dry earth.

Mairead watched him, watching the road. Starting and rising at every little noise out there. Rhona carried on as always. Half-attentive to her task. Often distracted by birds, or the sounds of the waves, or the glinting of the sun on the water. It did nothing to help Broehain’s mood when he looked around for her and found her missing. Only to then later discover her rolling down sand dunes. The golden granules sifting through her hair.

But they didn’t come.

Each hour they did not come, the tension and the sickness in his belly tightened and grew heavier. It wore him down. Put a twitch and a shake in his long fingers. Robbed of their usual intelligence, he fumbled at his task until he gave up altogether. He took to sitting and watching the road, chewing at his pipe without lighting it.

‘Father,’ Mairead said.

Broehain twitched, near bit clean through his pipe. He took it from his mouth and grunted, still watching the road. It was empty.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Dunno. Nothing good.’

‘What did those men want?’

‘Everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘The houses, the land, the jetty. All of it. Mostly, I think they want us gone.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re an eyesore. People see us from the road, on their way to town, and they forget the lie they’ve been swallowing. The lie that Pyllwic was built by human hands. They look at us and they remember that town is built on a graveyard. They look at us and remember what it cost the Aos Sí, for humanity to gain access to the sea.’

‘They going to hurt us?’

Broehain said nothing to this. Took arrows from his quiver and planted them, point first, in the sand and drew his bow across his knee. The wind stirred. Tousled his long hair, throwing it across his face. Mairead looked at him for a time, chewing her lower lip.

‘If they come, I’ll take Rhona. I’ll take Rhona and run.’

‘Run where?’ Broehain said, ‘There’s nowhere left for us.’

‘I could go to Fréimhe.’

‘Fréimhe didn’t help when they threw the Aos Sí into the bay. They didn’t help when those bastards did for your mother. No. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If they come, we die here.’

Mairead couldn’t look at him. She turned her eyes to the road, found it hateful, and looked to the mountains beyond. She heard him stir, beside her. The ruffle of his clothing as he turned in his seat to look up at her.

‘Mairead,’ he said.

She wouldn’t look at him.

‘If they come, I will kill every last one of them. But they’ll send more. They’ll send soldiers, Mairead. They’ll take me in irons or hang me by the roadside there. They’ll take the land anyway.’

‘Then why don’t we leave? We can start again, somewhere else.’

Broehain said nothing. Said nothing for a long time. The wind stirred the sands about him, and it stung Mairead’s eyes to be there with him. So she left. Trudged back to the house, to see to Rhona. Broehain didn’t leave his perch until the sun slipped behind the mountains, but he didn’t put his bow down.

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

When he was on watch, Broehain saw a wagon crack an axle. The road was poor in places. Uneven. Its surface giving way to sudden dips and rises. He saw the wagon dip suddenly with a crash. Its driver gave a cry. A few crates spilled out, to split and splinter on the hard ground. The horses screamed at the sudden shift in weight.

Broehain didn’t move.

He lit his pipe when the drive jumped down and stood, hands clawing at his hair, as he stared at the devastation. It was still a good fifteen miles into town. If they tried to walk it, when they returned the wagon would be picked clean. The horses either stolen or butchered for their meat.

Broehain saw the same thoughts pass through the driver’s mind as they looked up the road, and then back to their wagon. Even at a distance he could hear them mutter and curse.

‘What’s the man doing?’ Rhona said, beside him. She plonked down on the sand, knocking up a small cloud. Broehain cupped his hand over the bowl of his pipe to shield it from the sand.

‘He’s broken his wagon, child.’

‘Poor man.’

‘Hrm,’ Broehain stuck the pipe back between his teeth.

‘You going to help him?’

‘No. I don’t think I will.’

‘But dad, you always say to help those that need helping.’

‘I always say, do I?’

‘Well. Sometimes. Not lately.’

‘What’ve I been saying lately?’

‘Nothing,’ Rhona kicked her feet and gouged deep hollows in the sands with her heels. She said nothing for a time. Then, ‘Those men, are they coming back?’

‘Probably.’

‘You going to hurt them?’

‘If I have to.’

‘Do you feel bad about it, when you hurt them?’

Broehain clicked his tongue, held the pipe clear of his mouth, and frowned. He’d never really thought about it.

‘Sometimes,’ he said.

‘Like?’

‘Like when people are just being stupid. They make me hurt them. I feel bad about that.’

‘What about the other times?’

‘The other times, I do what I have to. It keeps us in that house, with this land. No one can make us go.’

‘I feel bad when you hurt them.’

‘You’re still little. You haven’t had time to work it all out yet.’

‘I feel bad about that man.’

‘What man?’

‘The one with the wagon,’ she said. Then, without warning, she flung her arms around his neck, kissed his brow, and then lurched to her feet and skipped off back towards the house.

Broehain watched her go, mouth hanging open, wondering just what the hell had happened. But then he looked over at the road, at the wagon driver who crouched beside the sundered axle. The driver had folded his arms over his knees and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Broehain imagined he was crying. The driver probably had his whole life in that wagon. Everything he had to sell.

Broehain stuck his tongue in his cheek and shook his head. When the thought of going over to help didn’t clear, he shook it again. It didn’t change anything.

‘Fuck it,’ he said, jamming the pipe in his belt pouch and taking up his bow and quiver.

‘Alright there?’ Broehain called from across the sand. He’d crossed three-quarters of the distance, and when the driver lifted his head from his arm, he could see the red puffiness of the driver’s eyes.

The driver saw his bow first, then his face. He stood up, lurched back against the side of the wagon hard enough to tip it a little.

‘Oh fuck,’ the driver said, ‘One of you.’

‘One of me?’

‘Aos Sí. Please, I don’t have much. Please just leave me be.’

Broehain stopped, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and thought about turning around and leaving him there with a broken axle. But then he remembered Rhona, and the way she’d sounded a few minutes before. He shook his head.

‘I’m not looking to rob you. I came to help.’

The driver’s eyes narrowed. Then they flitted, left and right. Taking in the full width and breadth of the road. Looking for others.

‘It’s just me,’ Broehain said.

‘You say that. Everyone knows how you lot hide and sneak about.’

‘Fuck this,’ Broehain sighed through his nose, ‘I came to help fix your wagon. Fix it yourself.’

‘Wait.’

‘No.’

‘Please. I’m- sorry.’

Broehain looked at him for a time, thought of Rhona, then shrugged and said, ‘Let’s take a look at her then.’

While he was crouched and probing at the splintered and bent axle, the driver took to talking.

‘You one of them fellers? Like whossname from Lammersby?’

‘Like who?’

‘I forget.’

‘Then no.’

‘I thought you could like, talk to it. The wood. Make it better.’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘Lost the knack.’

‘Oh.’

‘Mhm.’

Broehain didn’t know why he lied. True, he had not spoken to wood for some time. Nor stone or metal, or any of it. He worked with his hands. Like the humans. So far from his own kind, it left him feeling lesser. More- weighty. Something dense and inert that shuffled about on the ground, when he should be taking to the air. Light as anything.

Still, he wrapped his handles around the axle and made a show of inspecting it up close. But he spoke to it, quietly. The wood trembled at his touch. Quivered. Each vibration spoke of aches and suffering. Of long days and nights trundling along broken roads. He’d forgotten what it was like. It brought tears to his ears.

Its suffering was his suffering. Its pain was his pain. He shut his eyes. Could barely hear the driver wittering at his ankles.

But the wood knit together. It unbent. It still quivered and shook, but less so. Stilling and quietening little by little.

Broehain fought to control his breathing. Blinked back tears.

Then said, ‘I think that’ll get her a little ways,’ before crawling back out from underneath the wagon. He palmed the dust and dirt on his trousers and sat there, gasping a little.

‘Thank you,’ the driver said, ‘I never met an Aos Sí before. I shouldn’t have said all that.’

‘You said what you said,’ Broehain sighed, ‘But you still needed help. Look, the patch job won’t last you till town. But I live a little ways, over by the water. How about we take her there, and I’ll fix her up something proper?’

The driver stared at him for a moment. Turned to look across the sand, licked his lips. Broehain could see the struggle in him. His instinctive fear of the Aos Sí. Suspicion about betrayal. Fear of being led into an ambush.

But at the same time, Broehain had helped him for nothing.

The driver took a deep breath, then nodded.

‘Hop on up, I’ll drive,’ he said.

The wagon struggled through the sand, but the horses that pulled it were strong and confident and sure-footed. They picked their way carefully across the sand, and through sheer determination hauled the wheels over the unlikely terrain.

Rhona took to the stranger immediately.

Silent as a shadow, she came running across the sand and slipped aboard the wagon. She crawled across the remaining crates and sacks and bundles, to crouch behind the driver’s seat.

‘I’ve never seen a wagon before,’ she said.

The driver about died. He screamed and dropped the reins, but the horses knew what they were about and forged on without direction or encouragement. Broehain laughed.

‘Child, you know better.’

‘I’ve never seen a wagon before.’

‘Well now you have.’

The driver stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open. Not making a noise, save a subtle sucking and blowing of air that whistled through his open lips.

‘Is he okay?’ Rhona said, ‘Did he fall and hit his head?’

‘He’s fine, you just scared him a little.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Rhona said. ‘Dad says I shouldn’t come sneaking up on people that don’t expect it. But I’ve never seen a wagon before. It’s really pretty. Are those your horses? I like horses. I want to have a horse of my own one day, but dad says it’s wrong to keep horses. Says they were strong and noble things once, but now they’re stupid and don’t know anything anymore. Why do you own horses?’

The driver stared at her, opened mouthed, nodding along to the rhythm of her words but not taking in an ounce of meaning. Broehain shook his head and gave her a nudge.

‘Leave him be.’

Rhona dropped back amongst the driver’s goods and set about singing and humming to herself. The driver took up his reins again, but sat shaking his head, not looking at anyone. They drew up among the shacks, at the foot of the jetty. Mairead came to meet them.

She looked at the driver once, then at Broehain.

Broehain shrugged.

‘Axle’s broke. I said he could come by for a bit,’ he said.

‘Father-’

Broehain held up a hand, and she fell silent.

‘It’s alright Mair. Take him inside, fix him a cup, and I’ll see to the wagon.’

The driver looked at him. Eyes about bulging out of his sockets. Aos Si children are rare. Each new generation arriving with every growth of the Great Oak above the city of Freimhe, a limit borne of the Aos Si’s fear of expanding beyond their means. The Oak grew slow, only advancing far enough for a new generation once every seventy years or so. For a human to see a single Aos Si child was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

To see two- that was something else.

The driver didn’t know that Mair and Rhona had been born and raised above ground. Broehain himself had been born out of season. He and his parents had been invited to leave, with no hope of ever returning. The years of solitude and isolation flickered behind Broehain’s eyes as he studied the driver’s reaction.

Broehain smiled and clapped the driver on the shoulder.

‘It’s fine. Go in.’

The driver nodded, scooted down from his seat, and followed Mairead indoors. When the door shut, he heard Mairead speaking to the driver softly. As if to a frightened and startled animal that she had to coax into safety. Broehain watched and listened for a little while before shaking his head.

‘Are they all that strange?’ Rhona said, behind him. Chin propped up on the backrest of the driver’s seat.

Broehain twisted to look at her. Put a hand to her head and kissed her brow.

‘Most of them. Yeah.’

Then he clucked to the horses and steered the wagon closer to the storage shed.

The axle was fine. He’d fixed it on the road but didn’t want word that an Aos Sí craftsman was living on the shore. Broehain didn’t want the attention, so he made a show of taking nails and tack and all sorts and lying under the wagon for a bit. Banging a hammer. He didn’t see the driver until sunset.

The driver came out of the shack with a steaming cup of hot cider. He stood by Broehain’s feet for a while, just looking at him, then looking out to sea.

‘Those your daughters, in there?’ the driver said.

‘Yup.’

‘Where’s their mother?’

Broehain stopped, then drew himself out from under the wagon. The driver staggered back, probably afraid Broehain was about to hit him. But Broehain just sat, one wrist dangling over his knee while he watched the waves.

‘She died.’

‘Oh.’

‘Some folk came one night, few years back. Tried to steal anything that weren’t nailed down. I did for two of them with my bow, but one of them got ahold of her. Dragged her out across the sands. I followed them, for three days. Then I found her. Throat cut. He just left her there.’

‘Shit.’

‘I found him, an hour or two later. Cut him up so bad he looked like something the wolves got at. I was so out of my head with anger- I hated him. Hated him more than I hated anything else. But I left her there, behind me. With no one to say kind words, to cry over her. I just left her there on the sand, I was so fixed on killing him. When I went back her body was gone. Reckon the tide took it.’

The driver nodded and said nothing. The crashing of the waves filled the gulf of silence between them. He offered his mug of hot cider, and Broehain took it. Drank deep and sighed.

‘Got a wife and two daughters of my own, back home,’ the driver said, ‘A little place over by Hoddershill. It’s not much but it’s ours, you know?’

Broehain nodded.

‘One of my girls is sick. Sick to dying. And we don’t have anything that can help her, but there’s a healer in Hodderton. Trouble is I can’t afford him. So, I packed up whatever we had to sell, and I was taking it to Pyllwic.’

Broehain nodded. But the driver didn’t say anything more. After a few moments, Broehain looked up and saw the driver was crying. Eyes closed, chin tucked to his chest, hands by his side just shaking and shaking and shaking.

The driver took a great whooping breath and said, ‘I got word they died. All of them. Whatever sickness were in my girl, it got into all of them. A neighbour wrote to me, while I stopped off in Aurora. They’re all dead, and I just keep going and going and going to Pyllwic. Because if I stop, then I remember. And if I remember I get to thinking I should go home.’

Broehain offered the mug back, but the driver wasn’t looking at him.

‘If I go home, I have to bury them. If I have to bury them, I have to see that they’re dead. I have to tell myself that they’re dead. And then what do I do after? Do I sit there, in our place, with nothing and no one? Just me and the silence. Just me and the places where they should be.’

The driver sniffed. Palmed tears and snot from his face and shook his head, laughing a little.

‘I’m sorry. You and your girls have been good to me, and I’ve not spoken to anyone for a long time.’

‘It’s fine,’ Broehain said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

The driver nodded. Fresh tears ran free and dripped from his chin. Then he gasped and looked out to sea, blinking and coughing to clear his throat.

‘Your girl, Mairead?’

Broehain nodded.

‘She said you’ve got some trouble. Please don’t be angry with her, she wanted to know if I could do anything.’

Broehain looked at him, then took his own turn to sigh and shake his head.

‘We’ve always got trouble, out here. This is no different than before. Some rich fuck wants my land, and is prepared to kill me and my girls for it.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’

‘I can kill them. But then more will come, with more arms, more violence. I don’t have arrows for them all.’

The driver nodded, then licked his lips.

‘Look. You don’t know me from anybody. But you’ve helped me, helped me after I said all that awful shit. I want to help. I’m not much good with a bow. Never held a sword, or nothing my whole life. But I want to help.’

Broehain met his eye. Met his eye and thought about telling him no. But he thought of his girls, in doors, trying to sleep but plagued by nightmares. Every night since the fat man had come, he’d heard them whimper and twitch in their blankets. He’d give anything to make that stop.

‘Okay. But on one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘Something happens to me, you take those girls, and you take them home. You look after them like they’re your own.’

‘That’s a lot to ask-’

‘I’m not asking,’ Broehain said. ‘I’m not going to be here much longer. This world it – there’s nothing for me here. And I have nothing for it. It’ll chew me up and spit me out into the water there, and those girls will have nothing. Do you know how much Aos Sí girls go for?’

The driver didn’t say anything. Didn’t even blink. But Broehain saw the darkness creep into his face.

‘Yeah,’ Broehain said. ‘They’ll take them. Won’t kill them outright. They’ll just ship them elsewhere, to whoever’s got a taste for it. That’s worse than death. Worse than anything, ‘cause they’ll break them apart. Separate them and then hurt them and use them then kill them when they’re all used up. So you take them with you. You take them and you run and you give them a good life.’

‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Do you need it?’

‘I’d like to hear it.’

Broehain snorted and shook his head, then offered his hand.

‘Broehain.’

‘Barrett.’

‘Well then, Barrett. Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Alright then.’ Broehain nodded, then dropped onto his back and closed his eyes with a sigh. ‘I’d recommend getting some sleep. Won’t be long till they come back.’

Barrett watched him for a bit. Watched him until Broehain started snoring softly. Then he took his mug and went inside.

The fat man didn’t show, but Gib and six others did. All strewn over the backs of their saddles like they were half asleep or bored already. Wearing filthy leathers and dented ring mail showing rust. Some had axes, others had swords. There wasn’t a bow between them, and Broehain was glad.

It gave him an edge.

Mairead and Rhona tried to leave the house, but he shooed them back in. Took his bow and quiver and strapped a short sword around his waist.

‘Stay here. Stay with Barrett. If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, he’ll take care of you.’

‘Dad-’ Mairead began.

‘No. Listen to me now and remember me like I was.’

Broehain kissed them each on the brow. Then opened the door. The sun was high and bright, and the sea blazed and burned before him. Glinting and flashing gold and blinding. He nodded to himself, stepped around the house and back up the rise to where he could see the riders.

‘Good afternoon,’ Gib shouted through cupped hands, ‘Must say I’m disappointed to see you.’

Broehain dropped his quiver. Took the arrows out in a fistful and planted them headfirst into the sand. He put one to the string and looked out across the sand at them. The riders kept coming. Some of them smiling. Others grim and hungry for blood.

‘Where’s your boss?’ Broehain shouted.

Gib shrugged.

‘He thought it’d be best if it were just us. Reckoned we could come to an understanding.’

Broehain pursed his lips and nodded. He glanced to the road. Saw a few more riders, stood watching. Maybe four, maybe five. Thought he saw a glint, there, when the wind picked up. A bronze glint.

‘That him on the road?’

Gib glanced back, horse still plodding along, then looked back and shrugged.

‘Could be,’ he called.

Broehain nodded.

He aimed high, drew the fletching to his ear, and let the arrow loose.

It disappeared into the open blue sky. Its iron head flashed once, twice, then gone. The riders stopped. Twisted in their saddles to watch it go. Glib smiled, started to shake his head.

But Broehain had seen that bronze glint, and his aim had never failed him.

One of the riders on the road twisted. A strangled scream on the air. They listed to one side, clawing at the rains, and then thudded headfirst to the road. Their attendants jumped down from their horses and ran to the body.

When Gib looked back at him, his mouth was wide open. He was missing more than a few teeth. The gums black and rotting.

Broehain smiled, took up another arrow.

Gib drew steel and kicked his horse into a charge. A heartbeat later, the rest followed. Axes and swords in hand, they rushed him. Whooping and screaming and roaring. Behind him, Broehain heard the shack door bang open, followed by a flurry of footfalls headed to the wagon by the tool shed.

He nodded to himself. Took a deep, shaking breath.

Fletching to ear.

Arrow to sky.

A rider twisted to the right as the arrow caught him in the throat. A thin arc of blood flecking the sand. They slipped a little from their saddle, but their foot snagged in the stirrup. They dangled, helmeted head bashing and banging on the sand. The horse peeled off from the middle of the group, sowing chaos among the other riders who wrestled and yanked on their own reins.

But Gib kept coming for him.

Broehain fired a couple of arrows straight at him, but nothing seemed to land right. Gib ducked and weaved in his saddle.

They were getting too close.

Switching targets, he took up three arrows. Held two between his teeth and fired one. Hit a rider flush in the eye. They fell straight back, bent at the waist, flat along the horse’s back before falling and thumping to the sand. A moment later he’d fired another, knocked another rider down.

He heard the clopping of hooves behind him, scuffing the sand, as the wagon pulled away from the shed. Thought he heard Rhona call his name but couldn’t let himself think about it. Broehain only had eyes for the riders.

Arrow after arrow.

The riders tumbled from their saddles. But Gib kept coming. Gib kept coming. He got so close, Broehain thought he could smell the rancid man’s breath. Could feel it’s hot, reeking touch on his face.

Gib’s shadow fell over him. Broehain lifted his bow, lengthways. Gib’s sword split the bow and its string down the middle. The tip traced a thin line of fire up the middle of Broehain’s brow and he fell flat on his back.

Gib rode past. Whirled. Made to charge again.

Broehain shook his head, palmed the blood out of his eyes. Drew his short sword but held it low and tight against his body. When the horse came close, he stepped clear of it and Gib’s swing. He cut the saddle straps as the horse swept past, and Gib slipped over and fell to the sand.

Broehain charged him, but Gib was already up. Gib threw a fistful of sand in his face, then drove his shoulder into Broehain’s midriff. The blow knocked him clear off his feet and down hard on his back. His wind left him in a wheezing rush. His lungs spasmed in his chest. Broehain had enough strength to roll clear of Gib’s downward thrust, but when he tried to get up on his feet again, the sand slipped out from under him.

He lost his footing, and fell into an awkward, backwards roll that jammed his chin against his chest and clicked his teeth together.

Gib came after him. Sword wheeling and flashing in the sun. The other riders were gone. Scattered or dead, but neither of them cared.

Broehain deflected the first swing from a crouch, but the follow-up punch knocked him down again. Gib put a knee to his back, gathered up a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Broehain hissed at the searing pain in his scalp. Felt the cold edge of the blade kiss his exposed throat.

But he saw, for a moment, the wagon disappearing in a cloud of sand and dust, headed south. He didn’t know if Gib saw it yet, but he wasn’t about to give him a chance.

Broehain bent at the waist. The blade bit into his throat, bit deep, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. It pulled Gib off balance. Broehain lashed out with his elbow, struck Gib in the side of his knee, and dropped him to the ground.

Blood ran free from the wound in his throat. The cut was deeper than he thought. He could feel it all draining out of his head. His vision swam. The beach bucked and heaved before him, the lights flaring and dimming. But Gib was on the ground, dazed.

So Broehain fell on him. Fell on him and put his calloused hands around the bastard’s throat. Squeezed the rank hot air out of his throat. Stared into his open, choking, toothless mouth and smiled.

His own blood ran fat and heavy and giddy, dripping and pooling on Gib’s chest.

The world dimmed again. Broehain had a brief panic, thinking he’d die right there before finishing the job. Gib kicked and clawed under him. Choking and wheezing. Face purpling, eyes bulging, the whites growing pinker, then redder as the vessels in them burst under the strain.

Broehain bore down, put all of his weight into his hands. His face was close enough to Gib’s that the dying man’s chokes rushed into his ears. Drowned everything else out. There was just him, his hands, and Gib’s throat and the sound of Gib dying under his hands. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, until Gib stopped fighting. Until the choking stopped.

Then Broehain fell forward, toppling over. He stared out across the water, set to burning by the light of the sun.

He would never see it set again.

But that was alright.

That was alright.

Because he’d got to see it rise.

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

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Can I ask you what you think of Janina Ramirez's forthcoming book, "Femina: A New History of the Middle Ages, Through the Women Written Out of It"?

Hmm. Full disclosure, I had not heard of this book or author beforehand, and had to Google it. So this is my impression after reading some quick biographical and summary snippets, and doesn't represent any kind of full or detailed breakdown.

First, unlike some other people who feel qualified to write popular-history books on the Middle Ages, the author does have a PhD in medieval studies from a reputable institution, so that's always a solid start. It looks as if her speciality was art history (her thesis was on the symbolism of birds in manuscripts) and that is what she has taught on since, including a stint on the BBC as a consulting art historian. I'm not sure how this translates to her handling of texts or interpretation of sources, but she's published a few other books and lectured at top UK universities, so she does have actual credentials. However, and this may be just me, I always get a little bit twitchy when historians with other primary specialties decide to parachute into the "medieval women were oppressed and I should write a book about it" arena. I would have to actually read the book to see how all this was treated, though.

I'm also a little skeptical of the title, just because it announces upfront the point that the author wants to make (medieval women were systematically and deliberately written out of official historical records, and as a result we don't know anything and/or less than we should about them). To some degree, obviously, yes, this is correct; Western European medieval women did experience individual and institutional forms of Western Christian-derived misogyny that impacted on how they were treated, written about, and remembered. Yet again, though, I'm getting a little tired of historians announcing that we don't know much about medieval women, while standing in front of all the evidence about medieval women that they're using to sell a book. One of the examples that this book uses in its blurb is Margery Kempe, to which I say: really? Yes, Kempe being a female religious mystic impacted how she was treated, and her gender was an important part of her self-image and social legacy, including the way later churchmen tried to sanitize and reinterpret her memory. But you'd have a hard time genuinely arguing that she was "written out" of history in any meaningful way, whether institutionally, religiously, or literarily; she was probably the inspiration for the Wife of Bath in the Canterbury Tales. The fact that misogyny was present in her life does not automatically mean she was "written out" or deliberately excluded from collective memory.

Of course, that's only one example, and there may well be less-known and/or more relevant others. In which case, I would ask if this would fall prey to the same problem with The Bright Ages: announcing itself as a new and inclusive history of "the Middle Ages" and then only focusing on Western European (white) women holding traditional positions of social, political, and religious power. This book claims to "go beyond the official records," which is all well and good, but then what sources are you using instead, and is this an argument about "history" itself or the specific practice of premodern Western institutional historiography? Are you trying to claim that this is less about the way women were treated in their daily lives than how they were written about later, both, or something else? It seems to me like the answer is "both," which... again, is not entirely wrong, but I would have to see how exactly, and with what nuance, that argument was made. Likewise, does this include trans or queer medieval women, women of color, women outside the power hierarchy, and so on? If we're using women who were important enough to be "written out" in the first place (itself a sign of a certain level of influence or privilege, if chroniclers felt the need to downplay or modify their achievements) that means someone was writing about them, even if not to write about them. So is this actually saying what the author seems to think it's saying?

Likewise, the book is being published by Penguin, so it's clearly intended for a popular rather than scholarly audience. This is also telegraphed in the fact that the book uses the hoary old "everyone thinks of the Dark Ages as violent, rapey, and patriarchal!" chestnut as its hook (look, women existed and did things back then too!). Obviously, yes, the average person on the street would come up with that if you asked them to play word association with the Middle Ages, and there is value in explicitly refuting this paradigm to start with. However, if you're spending a lot of space arguing against an outdated cliché that nobody in your actual scholarly field still believes, you're wasting time that could be used to make a different argument and/or exploring the deeper modern reasons for the persistence of this stereotype. As ever, there's value in pitching the debate at the level of non-specialists, who might well pick up this book and learn something useful that challenges their preconceived notions. But at this point, I feel like gender and social historians have to do a little more than that, y'know?

Likewise, as someone who works on medieval gender, social, and queer history myself, I would note that I don't start out automatically expecting my subjects of study to have experienced misogyny, homophobia, societal exclusion, etc. Sometimes, yes, they obviously have, and that shapes their experience. Just as often, however, that is not necessarily the case, or at least if it is, it's more complicated than medieval society just pointing and going WOMAN, EW! If we start out expecting to read explicit modern prejudices into premodern experiences, then yes, that's what we're going to see. Is this author making an overall point that things are still like this, not like this, that things have changed or that they haven't, etc? There's clearly going to be some kind of comparative aspect to it, but I would likewise need to see what that was before having a complete understanding of what she's trying to do here.

Anyway, it certainly looks interesting enough, and as ever, if a non-specialist picks it up and learns something useful, all for the best. This, however, would be the mindset and critique that I would have in mind before reading it, and then ask yourself how well it answers those questions.

#history #women in history #medieval history #historiography #anonymous #ask

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oofuri2003 · 1 year

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not oofuri related but how did you convince yourself that you need to pursue master's and phd?

me rambling under the cut!

I should preface this by saying: One, the career i am aspiring towards (professor/PI) requires at least one of these degrees, which is the short version reason why I pursued it, just to be transparent. Two, I am just some guy on the internet, and these degrees are very different across fields of study, so I can only speak from the place of my field of study (ecology/zoology/evolution/organismal biology/whatever you want to call it).

I did not actually intend to get my master's - I had planned to go straight from undergrad to PhD, which is possible in my field (maybe not in others?). due to some circumstances I ended up applying to a master's program and finished it before applying to and starting my phd, which honestly I'm kind of glad that I did since I got a taste of what writing a proposal is like and doing research and data analysis and writing up my thesis etc. before having to do that for a dissertation.

in undergrad when I realized that I had a passion for teaching/tutoring and also had a passion for research and field work, it became clear to me that my career path was going to include graduate school of some kind, so it was kind of just the next logical step for me. Even if you might feel this way I would really suggest thinking about if that environment is right for you - it isn't for everyone and that isn't a flaw, it just means this kind of thing isn't for you n that's alright.

I have some medical issues that make doing physical labor very difficult or impossible for me, and even though I love field work a lot, it's just not feasible as a career for me (field tech, etc) to do all the time or for extended periods. Academia on the other hand does not require a lot out of me physically, and academia is my one singular skillset lol so this was kind of the one path I was going to and could follow, and knew that I would be okay doing. It's a lot of work, especially in fields like mine where these degrees are research heavy, and your PI/advisor can really make or break your experience.

My undergrad degree is in zoology w/ a concentration in animal behavior, which, thinking about it objectively, is kind of a "useless" degree, at least in the eyes of a lot of people. My options outside of academia are like, USFWS/federal jobs, field tech jobs, agency jobs, or more of a lecturer position than a PI position. Of these my preference is of course to be a professor that teaches and does research, so I've been working towards that. I could've easily been done at my master's and gone and got a fed job or a consulting job or something, but that's not really something I'm interested in!

Basically this is a bunch of nonsense but I got these degrees because they're the precursors to my intended career. Graduate school is not for everyone and is also very different based on what field you're in, so it's hard to give general wide sweeping advice, but if you have any more specific questions feel free to ask :)

#im always open to answering things about this lol #doesnt always have to be oofuri related questions! <3

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drgreg · 1 year

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Dr Gregory Thiel Company Particulars

In the event of a patient complaining to the APRASSA about a member, they're asked to make an appointment to see their local ombudsman. Please contact doctors and practitioners directly for data and appointments. Genocide Watch was the first international human rights organization to protest the murders and hate crimes committed against farmers in South Africa. Since his research trip in July 2012, Dr. Stanton mentioned that hate crimes against Afrikaner farmers have not declined. The murder rate of the whole South African population remains at over 31 per 100,000.

Having completed undergraduate studies at Wits I moved to the UK the place I specialised in Paediatrics in Oxford. My ardour for the care of sick babies lead me to subspecialise in Neonatology and I worked as a Consultant Neonatologist in Reading prior dr gregory to retuning to South Africa after I joined Gebers and Partners. I love educating and was an honorary senior lecturer in Paediatrics on the University of Oxford.

He hosts a variety of radio packages reaching many Hindu people in the greater Durban area. Due to his involvement the radio station pioneered broadcasting Christian Music within the Indian vernacular music type and was the primary station within the country to take action. Greg recently acquired a second PhD in Theology from the Faculty of Theology of the University of the Free State.

She added that her son was now in good spirits, and though he missed an entire time period of school, is happy to get again to his associates and is hopeful of enjoying sports once again. Gregory will proceed with check-ups with Dr Rodriques until he is glad together dr gregory with his restoration. On the Sunday morning, paramedics, Naveshan Reddy and Andile Zondi, transported Gregory to Johannesburg, where he would receive the urgent medical treatment he required. They arrived on the Sunday night and Gregory was rushed into surgical procedure very first thing Monday morning. X-rays and scans revealed that Gregory had internal bleeding and wanted surgical procedure.

On 1 December 1893 he was formally appointed as adviser on health matters to the government. Among others he revealed 'On the importation of small-pox over sea into South Africa, with remarks on quarantine' and Report on suburban cemetaries . Gregory John Lee is a member of the Digital Business team at Wits Business School. He is a number one expert in digital transformation, with a selected give attention to the transformation of labor and workplaces through robotic process automation and analytics. He is a quantity one figure in business analytics, together with big data analytics, for Human Resource Management . He has written seminal South African books on the subjects of analytics in HRM, business analytics and data, organisational design, growth and folks administration, and digital enterprise.

In specific, his analysis has focused on the development of an Armed Living Struggle Museum within the Buffalo River area, the nationwide liberation heritage route, and on life stories and autobiographies of veterans of the struggle. Annually, MPs are required by parliament to register their monetary pursuits and items obtained of their official capacity. Due to the significant influence of the role that MPs take on, there could additionally be instances when their personal or business pursuits turn out to be in battle with the duty prescribed to them as elected officers representing the public interest.

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bogkeep · 2 years

Text

trans clinic consultation did not go Horribly i think, but my expectations really are so low they're basically in hell

the doctor did show me the dreaded Powerpoint though. the one that has a whole slide on "DO WE REJECT PATIENTS ON THE GROUNDS OF AUTISM DIAGNOSIS?" as well as. flat out statements on how they don't treat non-binary people and also that they can reject treatment on the basis of a patient being overweight. i made her clarify that one, and apparently "patients with bmi over 30 have extra surgery risks." i think it's high time we ripped the bmi to shreds and poured gasoline over the remains and set it all on fire don't you think

i also maybe almost lost my temper a little bit when she said i didn't give a satisfying answer to "what does being a man mean to you". do i look like i have a phd in gender philosophy? do you want me to go out and pluck a bird? do you want my autobiography and my impressions of being a human person?? can YOU describe your experience of gender?? i have asked so many people cis and trans to describe their gender and NOBODY has ever given me a satisfying answer. what the FUCK do you WANT from me!!!!!!!

so now i guess i wait for whenever my next appointment to answer the exact same questions by another doctor will be!! because you gotta do at least a year of that before they give you any juice!!! the council must convene to see if i am Worthy!!!! pardon ny trans fury im gonna get some boba to calm me down

#this is a personal post please dont reblog

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flyonthewallmedstudent · 3 years

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Vaccine hesitancy..

It's an issue where I am, as well as the rest of the world. And I'm getting tired of the local government ad campaigns getting it wrong. I don't think you need to advertise the fear of COVID or advertise the fact that we have vaccines. What public health really needs to do is address the sensatlonalized reporting of clots. Like that's all I hear now, more than COVID itself, the "Astra Zeneca Clots". The public has a heightened fear of the clots and now we're seeing an over-reaction.

At least do a survey or some research, surely that was done before spending millions on these useless ad's. Ask the public why they're hesitant then do an ad campaign or public health education campaign that directly addresses that.

I'm frustrated with the news too, where nowadays it's about sensationalism over being informative to attract more readers (and thus ad revenue).

Adverse reaction is associated with any medication, be it panadol/acetaminophen or a vaccine.

But how it's currently reported makes it seems like something so rare, is common. When it is not. What it does is it primes us towards cognitive bias. LIke frequency illusion.

Or as VOX illustrates, our brains are wired to overreact to scary stories rather than statistics. Like how we perceive shark attacks as common when it hits the news. Or how "common" terrorism and terrorist attacks are post 9/11, when chances of choking on food and dying of that is higher than dying of a terrorist attack.

With Astra Zeneca, "Clots" may occur in around 4-6 people per million vaccinated. At face value, that seems not so great. But again, it's all about context.

Pregnant women face a 1 in 500 to 1 in 2000 chance of developing a clot. The OCP also increases your risk of clots, although less than actually being pregnant. Combine that with flying and your risks are imminently higher.

Long haul (long distance) flying also causes clots just by flying alone due to the immobility and elevation. That risk is about 1 in 6000. And yet most of us will still board a plane.

So how much risk is 4-6 cases in a million? Much lower than getting a clot from the actual COVID virus, or other severe symptoms that would require a hospital visit or O2. (The actual COVID virus is 10x more likely to give you the same clot that comes up in the news surrounding Astra Zeneca).

I'm not frustrated with the public, just public health and our media, not clarifying this better if their aim is to reduce vaccine hesitancy.

If it doesn't convince everyone to opt for vaccination, that's okay, but it will still appropriately educate those who are on the fence and would actually get vaccinated with clearer information or in consultation with their healthcare providers if they're unsure. Some of my college friends who have PhDs in biology and science are even hesitant about COVID vaccination (but they're not about the flu or childhood vaccines - all of which also carry extremely rare risks for scary sounding diseases).

This a concept I'm borrowing from paediatrician and California Senator Richard Pan, who took on childhood vaccination hesitation which lead to devastating measles outbreaks linked to Disneyland.

Pan knows there are some in the anti-vaccine movement he’ll never win over. “You can listen,” he said. “You respond with the factual information. They don’t accept that. They’re not going to change their minds. The more important thing is communicating to people who genuinely want to understand the issue the reasons why we’re doing the policies that we’re doing and debunking the misinformation that is being put out there. And, most importantly, we need to reach out the parents who have been misled and share with them accurate information.”

What about the Pfizer vaccine? What exceedingly rare ADR is caused by Pfizer? Myocarditis. Inflammation of the heart muscle wall that can cause AMI or heart attack like symptoms, that can cause hospitalization. But that's not as sensationalized as clots. So now western countries are unloading their Astra Zeneca everywhere (mainly the developing world) and doing back orders of Pfizer. Again we're talking, a handful of cases per million. You're much more likely to get myocarditis from a variety of viral illnesses. Including COVID itself.

Anyway, not a vent about the public, just public health and the media for the dropping the ball completely during a pandemic.

#medblrs #medblr

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melmac78 · 3 years

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Of leather tooling and love

(Tag mini bang 2021)

Here’s my story for @tagminibang. I want to thank @tracybirds for their amazing art and working with me. Also, I thank them being extremely patient with learning about leather tooling and for adapting to the time zone difference to get this put together.

(I added my own art piece - “John’s” astronomy cuff… mark I, and will link directly to tracybirds’s art when I can fully figure this out).

•••••••

John Tracy was mad... so mad he was making an indelible mark that would take forever for someone to wipe away or cover up.

Fortunately it was leather, and he was tooling a design so no one would really want to cover it up, but he still was at points surprised he wasn't punching holes in the design… or the table.

A chirp however made him question the latter.

“John, please do not hit the table so hard. You are making my processors overload,” gently scolded EOS as the man was swinging the rawhide mallet.

While fortunately her interruption didn’t make him miss, allowing him to add to the octopus design, John set the leather tools down and sighed. “I’m sorry EOS,” he said gently.

“I accept your apology, but I do not understand why stamping cowhide will help your anger,” said the AI.

“As I said, it’s leather tooling, and it’s better to use my anger for something creative,” John said quietly.

“Even this … item?”

He looked at the cuff he was working on again and gave a half smile. “Even this wallet,” the astronaut chuckled.

After giving EOS a task to do, reminding her not to adjust the gravity back to zero to avoid any spills from his work, John looked at the project again.

He sighed, understanding his curious “data child’s” curiosity. Leather tooling, while a bit outdated in some people's eyes, was one of the few learned talents and gifts he still had from his Grandfather as well as his Dad.

And - it reminded him of Gordon, in good and bad times.

Gordon… his brother with the wacky sense of dress.

The aquanaut preferred to wear on average two leather bands and then a woven smaller band with the first two oyster pearls he found.

That's why he stopped - at the moment, it felt as though if he took out more anger on the mallet and metal stamping tool, he was hurting Gordon. Triple if he managed to hit it so hard it tore through the damp leather.

Who knew Gordon’s penchant for being the only one to wear leather wrist bands would save his life?

A week and a half prior... he chose to wear two broader bands on one arm and his usual one on his other.

They were nearly the width of a cuff, with designs that took forever to explain to EOS. It was an unusual decision, but one that the brothers were thankful Gordon made.

They had been called out to a rescue - a skyscraper fire in Houston, and all land based brothers had been called as it required high rise rescue.

Gordon had been on level 70 of the building, rescuing an unconscious woman. He had secured the victim in with his harness and started to use the pulley to get them to the top of the building for Thunderbird to lift them to safety.

An explosion had knocked them for a loop, smashing Gordon into the building.

Gordon took the brunt of the hit, slamming into the frame.

In spite of the helmet, he too was knocked out. Worse, the grapple slipped, and glass shards, still stuck in their mounts, sliced down his forearms.

It cut the neoprene... and through part of his thick leather cuffs.

When they recovered both victims, Virgil and John immediately triaged the two. She had a minor concussion and smoke inhalation.

Gordon however not only too had the bump on the head - thanks to the helmet taking the brunt, he also a dislocated shoulder, and a few cracked and broken ribs.

But what was the immediate concern at the time of the rescue was his arms, particularly the wrists. They took the brunt of the damage.

The leather bands however, saved his life. They made what would've been life threatening - if not fatal, slashes on his wrist to mostly superficial cuts.

The bands though were completely destroyed as far as wearability. Virgil would have to apologize for cutting them completely off - but not why - later.

Gordon was taken to a hospital in Houston's esteemed Medical Center, where he went through multiple surgeries, a few pints of blood, and lots of rest.

That was a week ago, as Gordon had a healing rib rebreak, nicking his lung. It was repaired, the bleeder stopped, but Gordon had to be put under sedation for a couple of days to ensure the site healed.

Though they had lifted the sedation the day prior and were waiting for Gordon to come out of it, the family would have to wait couple of days before he could return to Tracy Island.

That lead to where he was today.

John sighed, and looked around Thunderbird Five.

He had been practicing some leather tooling at University of Houston's art department.

That was before a space rescue needed both him and Alan, and afterword, he stayed on Five to keep apprised of a possible hurricane.

Well that and have an excuse to decline another lecture invite from NASA.

John was thankful that U of H understood his need for privacy, and that having a PhD in Aeronautics and Space allowed him some special favors.

The positive it included the use of one of the art studios to leather tool...

The negative? The trade off was as long as he also donated one of his famous astronomy tooled leather cuffs for a fundraiser.

He had already finished the band for the auction two days prior, complete with the antique leather dye, golden paint accents in the star constellations, and steampunk like swing hinge cuff. Not the easiest to make, especially setting the rivets for the cuff.

Worth it to John - small price to pay, but would reap rewards for U of H’s generosity. He’d bring it to them when he visited Gordon again.

The astronaut then looked at the octopus carved and stamped on the wallet. "It was too damn close," he said out loud, but at the same time, he was thankful. This was for Gordon later on.

John then smiled at the thought. It was indeed for his aquanaut brother, one they could’ve lost in that fire.

He was about to stamp the leather again... when a beep startled him.

The astronaut asked EOS to answer it, and the image of Virgil came out of the monitor.

"Gordon's come to," said Virgil.

"Fully?"

The older brother shrugged. "Mostly, but he should be fully alert by the time you get to the hospital," he said, then frowned. "He's asking about the leather bands... especially the one that was 'Mom's belt'."

John furrowed his brow.

Yes, that belt bracelet.

Fortunately the one bracelet Gordon hadn't worn that day.

Unfortunately, the one Gordon duplicated - with varying degrees of success, he did wear nearly daily.

John could imagine Gordon’s initial reaction… he’d feel the same way.

"Virgil, Gordon didn't wear that cuff that day," he said. "He intentionally put a small Thunderbird stamp on his so he didn't confuse the two."

Virgil nodded. "I know, but you know him and anesthetics... gives him the wrong memory if he's not goofy from it," he said, then chuckled. “Last time he was trying to feed Parker poster pancakes on the USS Lexington.”

John scoffed at the memory. "That one still has Parker perplexed," he said, then stood, stretching. "Try to talk him down from his confusion. I'll be there in a few minutes. I need to get something."

Virgil noticed John’s labors on the table and quirked an eyebrow. "What about the wallet you're working on?"

"It'll be fine. The leather can be dampened again to finish it up. I expected it to be a longer project over the bracelets I made at U of H,” he said, putting the stamping tool and mallet down.

The artist noticed John’s attempt to deflect, and his eyes twinkled in mischief. "So… how many projects did the University ‘con’ you out of for the auction this time?" said the artist with a teasing smirk.

He wasn't going to give his younger brother too much grief - he still owed the University at least one hand blown glass vase.

"Just the one - the astronomy cuff."

Virgil gave a soft whistle. "That one? You won't even make that one for me."

"Then bid on the one they're selling," snarked John as he cleaned up the rest of the leather tooling supplies.

Virgil merely laughed - yeah, he was going to bid if anything to help a department who helped his brother cope through this.

John then picked up a box wrapped in sea turtle wrapping paper. "I'll be there shortly,” he said walking to the space elevator.

“FAB.”

********

Gordon Tracy looked out the windows of his hospital room from his hovering hospital bed and signed.

He was thankful he wasn't stuck with a view of the generators. The hospital still hadn't gotten over teasing him - gently - about calling them "Donald Duck" in a post-anesthesia comment the other time he was there for an injury.

Here, it was a view of one of the garden parks the area had.

What he wasn't thankful for was the fact he lost the leather band that was made from his mother's belt.

He looked at the long bandages wrapped on his wrists and lower arms and sighed.

Sure, Virgil kept insisting it was not the band, but he knew his bracelets.

Yes, he had to admit they had to be fully cut off too keep him from bleeding out through his wrists - he knew one cut was still too close.

Still though... he had to concede if it was gone, it was his mother protecting him.

Even Scott had told him point blank it was the only time he was thankful Gordon had forgotten to take the bands off.

Rumor had it Scott was even considering consulting with Brains to create leather arm bracers.

His theory was if it worked for the cowboys in the 1800s and 1900s, why not the technological cowboys of today?

Gordon looked at the sky and smiled. "Thanks Mom for watching over both that woman and me," he said, then looked at the bands.

There were blood stains on them, which were not going to come out.

Sure, they could be dyed dark before being stored, most likely black, and he could have John help him there. That said, it was not going to matter when they had been made unwearable when Virgil cut them off.

There were the button and hole fixtures sure... but the aquanaut understood Virgil was going to slice first, apologize for saving Gordon's life later.

Blood loss didn’t wait for bracelets.

A knock at the door shook him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said, adjusting the bed to where it floated back to connect with the main vitals scanner.

John entered and smiled at seeing his alert brother, the first time he'd been fully awake since before the accident.

"Hi Gordon, how are you feeling," he said, wincing slightly at the cliche.

His fish loving brother just smiled, but the astronaut didn't miss the sadness in the cinnamon colored eyes. "I'm having a whale of a time... too bad the lake below probably only has ducks," he said, chuckling slightly.

“Must be going ‘quackers’ then,” joked John, only to watch as Gordon fiddled with the remains of the bracelets. John coughed. "Gordon..."

"I know. They had to be cut off in order to save my life," the aquanaut said, sighing. "It's just... this was mom's - look at the paisley here..."

John put his hand over both his younger brother's and smiled. "It isn't the one made with Mom's belt, trust me,” he said, smiling, then pointing to a detail. "See? Here's the thunderbird stamp you used for yours."

Gordon took a closer look, and his eyes widened slightly.

John was right... it was indeed there, just had been cut in half by the cutting tools. Well he hoped so and not the glass, but that was a story left unsaid at the time.

"It's not mom's," the aquanaut whispered instead, tears of happiness flooding his eyes.

The astronaut smiled and gave his brother a gentle hug. "No it isn't. I made sure the one with Mom's was in the fire safe - just in case, on the Island before Alan brought me to the hospital," he said gently.

The two hugged gently for a while, the mix of hospital bluster and soothing sounds from the Muzak in the hallways mingling between the brother's hushed tones.

After a few minutes, Gordon sat up, and noticed the sea turtle box his brother was holding. "Funny looking NASA paper," the aquanaut teased, chuckling softly when John rolled his eyes.

He knew John tried to avoid the facility if possible.

Not because he didn't enjoy it, but because the last time he visited the center, Mission Control crowded him the point he fainted from the social claustrophobia.

Alan found it amusing.

EOS found it amusing to force Alan to eat freeze dried brussel sprouts and liver with onions meals every day his last rotation on Thunderbird Five for his "rude behavior."

Both men chuckled in the memory, and John handed his brother the box. "Nope, this is for you, a get well soon present," said he said.

Gordon carefully opened up the box, which John had purposely wrapped the two parts separately due to the shoulder being strapped, and gasped.

Inside were two bracelets.

One was similar to his mother's belt, but the paisley and flower design that was in his mom's band was adjusted slightly to include southwestern printed sea turtles and a squid stamp John had custom made. Like his mother's, it was dyed a medium brown.

The other... took Gordon's breath away.

The edges were done in a simple border - scalloped with the occasional octopus and sea turtle stamp in between the scallops. It was dyed mahogany.

It was mostly just border stamped... because the concho fastened in the center was the showstopper.

It was a golden sea turtle, swimming in the middle of a pewter center. “How?…”

Seeing Gordon's eyes water, John chuckled. "Yes, I remembered that concho. Had trouble finding it, but fortunately the store on the Sam Houston Tollway found one and put it aside for me," he said as he put a hand on his brother's uninjured shoulder.

Gordon put the box down and wiped away the tears with his good hand. "Got a bit of hand sanitizer in my eyes. Strong stuff," he said, and John scoffed.

"Yeah, sure... you want me to help put it on your … good wrist?" John said, and coughed when Gordon shot the arm out. "Whew... you weren't kidding on the hand sanitizer,” he laughed, waving the fumes away.

"Yeah... apparently it's 'essense of moonshine' I think. It probably kills germs 10 years before they’re born," Gordon smirked.

The bands fit perfectly, and had a simple button and hole fastener so the doctors or even Gordon could take it off with a push if needed.

John watched his brother admire the bracelet, even taking a few photos of the laughs and chuckles his brother made as he showed it off.

Gordon then paused and looked at John. "You made these right?" he inquired, looking at the antiqued looking band.

The astronaut nodded, and Gordon continued, grinning slightly in memory. "How many bands did the University get you to make in exchange for the use of the studio this time?"

"One - and before you ask, the astronomy one,” John said, touching a button on his baldric to ensure EOS didn’t talk about the wallet. She still had a proclivity to ruin surprises - especially if it was one of John’s younger siblings.

Gordon, knowing how much money usually got raised to but one of these bands, looked at the bands and then John. "Worth every cent," he said, smiling warmly as the nurse came in to check Gordon's vitals and bring dinner.

John took this as a note to head out, but before he left, he looked at his brother, who was bragging about the bracelet his older brother made.

And making it very clear how to take it on and off so this one was not cut off.

The astronaut gave a gentle wave to his brother. "I'll be back later," he said, and headed out.

Hearing the chuckles Gordon made again, John's smile broadened. "Yes, it was worth every single minute and cent to hear that laughter," John murmured, but it was priceless to have his brother saved by those other bands.

Now... how he was going to steal the remnants of the old bands to repurpose into a hippie cuff for Gordon was another story

#tag mini bang 2021 #tracybirds #john tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #tag fanfic #tag fanfiction

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vertcoinreddit · 5 years

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Welcome back to Merchant mondaysMerchant mondays is the moment to show your appreciation for the businesses that lead the way in the adoption of cryptocurrencies. Instead of paying with fiat for your next purchase, use this Monday initiative to pay with VTC instead. And, what would a better time to spent some VTC than Cyber monday?! psst. I think flubit has some GPU's for sale as well :)Vertcoin Merchant websiteTwo new merchants this week. The bears won't bring us down:)Calvin WestCalvin West is a music producer and lyric video artist. Currently based in Spain but with project all around the world. You get a discount if you pay with Vertcoin. Take a look at his projects!LambofamFounded in 2018, their mission is to promote cryptocurrencies in popular culture with high-quality crypto apparel. They even have some Cyber Monday deals. Go on, take a peek.Debit cardsUquidWith UQUID, buying online and sending money to friends is made easier and safer than ever: all you need is an email address. Your money is protected, no personal information is revealed, and you can retrieve the details of every payment at any moment.CharityHelperbitHelperbit is a free and transparent way to support a charity project. You can donate to charity in Vertcoin and give something back to the world.EducationLearnCryptoLearnCrypto offers training about Crypto trading.The team at LearnCrypto.io has dedicated thousands of hours to educating the public and our students in all areas of Cryptocurrencies.FoodPexPeppersPexPeppers is specialized in "finest chili sauces, jellies, salts, seeds & more." Based in Pueblo, Colorado, USA PexPeppers is selling all over the world.Garden & AgricultureRoyal Queen SeedsRoyal Queen Seeds is amongst the fastest growing cannabis seed companies in Europe. After building up many years of experience in growing cannabis seeds in the Netherlands, we decided to launch our own line of cannabis seeds and are now able to offer you quality feminized, autoflowering and medical seeds at a good price.Gift CardsCoinCardsCoincards provides Giftcards and was created in July of 2014.Crypto de Change(UK)Crypto De Change provides Gift Cards and Silver Buillons since July 2013.GifftoffGiftoff is a "digital gift card retailer with the largest range on offer in Europe. Since 2014 we’ve been enabling digital currency users to shop with major retailers like Amazon.co.uk, Steam and Marks & Spencer. We stock over 70 gift cards and accept over 40 digital currencies as well as UK credit and debit cards."Sheldon StoreThe Sheldon Store is a online store where you can buy giftcards with Cryptocurrencies. You can buy Amazon, iTunes, Google Play, PlayStation, Uber, Netflix (and many more) gift cards. The Sheldon store team consists of cryptocurrency enthusiasts working together, driven by a single goal; to create a world where everyday people earn, spend and invest cryptocurrency like they would any other fiat currency in their everyday life.Goods/MerchandiseAstronaut ApparelAstronaut Apparel makes every effort to operate in a transparent and ethical manner. We will be integrating blockchain features to help with supply chain management, so that you can see exactly where your apparel was made.Barter4CryptoBarter4Crypto is a platform where users can offer and pay each other in cryptocurrencies for services and products.BullcryptoBullcrypto is a brand new apparel shop that sells everything from tshirts to hats or from mugs to posters!BycrypAn online marketplace (similar to Ebay) with buyer and seller protection. This platform allows you to buy and sell products for Crypto with escrow possibilities for Vertcoin.CyrolineCyroline is on "the tireless hunt for the special in the fashion world, the perfect fusion of individual styles, quality and sustainability." In physical stores you can pay with Vertcoin in Germany: Lübeck, Berlin, Hamburg, Cologne, Stuttgart.Crypto and ProudC&P provides crypto related fashion and is "shipping worldwide with live rates and tracking."CryptoBird wear"Cryptobird is a partnership to start a full crypto based webshop with high quality fashion to contribute to a wider cryptocurrency adoption around the globe."CryptocompoundCrypto Compound provides "cryptothemed items" like fashion, mugs & more.CryptobleCryptoble provides "apparel and more". Here are crypto related shirts & mugs.Crypto MugzA webshop selling Crypto mugs (obviously) and some other cool items such as Tshirts and Drones.Epic PantsEpic Pants is an online retailer who sells products in the categories hardware, apparel, styles, gear, fun, music and art.FlubitShop over a million products at Flubit and pay with Vertcoin. They offer a range of products, from electronics to stuff for your home. A one-stop-shop if you are looking to spend some Vertcoin. Check it out!GeekboxitGeekBox "offers a wide variety of services including but not limited to basic computer setup, repair, virus removal, server setup, network setup, consulting, purchasing, cloud computing advice, gaming system and electronic repair." As a nice special GeekBox IT provides a Vertcoin Tshirt.HippteeHipptee provides a range of different cryptocurrency tshirts.HodlerteesHodler Tees is a cryptocurrency centered tshirt company based in Frisco Texas! (USA) We sell all things crypto related from hats to tshirts and even posters!King Pen VapesKPV provides Vaporizers, "electronic devices that help you vaporize your material into vapor for cleaner inhalation. People looking to quit smoking cigarettes are the main reason behind vapes."NewLambofamFounded in 2018, their mission is to promote cryptocurrencies in popular culture with high-quality crypto apparel.Lazy PyramidLP is an online store and community. We service the world, no order is too small or too large.Luma CardsLuma Cards is selling greeting cards for all kinds of occasions. You can now buy high-quality art-based greeting cards with Vertcoin.NakamotoClothing"At Nakamoto Clothing, we're passionate about designing and curating a selection of apparel to help grow this movement of change. And we're electrified AF!", international shipping.quinsoloQuinsolo proudly accepts decentralized cryptocurrency payments for their crypto themed products.SatoshiMarketOnline marketplace selling crypto embroided polo shirtsSpreadshirtSpreadshirt provides shirts and more. Based in Greensburg, USA, the owner comes from the Netherlands.ShillshopShillshop provides stickers in outdoor quality and is "based in The Netherlands, all the products we sell are also produced in The Netherlands to make sure you'll receive the highest quality!"TeepublicTeepublic provides apparel, home goods, shirts, stickers, mugs & more.Vertcoin stickersRB gives "independent artists a meaningful new way to sell their creations. Today, we connect over 400k artists and designers across the planet with millions of passionate fans." RB provides a huge asortiment of designed products like bags, wall art, home decor, apparel, stationary & more.VTCmarketVTCmarket is founded by the Dunn twins Raf & Tom: "We’ve started off with Tshirts and are working on expanding with other products and merchants"Vertcoin medallionJzzsxm's Online Store provides a 1.5" diameter metal Vertcoin Medallion. Each medallion costs 2 VTC and comes with a metalized label containing a wallet address QR code of your choice affixed to the back.WIKILEAKS shopWikiLeaks is a multinational media organization and associated library. It was founded by its publisher Julian Assange in 2006. The shop provides shirts, posters and asseccoires.ZazzleZazzle is a "marketplace, you'll find customizable products, art and createyourown products just waiting for you. We're PhD's, professional artists, manufacturing gurus, patent holders, inventors, musicians, and more. Everything we do is an expression of love." As a nice special Z provides Vertcoin shirts.MedicalThree Fields AccupunctureAcupuncture in MassachusettsMultimedia ServicesRichmond Drone ServicesRDS is Central Virginia’s drone service specialists. From preparation to content delivery, we perform all work to perfection. We can act as both an aerial film consultant or as the remote pilot in charge on your next projects.NewCalvin WestCalvin West is a music producer and lyric video artist. Currently based in Spain but with project all around the world. You get a discount if you pay with Vertcoin. Take a look at his projects!Professional (law) ServicesBurrellLaw (NYC)Burrell Law "Our New York Citybased attorneys provide a broad range of transactional legal services" Every large business was once a small business. We are here to help you find a solution for your legal needs.Bitcoin TaxBitcoin Tax is "calculating capital gains/losses for any cryptocurrency. Do you know the costbasis of every coin you own? 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