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just-rogi · 1 year

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Are you Marxist?

Right now I’m a teacher- and I know that isn’t the answer that you wanted but listen-

Ideologically I don’t care what we call it, I will support my kids getting food every day and my classroom being funded so the kids can have the materials they need.

I will support any programs that complete fund public transportation, and which will actually put roofs over the heads of the people I pass on the street every day. I support the radical dismantling of government programs like the military and the police and the redistribution of those funds. I support the private dismantling of monopolies and large corporations hoarding wealth and food and homes.

I support not having to work myself to the bone every single week- coming home so dead tired that I fall asleep in my work clothes at 7:30 because I feel my body breaking from the five day/ eight hour work week. I support the death of the landlord class and the model, by which, a public City of Boston employee who works 40 hours a week for the city can’t afford to actually LIVE in the city on my salary (I have four roomates)

I support the complete reconstruction of the Forster care system, which in many cases takes children from loving parents for lack of funding, rather than just giving the parents access to food and clothes and a home to call their own and raise their children in. As wealth isn’t an indicator of morality and responsibility, and certainly not a reason to separate children from families who love them.

I support free and accessible educational for the brilliant black and brown children I see every day who have been barred from higher education due to the costs of privatized education- I support the fully funded public schools, community centers, libraries, and museums as safe spaces for all people of all ages to go, as knowledge should never be only accessible to a certain class.

I support gutting the private medical and pharmaceutical industry and instead building up public healthcare in which people will have access to medication which they desperately need without having to pay thousands of dollars. Where people can access mental health care, elder care and senior homes drug and alcohol abuse care (and yes that includes safe sites to dispose of sharps, and inject drugs without fear of dirty needles and ODing I know for whatever reason people can’t stomach that one) , rehabilitation for addiction, mental illness, and eating disorder without being in crippling debt for life. As a kid I had to ration my inhaler as they were close to $100 USD each. As an adult I want to make sure that no child - or person in general- has to do that with something that they NEED.

Everyone deserves to live in comfort and dignity, and no one man or company should have the power to sway politics or hoard property, food, or medication while the people are in need of care.

I have read a little bit about communist theory, and know all The Hits (hello communist manifesto), and yeah ideologically I suppose I agree with a lot of it on the surface level, but frankly I’ve read a LOT more about Socio Emotional Leaning, and teaching phonetics to ELL students, and textbooks on Ancient Civ as that is how I spend my whole day.

It would be arrogant and ignorant to call myself a Marxist, as I am know knowledgeable enough about the difference between Marxism, or Marxist Leninism, or Maoism, or all the nuances between the different communist and socialist political and ideological movements. And frankly, at this point in my life I don’t care about the label that you use- I care that food gets on my kids lunch trays and that they all have a warm bed to go home to and a place to learn and all their health needs met. Weather that is achieved by voting or by revolution, I don’t care. Weather it’s the marxists that get it done or the Maoist’s, I don’t care. Fuck if the Democrats were advocating for all that I’d be first in line to the polls (though even now please still vote, both in national and local elections- not voting is used to silence you and is a tool of the oppressor).

I really honestly don’t know shit about anything, and it would be sooooo much easier to give you a sound bite and respond “FUCK YEAH MARXISM BASED!!!!” With gif of a hammer and sickle flag…. But that feels reductive and unrepresentative as I honestly and truly am not intelligent enough about the subject to talk about it at length. What I am knowledgeable enough about is working full time in public education in a low income school. And working for a non profit organization in rural communities. And volunteering to get my boots dirty doing non profit work during what little free time I have. I know a lot about the world that I WANT to make better and if Marxism can get it’s shit together all the better- but a revolution WONT just be peacefully standing around discussing ideology. It starts in your classrooms and food banks and your streets. So I suggest that any real Marxist get themselves a pair of practical shoes.

#idk I swear massive disclaimer #I’m an idiot #I don’t know shit #like really truly know nothing #idk why my vent post blew up so much in communist circles #and while I’m all supportive and Gung Ho communist as any girl #I’m really not the person to ask #if you want to talk theory talk to a scholar #If you want to talk about funding the classroom and nonprofit work I’m much more knowledgeable #pls don’t take me too seriously

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freshgraduate · 2 months

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A Blog For Me

I'm starting this blog because I'm honestly not doing entirely well. About three months ago, I graduated with Honours after four years at Drama school. It was, frankly, a harrowing and chaotic time, but there was always something to do: scenes to be rehearsed, self tapes to film, movies to review. Even when I didn't want to be doing half the stuff I had to get done in order to pass, I knew deep down that being told what to do was good. It was a 9-5, Monday- Friday, full commitment type of thing. No time for a job. No time for non-actor friends. Four years of all-out hustle. And then it sort of just ended. I'm yet to pick up that little paper that says I've done it (graduation ceremony is next month), but for all intents and purposes, it is done. By the end of the whole thing, I was just fed up. I wanted to be done with uni and be getting on with my life, figuring out who I am and who I was away from homework and constant assignments.

Turns out, I am very unfunctional. I am no longer forced to be somewhere every day, and so I stay in bed. I have no real work experience, so I fear the real world. Anyone who isn't forced to see me every day anymore chooses not to. I am chronically friendless. Oh, and I graduated AGENTLESS!! It's a classic actor's story- study all through drama school, and leave with nothing to show for it. Deadbeat, some would say. So why blog? Well, for one (if it isn't clear enough), I am lonely and I figure typing into the void at the hopes of someone hearing me out might be a tad therapeutic. Also, I used to love this whole tumblr thing when I was 15 and now that I'm 21, I figure there was probably something in that. Finally, I'm kind of praying that there's someone else out there like me- lonely and quite afraid- who can maybe hold my hand and possibly even advise me through this whole thing.

A fair warning: this blog won't be pleasant. It's sort of a final plea. I am a very depressed and negative person these days, which I'm desperate to change. It might get dark here and there. Not to worry! I will tag appropriately!

But, you know, I've done a lot of googling: 'How do I love my life?', 'What is my purpose? (quiz)', 'Should I just pack everything and go?' That kind of stuff. And google doesn't really know either. So. Blog. I'm trying a blog.

Currently my days consist of a good 2 hours trying to figure out how I'm going to get out of bed, doing a 20- 40 minute yoga session after breakfast, showering, and gaming until the day is over. I live with my parents, but it's clear that if I don't get my shit together, they might start thinking about kicking me out. I want to get a job, but every time I think about writing a resume I get scared and chicken out. I'm an actor and a writer, but I'm terrified of putting myself out there because I don't think I'm good enough. All my fellow graduates are 'doing the thing'. Have agents, making films, etc. Successful. I am the failure of the year. I'm considering giving up. Even though I haven't even really tried yet. Pathetic, I know.

Tonight the dream is to get a job, save my money, and volunteer on a farm in Italy early next year. Travel alone. Idk. If I don't feel like I have anything going for me, then there's no harm in running off for a little while. Tomorrow, I will think about the dreaded resume and never end up writing it. This is the pattern of my life.

Expect an update in a few days, or maybe a week, when something or nothing changes. I turn 22 next week.

TLDR: I am a depressed post-grad with nothing going for me. I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. I want to be happy. This blog will document my journey.

#post graduate #post grad life #post grad problems #new blog #welcome to my blog #get to know me #what do i do #personal #unemployed #jobless #soul searching

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wimpygirlwebtoon · 2 years

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5k Runner's Prayer

The Backstory

National Fitness Day is celebrated in the United States on the first Saturday of May. That’s tomorrow, so you have one day to plan how you are going to celebrate.

Being active and involved in some sort of fitness program can not only change your life, it can extend your life and in some cases save it.

Did you realize that:

♥ Your strongest muscle is your HEART! Just like any other muscle in your body, it needs to be exercised.

♥ The average person will walk about 70,000 miles in their lifetime. I’ll bet Fitbit is glad to hear this.

♥ Our bodies burn an extra 50 calories per day for every pound of muscle gained.

♥ No matter what your age or size, exercise is beneficial. It’s always going to be good for you.

♥ People who exercise for an hour a day, 7 days a week are 40% less likely to die early. I don’t do 7 days a week, but I normally do 5. If, for whatever reason, I go for more than 3 days in a row without doing something, any kind of exercise, I morph into Snarky Girl. Not a good thing.

♥ Exercising regularly can help you sleep better.

♥ A brisk walk burns almost as many calories as jogging the same distance! Hip-hip-hooray!

♥ It takes about 6-8 weeks for your body to adjust to a new exercise program. Unfortunately most people give up too soon. Patience wins the medal when it comes to fitness.

♥ Weight training increases the number of calories you burn while resting.

♥ Only 10% of all people lose weight by dieting alone.

Okay, so being actively doing some sort of fitness program is a no -brainer. But, what if you are already into some sort of exercise regimen. How can you keep motivated, and what can you do to celebrate Fitness Day?

Frankly, for me, running can get monotonous if you do the same path every day. And staring at a screen while on a treadmill at the gym can get old. So, here’s a few ideas to keep you going:

Music Moves the Soul…and Your Feet

For me, running or exercising without music is like having a root canal without deadening. I’ve put in a lot of miles on a treadmill, and I know everyone around me knows when one of my favorite songs comes up on my playlist. In true Wimpy Girl style, I listen to a lot of Disney and show tunes. Capt’n Clean never works out next to me at the gym.

Variety Spices up Everything

For trail running, this is easy. If you get bored with one path, simply find another one. One clever app that I found for trail runners (and brisk walkers) is Zombie Run. There are all different levels, but basically, you (Runner 5) are one of the few survivors of a zombie epidemic and the app talks you through each of your runs as if you have been assigned tasks to help the human race survive. It’s great interval training because you have to speed up when a zombie starts chasing you. Sound effects are great!

If you are into a regular gym routine that is getting old, try a fitness class, or different kinds of cardio or weights. Get a trainer to help suggest different kinds of things you can do. Remember when you are bored with your exercise plan, your brain is going to come up with a plethora of excuses NOT to exercise. “New” is a good way to keep your body moving.

Try…gulp…A Race

For me, during my lifetime, the scariest thing I’ve ever done was running my first 5k race. Okay, maybe not the scariest, but it was in the top 5.

If you can get past the “I’m old, I’m fat, I’m not athletic, I run like a dork, my stomach hurts” part, you might fall in love with it, like I did.

Most race runners are a little quirky, and fun people to hang with. They are encouragers. When you go across the finish line, they are there to applaud and whoop it up for you, even if they lapped you during the race.

If you are over 55 years old, for most medium-sized races (200-500 runners) your odds of winning a medal are pretty good. If you are over 65, your chances are even better. And, if you are in your 70s, placing in your age group is a given.

Heck, in one race, I was beat by an 86 year old woman. In another race, I got confused at the end, ran around all the vendor tents and ended up crossing the finish line from the opposite way! I ran another race benefitting brain cancer and there were folks who had had tumors removed from their brains that beat me. In fact, some of them could have probably carried me across the finish line, and I’m a big girl.

I’ve never been dead last in a race, and chances are, if you’ve been doing some sort exercise, you won’t either.

But you know what? Even if you are the very last one to mosey across the finish line, you are a winner because you have accomplished an incredible feat in loving your body enough to take care of it through exercise.

So, how are celebrating National Fitness Day tomorrow?

Get up and get moving Wimpy Girl!

Happy National Fitness Day!

#cartoonsforrunners #fitnesscartoons #fitnessday #fitnessmotivation #health&fitness #inspiration #motivation #nationalfitnessday #pookieryan #runnercartoons #webcomic #webtoon #wimpygirl #wimpygirlcomics

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kaile-hultner · 3 years

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Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

#Neon Genesis Evangelion #existentialism #philosophy #media criticism #cultural criticism #spoilers

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donutloverxo · 4 years

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Nude

Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?

He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.

So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.

Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying

“Cap must be getting some”

To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.

With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'

When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.

When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.

He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.

“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.

When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.

“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”

He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.

“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.

“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.

“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.

He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.

You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.

You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?

You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.

Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.

Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.

Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.

You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.

You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.

You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.

“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”

“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.

“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.

“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”

“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...

“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.

“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.

You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.

“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.

He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”

“You’re a great artist” you gushed

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.

You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.

“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.

“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.

You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or send me an ask!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve x reader #steve Rogers x you #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel x reader

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oureuphoria · 4 years

Text

Worst of You - JJK 01

You meet him under horrible circumstances but that doesn’t stop you from developing a very abnormal and completely unsolicited crush on your local hot police officer™. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. Oh, and he has a lifetime’s worth of baggage at 23. Or “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know that you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of violence (stab wound), mentions of anxiety, swearing

Note: I was watching B99 and I was like ‘Woah, Jungkook would be a hot cop,’ and now we’re here.

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

If someone had asked you to write a novel about the adventures of your life, it would be extremely thin. Not from your lack of experiences (although it is a pressing factor) but more so from your inability to think about yourself for longer than 3 minutes without feeling sick. You were not a particularly hateful person, especially not towards yourself, but you were an active and anxious thinker and your mind was often boggled with thoughts about what you could’ve or have done wrong and it was exasperating.

For example, occasionally, your professors would allow students to spectate professional research experiments and that month, you were selected (out of pity because Alex was selected and the Professor knew she was your only friend). You knew this was supposed to be an “interesting learning experience” but it was a complete and utter bore. At first you’d convinced yourself it was only boring because you were hungry, then you began to realise it was boring because your singular braincell could not comprehend such complex material on an empty stomach.

So, you left the room to go to McDonald’s, for educational purposes of course. That was where you went wrong because instead of peacefully enjoying your McChicken you were dealing with your phone which was blowing up with messages from Alex about how you were missing ever so much from the research lab. However, it seemed to you that perfectly cut fries were more interesting than watching microscopic cells bounce around in a microscope for an hour.

It turned out that watching microscopic cells bounce around in a microscope for an hour was worth a lot of credits and you wallowed in self-pity for the mere 24-hours that followed that realisation.

You had fucked up once again, only three days after witnessing all 3 minutes of the splendid research experiment. It was a Saturday and you were standing outside your dorm building watching a student yell at a stray cat. It was around 2 in the morning and you were sneaking back from your late shift at the convenience store. Usually, you would have been terrified and confused but you were so tired that you violently pinched your arm and blinked rapidly, hoping it was just an illusion. When the peculiar scene didn’t disappear, you realised this was real but it was too late since the man was now sprinting after you across your quiet and empty campus.

Four years ago, if someone had told your 16-year-old self to participate in your P.E classes because you would later be chased by a crazy man at 2am then you surely would’ve listened. But unfortunately, no one had done such a thing and you were beginning to realise just how regrettable that was. Your running performance was mediocre at best, definitely not fast enough to out run this man across an extremely large campus and you were beginning to lose your breath.

Your only option was to quit while you were ahead and either find somewhere to hide or use your very non-existent combat skills to karate kick the man into the other dimension. Naturally, you hid behind the giant administrator building. As you were finally behind the safe confines of the old brick wall you moved to reach for your phone when you heard an alarming scream. As much as your brain wanted to relish in the relief that the scream wasn’t coming from you, you couldn’t shake the instant guilt. You called the police and tried to sound as reliable as possible but your voice was dripping with fear and you stuttered over your words like a toddler.

Once you were able to clearly see the student, lying on the lawn in pain with what appeared to be a stab wound the guilt completely consumed you but part of you couldn’t even believe this was real. Students woke up from the deafening sounds of sirens and it wasn’t long before this would become a commotion so the officers made quick work of the scene, the ambulance moving him to their van and the police officers continuing their reports. You were asked to go to the station where you would be further questioned by another officer and you didn’t quite understand the need for that escalation but you compiled nonetheless. You didn’t need the police and your conscience to think you were guilty.

You were seated in the backseat of a police car, behind two male officers. Their conversation fell numbly to your ears, your mind already submerged deeply in thought. You didn’t snap out of your trance until the officers repeatedly called for you. “Did you know the boy? The one who was, uh, attacked?” The officer was trying to find the right terms and you commend him for that much, but the last part felt more like an unsure question than a statement and that didn’t sit well with you. “No.” Your answer deadpanned the chance of a conversation, the silence after being the proof. The drive continued for about 3 minutes before you stood at the information desk where you were asked to join the secretary on a walk to the interrogation room. “The officer will be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink?” She spoke curtly, the annoyed look on her face told you she’d already done this too many times. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

You were confused and guilty and scared. None of this made any sense, you - who never, ever, experienced anything outside your boring routine - was now being questioned for an attack? You were convinced you were borderline insane and that this was just a horrible dream. But, with every tic of the annoying clock on the plain wall behind you, you grew less convinced that this was anything but reality.

“Hello.” The officer walked in, and suddenly you felt like you were in some sick, twisted rom-com because that man might have been the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You didn’t mean to become distracted but he looked like he’d just walked out of a magic mike production and you were frankly astonished because this had to be a dream. His eyes were dark but they shined in the light beautifully, however the furrow in his eyebrows scared you enough to stop staring at his eyes. His build was clearly very developed, he looked like you could bench press you 40 times over and not even break a sweat. Or maybe he was just really fucking hot.

“My name is Officer Jeon and I’m here to ask you a couple of questions, I don’t want you to feel afraid or pressured, just answer me honestly and you’ll be fine.” Although he’d meant to sound soft and reassuring his words sounded more like an indirect threat. A threat that you heard loud and clear. You gulped quietly, the dryness in your throat mocking you as you recalled rejected the offer for a drink. You nodded when you realised he was expecting an answer but it clearly wasn’t enough. “I need you to use your voice at all times in here, this could be used in court and we need you to be very clear so nothing is misinterpreted. Do you understand?” You wanted to cry. All you’d had in plan for the night was to get to your dorm, eat some 99 cent ramen and go to sleep yet here you were at 3 in the morning in an interrogation room for an attack you weren’t even sure you ‘witnessed’. “Yup.”

“Great, then let’s begin. Can you start by stating your name and age?” “Y/N, L/N. 20.” You nearly stuttered which would have been beyond embarrassing. You seriously couldn’t even manage your own name? “Alright, Miss L/N. Why were you out so late?” You paused for a moment to rehearse your answer but you couldn’t quite get it all out. “I work at a convenience store.” You gestured to your name tag for effect and he nodded, writing something down in his notepad.

“How often do you work there?” The question was irrelevant, unrelated and the first tell-tale sign that you were not a witness; you were a suspect. However, you were too tired to notice. “Twice a week. 4pm-2am.” “You live in the dormitories, correct?” You nodded but he gave you a pointed look that reminded you to use words. “Yes.” “2 shifts a week can’t possibly sustain you. How do you pay your dorm fees?” This was when your tired brain began picking up on the fact that you weren’t just a witness. “I tutor high school kids. It pays enough.” He didn’t reply, just wrote something down in his notepad again - an action which was beginning to make you anxious.

“When you were interrogated by the field officer you told him that you were hiding behind the administration building when you’d heard the victim scream, why were you hiding there?” “I was hiding from the uh, a-attacker.” “How did you encounter him before that?” “I already answered this…” You were visibly nervous which couldn’t have looked very promising. “Then you won’t mind answering again.” His tone was menacing and if you weren’t already very intimidated by his role and demeanour then his strikingly good looks would have done the job. You’ve always been very intimidated by attractive people which proved to an insane burden.

“I was returning to my dorm block when I saw him yelling at a cat, he saw me and began to lunge my way so I started to run but I’m not very good at running so I hid behind the building instead. I was in the process of calling the police when I heard the scream and I didn’t move until the police came.” He seemed unsatisfied with your answer but that was understandable. Your monologue wasn’t confidentially given, you stuttered and stumbled over your words consistently out of anxiety, but he didn’t know that and probably thought you were the very thing you had been running from.

“How did you know that the man chasing you was a student? You said he was in the initial questioning.” “I wasn’t sure. It was 2am and he was standing on a student campus, outside a student dormitory. So, I assumed he was a student.” Your tone was a little vindictive, possibly from the frustration of being labeled as a suspect for a crime you were positive you didn’t commit. “Did you know the student who was attacked?” “No. When can I leave?” The question came out rushed and on impulse but you didn’t care. You were far too tired to. “When I ask all my questions.” You nodded absentmindedly, focusing on the plain table instead.

“You think I did it, don’t you?” Tears were welling up in your eyes but you were too dehydrated to cry. “Right now you’re only a minor suspect, these are routine questions we have to ask and I really don’t see the issue with them if you’re truly innocent.” That surely shut you up, and made you feel a little stupid. Normally a question like that would never come from you but your exhaustion was taking a toll on your patience, and it was a heavy toll at that. “I’m sorry.” His angry features softened at your shaky voice. “How about we continue this tomorrow. Is 2pm okay for you?” You spaced out again, which was probably why he wanted to continue the interrogation the next day. “Is that okay?” He repeated, this time more pressing, you nodded but were quick to once again correct yourself and mutter a quick “yes” before you grabbed your backpack and suppressed the urge to Naruto run out of the room.

You walked out of the double doors only to be met with the dark night sky and a creeping fear that there was someone following you. You walked home from your shift every Friday and Saturday night and until that day nothing extremely bad had happened. Yet here you were cowardly glancing over your shoulder with every chance you got. You hated walking at night because your paranoia constantly slowed you down and what should’ve been a 10- minute walk turned into a 23-minute walk. It didn’t help that your recent encounter kept replaying in your head, the image of the poor victim on the floor vividly appearing every time you blinked.

As you rolled yourself up in a blanket burrito to escape the dark amiss of the night (more or less your own thoughts), you began to lull yourself into a soft sleep before your roommate, Alex, rudely barged into your room with little concern for your sleep.. “What happened? Why did you leave with the officers? Everyone’s talking about it you know, you’re on everyone’s snapchat story and your clothes really aren’t that flattering.” “A student got attacked and I was the only kind-of witness. The officers wanted to do some further questioning and how many times must I tell you its the uniform.” She sighed in relief before crushing you with a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You suffocated under her grasp but you knew better than to try to fight Alex. She left the room to allow you to sleep but not before rambling about how she assumed you had turned into a rogue murderer.

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts reactions #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fic #this is my first time writing pls be nice

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brynfelan · 3 years

Text

The One Where Hajime Only Knows Class 77b Because He Works At A 24-Hour Grocery Store

it’s DONE, it’s BAD, it has all the pacing of a POORLY-WRITTEN SNL SKETCH, but I can’t give less of a shit I am tired and putting it out into the world. @idnek83 I told you I’d fucking write it. It’s 5am and this was written purely out of spite. also, the credit for this idea goes to them. the only reason i wrote this is because they were too much of a coward to.

Word Count: 3272 Summary: Hajime Hinata works at a 24-hour grocery store and only knows class 77-B because they all come in at different times to buy some weird shit. Chaos ensues. This is crack, just straight up crack.

There are worse things than working the graveyard shift. It pays a little extra than day hours, there’s less work to do at the counter, and the only thing Hajime really has to worry about is a drunk customer getting rowdy. Actually, he enjoys it in a weird way. He just stands at the counter, runs people up, and then leaves at six in the morning to do whatever the hell he wants with his day. Usually sleeping, but it’s also nice to be free all the time.

His favourite part of the job is the set of students that come in between the hours of two and five almost every day. They aren’t usually together, but he’s pieced together that they’re all in the same class by descriptions that he’s gotten from the more talkative of the bunch. He doesn’t know all of their names, some of them he only knows by nicknames, but he does know all of their faces.

Kazuichi Soda for example, comes in at around two in the morning every Friday night. He usually buys shitty beer or cheap liquor, and complains that he’s the one that got sent out from the party to get more booze. Sometimes he also picks up random assortments of tools or screws. Hajime thinks it should probably be illegal to sell a man a 40 of cheap whiskey and a power drill at two in the morning, but he learnt to stop questioning the combination of things that people buy at this kind of hour. He dreads to think of the drunk creations that Soda makes.

On the other hand, Mahiru only comes in around once a month. Hajime knows her name is Mahiru because the first time, she drunkenly introduced herself to him and tried to explain that her combination of items were for a photoshoot and not for any kind of nefarious purpose. He isn’t quite sure what kind of crime she could commit with several bunches of half-dead flowers, a whole cream cake and a bottle of champagne, but he’d definitely like to see it.

It’s four in the morning on a Tuesday. Hajime gets off in two hours, and he’s currently dealing with one Gundham Tanaka. He knows his name is Gundham Tanaka, because he announces it every single time that he gets rung up.

“Huh. Sunflower seeds and hamster bedding. You got any pets?” It’s an innocent question, but at this point he really should have learnt not to question Gundham.

“You fool! I, Gundham Tanaka, have my four Dark Devas of Destruction at my command, ready to strike at any moment for insinuating that they are mere pets as you mere mortals call them!” Ah, good. This happens every time. “You may also notice that I am purchasing this protective potion. This is a defensive measure to protect myself from the very devils that seek to feast on my demon blood!

Hajime looks down at the mosquito spray. He’s definitely not getting paid enough for this.

“Right, yeah. Sorry man. I hope those, uh, devils don’t bother ya too much. That’ll be twenty-two fifty-nine.”

Four hamsters poke out from Gundham’s scarf to deliver the money to Hajime. He isn’t sure if that’s sanitary, but at least he gets to see some cute animals during his shift. For “warriors”, as Gundham calls them, they’re pretty sweet and don’t seem to be adverse to getting pet when they hand (mouth?) him the bills.

Even if it gives him daytime freedom, this job isn’t worth ten seventy-two an hour. He sometimes thinks about switching to the day shift, but he gets paid more to work nights and effectively does half the work. Hajime knows that it’s the best job he’s gonna get for a while, and it pays enough to get him through college. Still, he reminds himself to check for something better when his shift’s over.

Gundham is the last of the class he sees that night. He’s definitely eccentric, maybe the most eccentric of the bunch, but he’s never caused a real scene. Except for one time when he managed to smash three bottles of red wine in quick succession, but it happens. Hajime didn’t have to clean it up, so he’s definitely not paid enough to care.

The next night, it’s Sonia that walks in. She’s never formally introduced herself to him, but Soda never shuts up about her, so Hajime has a pretty good idea of who she is. She’s buying nearly his month’s rent in skincare products and murder mystery novels. She talks the whole time too, about how this store is so different to ones in her home country, how he must get so many interesting experiences working at these hours.

“Yeah, you sure could call it interesting,” He snorts a little, “You get some interesting people come in at these hours.”

“Ah, of course! You are a respectable man to hold a necessary job such as this, I believe I would be, as they say, boned without you here! Is it customary to tip workers in institutions such as this?”

Jesus, how much money does this girl have?

“Uh, not grocery store workers ma’am. Cash or card?”

When she pulls out the cash from her purse, Hajime nearly faints. He decides that she must either be a foreign dignitary or deep in some criminal ring in order to have this much money on her person at any one time. It’s not even in exact change, and she’s a hundred over her total.

“This is too much, ma’am. Here, this is yours.”

When he tries to give the hundred back to her, she steps away from the register and puts her hands behind her back. She’s smiling, and shaking her head.

“Oh, no. I shan’t be taking that! You must keep it.”

She’s either an angel, or Satan trying to tempt him with nearly double what he makes in a night. Arguing with her is pointless, she refuses to take her items until he pockets the cash. He hopes that he never has to explain that to his manager, because he hasn’t read the company policy but he’s nearly a hundred percept sure that accepting personal money is very much against it. She finally leaves nearly half an hour later, after insisting he keep the money. He can’t tell if he hopes she comes back, or that he never sees her again.

He ends up keeping the hundred. That’s way too much money to be given to pass up.

If Hajime had to name a favourite customer out of the students, it would have to be the girl that comes in a couple of nights a week to buy snacks. He doesn’t know her name, but she always talks about video games. They share the same taste in them, and he likes hearing about his favourites from another person’s perspective. He doesn’t really have anybody to play them with, but it almost feels like he does when she comes in and asks how far he’s gotten in whatever just came out that week. He thinks about her during his shift sometimes when things get slow.

That same night, a boy with all the manners of a particularly pissed off cat comes in. He’s with a girl that towers over him, and Hajime would laugh if he wasn’t afraid of getting his ass handed to him, since he’s pretty sure the girl is carrying a sword. He’s buying twelve packs of cookies, and a single toy bunny. He pays with a black credit card. Neither of them say anything to Hajime. He’s pretty sure that’s the “Baby Gangsta” that Soda has spoken about on a couple of occasions, but definitely doesn’t want to ask just in case he gets sliced in half. He only notices that he was holding his breath when they leave.

An absolutely giant man walks in just as Hajime is about to clock out. No really, he’s huge and all muscle. Hajime might be scared of him, if he didn’t have such a huge smile on his face. He occasionally comes in early in the morning to buy a hideous amount of protein powder and other groceries. Every time he does, he invites Hajime to “train” with him. Hajime is too scared to ask what training involves, and turns it down every time. By the size of the guy, he’s pretty sure any amount of training would kill him.

Hajime doesn’t know when he clocks in the next night that it’s going to be the most hellish night of his life. He doesn’t know that tonight is the night he hands in his two weeks yet. He’s pretty optimistic when he walks in, freshly showered and having just gotten back a pretty decent grade for one of his classes.

It starts at five. Kazuichi Soda walks in first, already drunk and talking to Baby Gangsta about some motorbike he’s going to jack up so much it won’t be road legal anymore. The Giant Man is close behind, talking to a girl about doing “it” (Hajime has no idea what “it” is and frankly he isn’t sure he wants to know). That’s the first sign. No more than three of them have ever walked in together at any one time.

Lagging behind a little is Gundham and Sonia, followed by Mahiru and the tiny girl that sometimes accompanies her. The only thing Hajime can remember about her is that she called some other girl a “toilet clogging bitch” one time. Three other men follow behind, one with light hair that looks just a little too skinny to be healthy, one that looks nearly exactly the same as him except taller and heavier, and one that’s even shorter than Baby Gansta. A girl with her eyes glued to a Game Girl trails behind them, the Sword Girl almost steering her out of the way of a promotional stand for donuts. Behind them is Ibuki Mioda, a girl that comes in sometimes to buy Monster Energy by the crate at three in the morning, talking to Mikan Tsumiki who usually accompanies her to run of the health risks of drinking too much caffeine.

Behind all of them is the devil himself, dressed up like an angel. Hajime doesn’t know he’s the devil yet, but he will in about an hour.

They’re in the store for all of ten minutes before shit starts going south. Hajime can hear things being tossed around in the aisles and shouting. He definitely isn’t paid enough to deal with that, so he stands at his register and hopes it calms down.

“C’mon, we just finished our finals, Ibuki wants to go hard!”

That’s never a good thing to hear when you still have two hours of your shift left.

Now, part of the reason why Hajime likes working the graveyard shift is that it’s quiet. Nothing happens, except for the one time a guy in a Scream mask came in and robbed his register at axe-point, but he’d already been working at the store for two weeks and couldn’t give less of a crap whether or not the company lost money over that. Tonight, it isn’t quiet. Tonight, there are sixteen students that Hajime thinks might give him a migraine if they don’t shut up for five minutes.

The worst part is when they disperse through the store. Before, all the noise was coming from one place. Now it’s everywhere. Hajime thinks that some of them are having a competition to see who can make all the toys that make sounds go off in the quickest amount of time. He can hear shouting and squealing and laughing (and is that crying? Is one of them crying in his store?) and he wonders if it would be worth it to just walk out and let them take whatever they want.

It doesn’t end there. There’s a loud smashing sound, and then the high-pitched whine of the girl who looks too young to be buying booze but Hajime has never cared enough to card because it’s not his job to parent her.

“You snot-nosed bitch! I bet you’re trying to make Hope’s Peak look bad, you drunk whore!”

“I’m s-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The crying gets worse the more the short one yells, “I-I’ll clean it up and pay for it, don’t worry! Please forgive me!”

Hope’s Peak is that exclusive private place down the street, right? Hajime passes it everyday, but couldn’t have ever dreamed of getting to study there. He isn’t even really sure what they teach, besides that they always push out the greatest in whatever field of study they run. No, Hajime chose the cheaper option, and while it might have been nice to go somewhere so prestigious, it definitely wouldn’t have been good for his wallet.

From the other side of the store, he hears clapping and laughing. He doesn’t even want to think about what fresh hell is going on in the DIY section, where he’s pretty sure he can hear Soda spilling paint everywhere if the swearing from Baby Gangsta is anything to go buy.

Half an hour or so after they all walked in, Hajime is ringing up fifteen people. He’s the only one working tonight until the cleaners come in, and this is more people than he’s ever had to deal with in his life.

Sonia has bought sixteen bottles of the most expensive champagne the store sells. Hajime doesn’t want to think about the ordeal he went though last time she was here, so when she pushes an extra hundred into his hand he doesn’t bother arguing with her. Gundham, on the other hand, has apparently bought up every single vegan burger that was in the freezer section. He’s also got all the buns, and what feels like a hundred different condiments and salad options. Through tears, Mikan apologises for the trouble she’s causing while trying to pay for whatever bottle she broke – while at the same time picking up enough hangover medicine to cure an army.

By the time he’s rung everybody up, he’s exhausted. He wants to go to bed and never get out of it, to never see anybody again. He hates customers at the best of times, and these people might be excellent outside of this setting, but in his store they’ve been an absolute nightmare.

They’re all packed up and ready to go when the girl with her nose in the video game pipes up.

“Hey, where’s Nagito?” She asks through a yawn.

Then, it happens. Hajime hears a “whoops” from the back end of the store, and everything he’s ever wanted to not happen on his shift happens.

One shelving unit goes down, then another, then another. The sounds of shattering and splintering echo through the now otherwise silent store. They go down like dominos, each falling shelf worse than the last. It’s five fifty-seven in the morning, and Hajime can only watch as his divine punishment for choosing to work in a grocery store near a college is shown to him. Bottles are smashing, toys are crushed, he’s pretty sure that whatever happens in the fish section is no longer safe to look at with the naked human eye.

“I’ve never thought about committing murder before,” He says, “But now I think I understand.”

Everybody is quiet until the dust settles. The white-haired demon walks out completely unscathed, with an innocently shit-eating grin on his face.

“Ah, I can pay for this. I’m so sorry to have caused such trouble,” He says, waving his hands like it’s no big deal, “Please, allow me to pay for the damages. My terrible luck is a scourge on this Earth, I simply can’t apologise enough.”

Hajime sighs, and looks at the clock. It’s five fifty-nine. There isn’t an enough money in the world to pay him to deal with this.

“What the fuck happened?” Baby Gangsta asks, from the back of the crowd, “Seriously, you’ve had some bad fuckin’ luck before, but this shit takes the crappy cake.”

“Oh. I tripped.” He dusts his knees off, and smiles again.

It’s unnerving that he’s so calm about this. Hajime dreads to think what else he’s done in the past that would make this seem so natural to him. Can you bar somebody from your store for accidentally wrecking every single item that you have to sell?

“There is some hope to come from this, Kuzuryu, don’t worry!” He pulls out a tiny stuffed dog from his pocket, “Please, how much will this be?”

All Hajime can do is stare. He isn’t sure what god he pissed off to deserve this. He doesn’t believe in karma, but he hopes that whatever he gets in return for this is pretty damn good.

Six in the morning rolls around. The day-staff have walked in to the mess that is the store, and his manager is just staring at him. Hajime looks at him, and just shakes his head.

“If you want the story, talk to the guy with the white hair. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

Immediately after he says that, he hears a whoosh. Then, everything starts feeling a whole lot warmer.

“Shit, store’s on fire. Komaeda, you’re going to get us banned from this store!” Kazuichi yells, running as fast as he can to the exit.

The others follow, and Hajime gives his manager a “what-can-ya-do” shrug, before following. This store isn’t worth getting a lungful of smoke over. Hell, he isn’t even sure working here is worth the extra cash that Sonia seems adamant to give him every time she comes in.

Sixteen students, Hajime, four other co-workers, two cleaners, and a General Manager stare as the building burns. Before his manager can open his mouth to speak, Hajime looks at him and says, “Nope. I quit. I’m leaving. Now. This isn’t my fault, and you can’t pay me enough to deal with it.”

There’s no argument. His manager just lets him go. The sixteen students get a lifetime ban. Hajime also gets a lifetime ban. The white-haired devil writes a check and walks away basically scot-free. The store is going to be closed for the next fuck-knows how long until it can get repaired. From the number of zeroes on that check, Hajime’s pretty sure this is an expensive problem to fix. He doesn’t care, it isn’t his problem.

“Hey, Mr-Store-Clerk Guy!” Ibuki grins at him, “Wanna come and party with Hope’s Peak? We just got done with finals!”

“Ibuki, that’s a fantastic idea! To repay our debt to him for causing so much trouble, we simply must invite him to part-ay with us!” Sonia claps her hands together and smiles like Ibuki’s just discovered Atlantis, “Please do come with us! But first, might we get your name? We all see you so often, and have never thought to ask!”

It’s six in the morning. Hajime rubs his temples. Any sane person would say no, because he’s tired and just quit his job so he’s going to need to find another one as soon as possible, and having a store burn down on your watch is not good on your resume.

It’s six in the morning, and if there’s any day that Hajime wants to start drinking at ass-o-clock in the morning and not on his dime, it’s this one.

“I’m Hajime Hinata. Please don’t burn anything else down.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Nagito calls from where he’s standing by the manager, “I’m sure that after that I’ll have some incredibly good luck!”

#brainrot #drabble #not really a drabble it's like 3k #but have it #love it #do what you want with it #this is the worst thing i've ever written #yes counting the fanfiction i wrote for my gcse in english language #this is so dumb #i can't even tell if it's funny or if i'm just tired #either way #have it

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3pirouette · 3 years

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Fic: 40 Weeks (1/1)

Title: 40 Weeks By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: First Avenger, that’s it. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 4601 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Rated teen to mature due to content.

Story Summary: Every week farther away from him is a week closer to a new beginning.

A/N: For Steggy Bingo Bash Sentence Prompt: “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.” Also, I’m sorry. Set during CA:TFA.

TW: while I hate to give away the plot, this story is about Peggy dealing with an unplanned pregnancy while believing Steve is dead after going down on the Valkyrie. This may be a sensitive subject for many, please read or skip accordingly for your own mental health.

I have never been pregnant. ALl info is from the internet.

Also, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. This made me cry. You’ll probably need tissues.

~*~ Week 0

He’d almost died.

It was all she could think of as she pressed her body into his, their lips meeting with force, battling to be dominant, the air charged with lust and fear and relief as they shed their clothes as quickly as they could.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw it: she saw the way the tank aimed at him, how his shield barely made it up in time to deflect the load from the great barrel, how it exploded and pushed him back in a way he didn’t expect, how he landed near the great rotating treads, shocked, and his head just an inch away from disaster as the tank rolled forward before Dugan slid in and pushed him farther under where the treads could do no damage.

He couldn’t hear her when they finally triumphed, blood slipping from his ear. He looked shocked, dazed. She’d never seen him like that before.

Even small, before the serum, he’d seemed invincible to her. This reminded her that even Captain America could die.

He could hear her now as she moaned his name, his lips slipping against the flesh between her legs, licking and nipping and biting as she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him up to her. That realization had made her feel lost, broken, and she needed him in a way she’d never needed anyone before. The touch of his hand was too little, the wrapping of his arms around her in a simple hug not enough. She’d slipped them into an empty supply room, locked the door, and pressed him against it. “I won’t let either of us die without knowing what it’s like to love one another.”

He’d held her face in his hands, gentle, and tried to reassure her. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let that happen.”

She hadn’t argued with him, didn’t have it in her to play devil’s advocate. Instead, she kissed him. Surprising him, it took a moment for him to kiss her back, for him to let them melt together, but slowly his body started to vibrate on the same frequency hers was, it started to pick up on her need and desperation and it left them as they were now, him clutching her shoulders, sliding inside her sloppily as she balanced on the edge of an old desk, her legs wrapped around his hips and her lips marking him at his collar bone.

It was quick and frenzied, sloppy and amateur, but Peggy couldn’t help but feel a little more put together, a little more reassured as they lay on the creaking table, his head pillowed on her breasts, the both of them gasping for breath.

“I love you, Peggy Carter,” Steve whispered, kissing the flesh closest to him, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“And I love you,” she croaked out, her voice raw. She tangled her hands in his sweaty hair, her heart pounding in her chest. “But you and I both know that neither one of us is in control of what happens during this bloody war.”

He pressed up on his arms, hovering over her, his dog tags cold against her skin as he pushed a curl behind her ear. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he kissed her gently. He pulled away softly, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. “How am I supposed to go back to that lonely tent without you now?”

She let her hands slide over his shoulders. “Needs must, you know,” she whispered, letting him gently help her to sitting. “I suspect my own bed will be quite disappointing.”

Steve bent, kissing her thigh as he picked up their discarded clothing. “Peg, we should…”

“We shouldn’t,” she stopped him as he stood, eyes serious. “if we want to keep working together, no one can know. They’ll toss me out of here in a second and you know that.”

He kissed her gently, handing her her slip. “I hate keeping us a secret.”

“I’d hate even more not knowing if you were alive or dead.”

~*~ Week 3

She hadn’t managed a night’s sleep since he went into the water. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him drowning, saw his hands reaching up for her. Saw his lifeless body floating away.

She wasn’t his widow, she wasn’t his anything, not officially. His belongings were put in storage and his name was mourned. Only the men that knew them best, the ones that saw the snuck kisses and hand holding, gave her any real sympathy.

Dugan sat with her, Pinky said a prayer with her, and Phillips had even hugged her.

There was no body, no funeral, no remembrance beyond that given to any other soldier when there was still so much more work to be done.

She could barely eat, couldn’t sleep, felt sick and tired all the time, and yet, she knew she had to march on.

There was a war to win. She was going to win it for him.

~*~ Week 6

She was shaking, and only partly due to the fact that she’d just thrown up most of what she’d eaten today quite violently. She held the phone to her ear, trying desperately to slow her heart rate.

She didn’t want it to be true, and yet she desperately did.

And if it was, she was absolutely beyond terrified.

There was another long ring before a polite English voice she’d never heard answered.

“I need to talk to Howard, please. Peggy Carter calling.” She was proud that her voice sounded almost steady. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest, the seconds it took Howard to get to the phone felt like hours.

“Peggy!” he called, excited. “It’s good to hear from you. How can I be of service?”

She took one shaky breath, then another. She’d never been ashamed of what they did, would never be, but the impact it was going to have on her life, the way it was going to change everyone’s opinion of her… she wasn’t ready for that.

She heard her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing the women at church who work skirts that were too short and who flirted to shamelessly. Harlots, Margaret. Girls like that give smart, determined women like us a bad name. All for what? They should be on their knees for praying, not for…humph!

“Peggy? You there?” Howard asked, his tone softening.

She wasn’t ready to lose them all. She didn’t know how she could avoid it, though.

“Howard. I… I need your help.”

~*~ Week 7

He met her in London, his eyes tight and worried as she disembarked the troop transport with her usual aplomb, not a hint of the desperate woman he’d spoken to on the phone about her. He watched her closely as they got in his car, as he introduced his new butler, as they drove far away from the base and to a small house he’d rented.

She managed to keep her composure through lunch, telling him how she and Steve had shared one moment of unrestrained passion, how neither of them had thought anything could come of it, and how, three weeks after he was pronounced KIA she realized that he’d managed to make sure she’d never be alone, even without him.

Though she hadn’t taken a test, Peggy Carter knew with certainty that she was pregnant with Steve Rogers’ child.

She swallowed, looking at Howard frankly, her eyes clear. “I don’t mind being called a whore or a harlot, that I can take and have brought upon myself as my mother would say,” Peggy quickly relayed. “My job is lost, I’m sure.” She steeled herself, but it didn’t quite work. “But I can’t…” she teared up, wrapping her hands around her still flat belly, “I don’t know how to protect it. The Army… they’ll want…”

She dissolved into tears, sending Howard to his knees beside her. “I’ll help you, Peg. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He took her hand in his, waiting until she wiped the tears from her eyes to look at him. “Nobody’s going to touch that baby, ok? If I have to marry you myself, no one is going to touch that kid.”

~*~ Week 10

The guest house at Howard’s New York home is more than suitable for her, and she takes to wandering it aimlessly as it is quite large.

She resigned her commission, citing personal reasons much to Phillips chagrin.

How am I supposed to win this war without you, Carter? Phillips’s voice echoes in her mind.

Once, she would have bristled at that, would have rethought her decision to leave and felt the pull of duty.

She had only one duty now. It had been easier than she thought it would be to say goodbye.

One day she’d tell them the truth. Phillips, the Commandos, they were her friends, too. She still was barely thicker around the middle than she had been, not enough to show and not enough to be suspicious. But right now, she held the only living genetic sample of Steve Rogers, and there were nations that would kill for that, including her own. For now, she could still hide in plain sight.

Their baby’s safety was all that mattered to her.

She made another round, checking the windows and doors and making sure the gun by her bedside was loaded and ready to go if need be. She’d already pulled it twice on poor Mr. Jarvis, but he seemed to be getting used to her paranoia.

~*~ Week 12

Ana is a godsend.

She’s funny and quick-witted, and thankfully good with a needle and thread. Peggy’s clothes all need letting out at the seams now, and Ana entertains her with silly stories of her day and tales of the farmer’s market in town as she makes alterations.

She’s become her only close friend, and Peggy is ever grateful that not once did she see pity or judgement in the woman’s eyes.

Her mother continues to refuse to speak to her.

~*~ Week 16

Howard has proposed no less than three times since he’s been back from the front.

His simplest solution is to not give the Army any reason to believe the child belongs to Rogers. While Peggy can see the wisdom in this, she can’t quite seem to get on board with the idea of denying the man she loved his only true legacy.

“I’m thinking about it,” she would tell him nearly twice a day.

And she was thinking about it.

~*~ Week 18

She’s glad the doctor Howard has found her is knowledgeable and discrete. She knows, because Howard refuses to lie to her, that they take an extra vial of blood for him at each visit, and he runs his own tests.

She’s relieved that the midwife Ana finds her is sweet and kind, and that the woman simply holds her hand when Peggy breaks into tears when the woman asks about the baby’s father.

“I’m so sorry my love,” the midwife whispers gently. “So many young women have lost so much in this war.”

If her midwife believes her to be anything other than a war widow, or notices the lack of a ring on Peggy’s finger, she never says.

~*~ Week 20

Ana has to take Peggy shopping for maternity clothes now. She’s showing and can no longer get by with letting buttons stay undone and letting out seams. The lacy frocks and pastel colors turn her off of the small section in the department store.

She can’t help but watch the women around her, some barely showing, some looking ready to burst, and wonder what their lives are like.

Do they have doting husbands at home? Indifferent husbands? Men overseas who may never see their child’s birth?

Are they like her? Lost and alone and so very, very unsure of how even tomorrow will go?

Ana gently guides her through the store despite her daze, and helps her choose some sensible tops and dresses.

She doesn’t plan on leaving Howard’s estate other than for doctor visits any time soon, so the design matters little in the long run.

~*~ Week 21

Lying in bed she can feel it.

Little flutters.

They’re easy to ignore during the day, but at night they’re positively maddening. She rubs her stomach, hands gliding over the tightening flesh, closing her eyes and imagining they were Steve’s hands.

Tears come to her eyes.

Would he have been happy? Excited? Scared? She’s imagined each emotion a million times over. She’s never really been able to decide.

Some days she barely knows how she feels about it.

The flutters get more insistent, no real kicks or punches yet, just little backflips. She imagines a little boy, lithe and graceful as his father, or a little girl, smooth like a ballerina.

She smiles.

“Bide your time, little one,” she whispers, and the movement calms down. “You’ll be out here with all of us soon and there will be little time for rest.”

~*~ Week 23

Her days are the same now: mornings to herself to prepare for the day, afternoon tea with Ana and a rousing walk along the grounds with Mr. Jarvis. There’s the occasional doctor appointment or meeting with the midwife thrown in, but dinner is steadily at 7 and she indulges in warm baths and a book before bed.

Lying in bed is when her day turns.

She’s never really quite sure what’s going to happen after she turns the lights out.

Some nights she talks to her baby, having decided on calling him or her simply “My Little One” for the time being. If her child’s restless she knows her voice will calm it: stories, lullabies, or just rambling about her day.

Some nights all she can do is cry. Usually, it’s gentle streams of tears falling from her lashes quietly as her mind drifts to the man who will never know his child, who she imagines never understood how much she loved him, who had plans for a life after the war with her…

Sometimes she sobs; big, heaving sobs that seem to come up from the depths of her soul. This happens often after the nightmares. She has the nightmares less and less, but they’re no less dark, no less graphic for the time that’s passed. She wakes up, gasping, feeling like she’s drowning herself, and lets the tears come.

Some nights she sleeps, deep and dreamless. Those are the good nights, when she can rest and rejuvenate, when she can wake up the next day feeling like she just might be ready for whatever will come next. They’re few and far between.

Most night she simply misses him. She’s started talking to the darkness, telling Steve, who she desperately needs to believe is watching over her and their child, of all she’d done that day, even though she like to think he’s seen. Sometimes she balls up the quilt, imagining the weight of the fabric is his body behind her, wrapped around her, holding her close and keeping her warm, running his hand over the swell in her belly and whispering in her ear as he kisses her neck.

She whispers into the night, wondering what she should name their Little One.

She doesn’t get an answer back.

~*~ Week 25

Peggy’s indigestion keeps her from enjoying dinner more nights than not, and it has both the Jarvises and Howard worried.

Peggy reminds Howard that he should be less worried about her indigestion and more worried that if he asks her to marry him one more time she will literally punch him. He opens his mouth to make the proposal, but stops when she simply raises her eyebrows at him, the challenge clear.

The midwife tells them all it’s perfectly normal, and stays with Peggy to talk about where she wants to give birth.

Peggy and Howard both agree the main house will be the safest, and neither is willing to risk a hospital.

By the end of the week, Howard has one of the downstairs wings converted to a hospital wing: a birthing room and a fully equipped surgery ready and waiting.

~*~ Week 27

“Howard says he’s officially put me on the payroll as a security consultant.” Peggy sighs into the darkness. “I asked him what that means and he said it just means I don’t need to worry about anything ever again.”

She rubs her belly, looking up to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth, I almost punched him again. He still has a bit of a bruise from the last time he proposed.” She chuckles. “But he did promise that when I was ready, he thought Stark Industries could use someone like me, and that my pay was merely a retainer fee.”

She turns on her side, pulling the quilt up around her shoulders. “Nearly two-thirds the way there, my love.” She squeezes her eyes shut, pretending his arms are wound around her. “Ana wanted to throw me a baby shower, but I couldn’t think of anyone to invite. We’re going to go shopping for the bassinet and such tomorrow, instead. She and Mr. Jarvis have already bought me more than enough bottles and diapers to last well until the Little One is walking.”

Her voice cracks, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe you won’t be here for this.”

~*~ Week 30

She doesn’t fit into her bras anymore, and Ana has never been more of a godsend. The woman brings her a bag full of options from the department store and sits with her, chatting calmly as she sews little cotton pads to go in them while Peggy sniffles, unprepared for the leaking and the soreness that’s accompanied this new stage in her pregnancy.

Even when feeling her lowest, with washcloths stuffed in her slip and her face red after bidding Ana a soft farewell, the back of her mind tells her that Steve would have gathered her in his arms and held her close, telling her she was beautiful and amazing and carrying a new life.

She wraps her arms around herself, weeping, and sinks to the floor, crying for all she’s lost and the things her child will never know.

~*~ Week 32

Her mother still refuses to speak with her, and she’s resorted to letters.

She hasn’t said who the baby’s father is, or that there is a good chance her grandchild will be the genetic carrier of an abundance of useful information that could cure disease or lead to another generation of super soldiers.

She mails what she tells herself is the last letter, the contents telling her mother that, should she care to know, Peggy has found a wonderful group of friends that will make sure her and her baby are protected and cared for no matter what happens.

Peggy sits, staring out the window of her guest house, rubbing her belly and thinks it’s a shame that the baby won’t have a grandmother to bake it cookies.

She laughs when she realizes Mr. Jarvis can fill that role very well, and that his cookies are far better than anything her mother managed to cook from scratch.

~*~ Week 35

She wakes up the whole household at three in the morning, convinced she’s having the baby too early.

Jarvis resorts to making tea and a full English Breakfast despite the time.

Ana holds her hand tightly, sitting by her bedside in the birthing room in the mansion as they wait for the midwife.

Howard paces a rut in the floor outside her room, smoking like a chimney and muttering to himself.

“Braxton Hicks,” the midwife tells her cheerfully despite the ungodly hour. “That baby isn’t quite ready to come out, yet.”

Ana sits with her for hours after the midwife leaves, never letting go of her hand.

~*~ Week 37

She sits with a list of names. She tries to imagine his reaction to each of them, but can’t.

Howard has become insistent that she put him down as the father, he notes that it won’t spoil his reputation any and that him as the legal father will afford the baby a comfortable life and there will be far fewer questions.

She thanks him, then threatens to punch him.

She’s already decided that the father’s name on the birth certificate will stay blank. Better no father than the wrong man, she thinks.

The baby will have her last name.

The rest, she hopes, will come in the next three weeks.

~*~ Week 38

She paces the halls of the big house through the night. Howard and Jarvis, much to her and Ana’s amusement and chagrin, have become insistent on her staying in the mansion. They want her close as the big day nears.

She tries to picture what Steve would be like, tries to guess which pieces of her friends he’d put together: Jarvis’ anxiety and preparation, Howard’s determination and excitement…

Steve was always a very tactile person, and she misses every hug and touch she knows he’d have given her. She can feel them burning on her skin in their absence.

The Little One is active and low, ready to come any day now.

What was once fear and confusion is starting to transform in her belly into excitement.

~*~ Week 39

“Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy calls from the hallway just after dinner on a quiet Tuesday, “I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

He moves out of the kitchen, his usual placations ready to spill from his lips until he sees the sight of her: puddle below her, legs dripping, one hand gripping her belly and one holding the sideboard to keep her standing.

Peggy thinks, as she watches Jarvis and Howard turn into tornados of commotion around her, that perhaps Steve would have been the calm one. He always did manage to have his head about him in a battle. Jarvis is slipping in her mess as he tries to get her over it without incident, Howard is on the phone, yelling incoherent sentences at the midwife.

Ana, thankfully, takes her hand and helps her leave them behind, guiding her back to the birthing room that had become her bedroom for the last few days.

Yes, she imagines, as Ana helps her into a dry nightgown and pull her hair back, he would be calm and certain, slow and deliberate, making sure she had everything she needed. Ana’s helping her into the bed as the midwife arrives, and like before the woman stays by her side, talking softly as the midwife examines her and declares that they’ll have a baby sooner rather than later.

Peggy thinks it might be the pain, but as she’s enduring the worst of the contractions, she swears she can hear his voice in her ear, telling her to keep going, that she’s strong, that she doesn’t need him, or anyone, to do this.

When they sit her up to push, she imagines it is Steve’s strong form behind her, not pillows and a bedframe holding her up as she yells with each effort, the midwife between her legs and Ana at her side.

When the baby slips from her body she imagines he catches her as she falls back, limp, his strong arms holding her up, his lips at her ear, his cheek next to hers.

But when the midwife hands her the baby, swaddled tight and eyes opening gently, any ghost of Steve is gone. Her heart pounding in her chest, she hears the words over and over in the back of her mind, and she’s wondering if it is him, if he was with her. If he’s left her this gift and this knowledge.

You can do this.

“A little boy,” the midwife says as she hands Peggy her son. He squeals a bit, lets out a soft cry, then settles, opening his eyes.

Peggy smiles at him, eyes filled with tears. She presses the blanket back from his chin, taking in the radiant blue of his eyes, the tiny eyelashes that surround them, the strong set of his still barely there jaw.

She knows, one day, there will be no question about his parentage.

She presses a soft kiss to his head, cradling him close as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a cry, her heart more full of love than she could have ever imagined. She can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying as she speaks. “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.”

She gazes at her son as the midwife finishes her work, feeling but not registering the passing of the afterbirth and the older woman’s gentle washing of her legs and thighs. Ana gently cleans the child as she holds him, unable to look away. Finally, the midwife sits by her side, papers in her hands. “I’ve filled out everything else. All that’s left is his name.”

Peggy gulps, hard, undecided for a moment, but his eyes gaze up at her and she knows. “Michael Steven Carter.” She expects tears when she says it, but they don’t come, and that’s how she knows she’s made the right decision. “For two important men that I wish he could have known.”

The midwife sets a caring hand on her arm as Ana turns away, sniffing. “A beautiful memorial.” The older woman fills out the paper and leaves it at Peggy’s bedside. “I can bathe him for you, if you like?”

“No, I don’t think I can bear to let go just yet,” she whispers, still in awe of the small movements he’s making. Each stretch, each wiggle she can almost feel coinciding to a movement she felt from the outside. To have him in her arms is a blessing she won’t overlook.

“Then perhaps we should try feeding him?”

Peggy nods, smiling up at the woman. “Please.”

~*~ Week 40

She stares at him, asleep in his little bassinet. He’ll be waking soon, she can tell from how swollen and tight she feels that he’s due for another feeding, even if she hadn’t looked at the clock.

When she woke, she could have sworn that she saw Steve standing over the bassinet, his form strong and stoic in the moonlight.

She blinked, and he was gone.

Peggy didn’t have time for fantasies of lost loves any longer. She still wondered at how Steve might react, what he’d say, but she’d been too busy to wonder too much, or miss him too deeply.

Michael was her whole world right now, and keeping him safe was her first, and only, job. Howard said it was for too early to know if he’d exhibit any of the traits his father had been endowed with, but any and all tests they’d run showed that he was a healthy, normal little boy.

She still hadn’t figured out how she’d tell him about his father, or what they’d do if he was stronger and faster than all his peers as he grew, but every time it popped through her mind she reminded herself that was a problem for years down the line.

Tonight, when she held him tight to her breast, she could tell him unedited stories of the bravery of his father, knowing that the boy would never remember her words.

Tonight was all that mattered.

Tonight, and her beautiful boy in her arms.

#Steggybingobash #Steggy Fic #Angst #tissue warning #3P's Fic

28 notes · View notes

mallowstep · 3 years

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nursery things

when do queens move into the nursery?

also it is very important to me that kits call their parents by their names

this lost all formatting when i pasted it but i need to sleep in literally three mintues enjoy

gestation

cats have a gestation period of about 2 months. for the sake of cat ease, we'll say they think of it as a full season, but obviously they don't know if they're pregnant until as little as a moon before they give birth. this is not factually what is occuring, it's what they think, because that means kits become apprentices at nine moons, a holy number.

anyway, cats will show at three weeks to an experienced eye. at four weeks, they'll have a bit of morning sickness. by five weeks, they'll be able to feel the kits development. so that's uh, about 5 weeks before they give birth?

i'm really bad at math i'm sorry.

after that, they're going to grow rapidly and become unfit for patrols fairly quickly. i'm trying to construct a timeline for the fourth apprentice and the poppyfrost drama, but if berrynose knew poppyfrost's kits were coming, he probably had a point.

i mean, she didn't have to move into the nursery, that was overzealous, and she had some time before she couldn't serve as a warrior, but pregnant queens are not exactly mobile.

like mate. she's not going anywhere.

queen madness

i've talked about this a lot and i'm kind of rushing to get this out bc i have a midterm tomorrow so i'm going to bed in 15 minutes regardless of whether or not i post/queue something but i don't want to cheat by uploading allegiances for something i wasn't planning on writing allegiances for (plus those always take me forever) and fuck i'm getting to the point

look. i've talked a lot about this and i don't have anything new to say.

queens. they get overprotective.

frankly, squilf refusing to take young kits back to camp and them hiding under her tail is a fucking trope in my fic.

i don't even know how that's possible, and yet.

fading

so there's this cat equivalent of sids (sudden infant death syndrome) where young (feral) kits just kind of...don't live.

it's also pretty similar to what's called "failure to thrive"

anyway all of these things are interesting go look them up (sad tho be forewarned, also re. failure to thrive lots of very unethical decisions.)

but anyway, i've introduced this concept as fading for several reasons.

one, it explains the vanishing kits problem.

two, it explains why so many kits die despite having socialized medicine with around 95-99% cure rates.

three, it's a good folklore thing. like, queens are scared of this. they're anxious about it. especially in leaf-bare. it adds a good bit of filler drama and all that.

four, more cat biology accuracy.

anyway, this is marked by a kit failing to grow properly. there's nothing wrong with them, they just...never "get on board."

i'm not digging it out now but i have a quote somewhere that's basically "well, she's quiet and calm, but she's growing, so i don't think she's going to die in her sleep."

anyway, this is basically my merciful catchall for kit death. sue me, that's one of my lines.

(but wait, i hear you say, didn't you literally write a fic involving neonaticide and neonaticannabalism? i made that word up i can't spell for shit tho. well, yes, however, those are not character kits, they are plot devices, and you know it. so it doesn't cross the line. i didn't give them personalities for a reason.)

so yeah. okay 10 minutes left and two more sections i can do this.

birthdays (birth days)

heh no one fucking cares.

about, like, the human concept of a birth day.

no, so queens will know they're going to kit soon up to a week beforehand. hazy sources, i'm sorry, provide on request.

again i'm rushin.

right anyway so queens are pretty Aware as you will, and so there's plenty of time to prep the nursery. or other location. that's fairly common in green-leaf, but the clan works real hard to avoid it in the other seasons because it's significantly riskier.

but anyway, a separate kitting nest is provided, and because these are near human levels of intelligence, the cats don't have problems figuring shit out. the other kits are cleared out to the elders den for as many as three nights (kitting can take up to 40 hours), and it's usually the queen's wish to spend a night w her mate. (a) because parents and (b) because safety instincts.

(also as an only vaguely unrelated side, i've recommended "the minor fall, the major life" before and i can't say too much now because i don't have 15 minutes to reread the whole thing i read 1k words a minute and type 100 words a minute how do you think i publish so much but there's some funny? i think it's funny stuff where redtail is all "you know it's kind of concerning how willowpelt keeps having children with no clear father")

and uh, yeah. queens usually track their kits birth to the nearest whole or half moon depending on the clan. there's usually a transitional day ceremony and a mid season ceremony, kits are done when the queens decide they're mature, usually erring over six moons, but on occasion, erring under.

as far as i'm concerned, cinder/bracken/thorn/bright situations never happen. i never remember the four of them are littermates because of that.

moving on i have like 1 minute fuck i forgot i need to brush my teeth

kinship terms

i've already started work on a separate piece for this but.

kits call everyone by their name. they might stumble over it, and those become nicknames, the way young kids do, but please remove every instance of a kit calling "mama" and replace it with either a generic meow or their mother's name.

this is important to me. it just doesn't make sense for the clan to do this, imo, because we see no other terms to refer to people, not even a father term. kits canonically call their fathers by their name (skyclan and the stranger.) anyway i'll talk more about this later i'm out of time.

conclusion

love u bye <3

#q #mine #txt #1st #April #2021 #April 1st 2021 #cloudtail's daughter #jaywing #dovefeather #warriors #warrior cats #warriors worldbuilding #warriors culture #warriors au #essay #long

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

Text

INSIDE a flimsy temporary office on a dusty movie lot here, a young man sits in front of a computer, showing off a three-dimensional rendering of the collapse of the World Trade Center. It was assembled by merging the blueprints for the twin towers — the before-picture, you might say — with a vast collection of measurements, including some taken with infrared laser scans from an airplane 5,000 feet above Lower Manhattan, just days after 9/11.

With a few clicks, Ron Frankel, who has the title pre-visualization supervisor for Oliver Stone's new 9/11 film, begins to illustrate the circuitous path that five Port Authority police officers took into the trade center's subterranean concourse, until the towers above them fell, killing all but two.

As Mr. Frankel speaks, behind his back a burly man has wandered through the door. He is Will Jimeno, one of the two officers who survived. He has been a constant presence on the movie set, scooting from here to there in a golf cart, bantering with the actor playing him and with Mr. Stone, answering questions and offering suggestions — a consultant and court jester. But he has never seen this demonstration before, he says, pulling up a chair.

Mr. Frankel, continuing with his impromptu show-and-tell, says the floor beneath Mr. Jimeno, Sgt. John McLoughlin and their three fellow officers dropped some 60 feet, creating a 90-foot ravine in the underground inferno. The difference between instant death and a chance at life, for each of the men, was a matter of inches.

Mr. Jimeno sits quietly, absorbing what he's just seen and heard. His eyes moisten. "I didn't know this," he says. "I didn't know this. I didn't know there was a drop-off here. This is an explanation I never knew about." He pauses. "We try not to ponder on it, because we're alive. But it answers some questions. That, really, played a big part in us being here." The countless measurements taken and calculations made by scientists and government agencies helped ground zero rescue workers pinpoint dangerous areas in the weeks after the attacks. The data also provided a fuller historical record of how the buildings collapsed and lessons for future architects and engineers.

Only a movie budgeted as mass entertainment, though, could harness all that costly information to reconstruct the point of view of two severely injured and bewildered men, who didn't even know the twin towers had been flattened until rescuers lifted them to the surface many hours later.

Their story, and those of their families, their rescuers and the three men killed alongside them, is the subject of Mr. Stone's "World Trade Center," which Paramount plans to release on Aug. 9.

The quandary that Paramount executives face is a familiar one now, a few months after Universal's "United 93" became the first 9/11 movie to enter wide theatrical release: How do you market a movie like this without offending audiences or violating the film's intentions? Carefully of course, but "there's no playbook," said Gerry Rich, Paramount's worldwide marketing chief. In New York and New Jersey, for example, there will be no billboards or subway signs, which could otherwise hit, quite literally, too close to home. And the studio is running all of its materials by a group of survivors to avoid offending sensibilities.

But Paramount, naturally, wants as wide an audience as possible for this film.

Nicolas Cage, who plays the taciturn Sergeant McLoughlin, says the movie is not meant to entertain. "I see it as storytelling which depicts history," he says. "This is what happened. Look at it. 'Yeah, I remember that.' Generation after generation goes by, they'll have 'United 93,' 'World Trade Center,' to recall that history."

Whether Mr. Stone set out to make a historical drama or a dramatic history isn't entirely clear. Mr. Jimeno and Mr. McLoughlin, who have both since retired from the Port Authority, say the script and the production took very few liberties except for the sake of time compression.

"We're still nervous," Mr. Jimeno said last fall, after shooting had shifted from New York and New Jersey to an old airplane hangar near Marina del Rey. "It's still Hollywood. But Oliver — it's to the point where he drives me crazy, trying to get things right."

There are many people of course who have been driven a little crazy for other reasons by some of Mr. Stone's more controversial films, "JFK," "Natural Born Killers" and "Nixon" chief among them. But in several interviews, sounding variously weary, wounded and either self-deprecating or defensive, Mr. Stone spoke as if his days of deliberate provocation were behind him.

"I stopped," he says simply. "I stopped."

His new film, he says, just might go over as well in Kansas as in Boston, or, for that matter, in Paris or Madrid. "This is not a political film," he insists. "The mantra is 'This is not a political film.' Why can't I stay on message for once in a while? Why do I have to take detours all the time?"

He said he just wants to depict the plain facts of what happened on Sept. 11. "It seems to me that the event was mythologized by both political sides, into something that they used for political gain," he says. "And I think one of the benefits of this movie is that it reminds us of what actually happened that day, in a very realistic sense."

"We show people being killed, and we show people who are not killed, and the fine line that divides them," he continues. "How many men saved those two lives? Hundreds. These guys went into that twisted mass, and it very clearly could've fallen down on them, and struggled all night for hours to get them out."

By contrast Paul Haggis is directing the adaptation of Richard Clarke's book on the causes of 9/11, "Against All Enemies," for the producer John Calley and Columbia Pictures.

Asked if that weren't the kind of film he might once have tried to tackle, Mr. Stone first scoffs: "I couldn't do it. I'd be burned alive." Then he adds: "This is not a political film. That's the mantra they handed me."

Mr. Stone says he particularly owes his producers, Michael Shamberg and Stacy Sher, for taking a chance on him at a time when he had gone cold in Hollywood after a string of commercial and critical disappointments culminating in the epic "Alexander" in 2004. "They believed in me at a time when other people did not, frankly," he says. " 'Alexander' was cold-turkeyed in this town, I think unfairly, but it was, and I took a hit. Nobody's your friend, nobody wants to talk to you."

Mr. Stone came forward asking to direct "World Trade Center" just about a year ago. He decided it would require a different approach from, say, "JFK." "The Kennedy assassination was 40 years ago, and look at the heat there, a tremendous amount of heat," he says. "I was trying to do my best to give an alternative version of what I thought might have happened, but it wasn't understood. It was taken very literally. 'Platoon,' I went back to a Vietnam that I saw quite literally, but it was a twisted time in our history.

"This — this is a fresh wound, and it had to be cauterized in a certain way. This is a very specific story. The details are the details are the details."

The details that led to the movie's making began in April 2004, when Andrea Berloff, a screenwriter, pitched a story about Mr. Jimeno's and Mr. McLoughlin's "transformation in the hole" to Ms. Sher and Mr. Shamberg. Ms. Berloff, who had no produced credits, was candid about two things:

"I didn't want to see the planes hit the buildings. We've seen enough of that footage forever. It's not adding anything new at this point. I also said I don't know how to end the movie, because there are 10 endings to the story. What happened to John and Will in that hospital could be a movie unto itself. Will flatlined twice, and was still there on Halloween. And John was read his last rites twice."

The producer Debra Hill, who had optioned the rights to the two men's stories, was listening in on the line. When Ms. Berloff was done, she recalls, Ms. Hill said, "I don't want to speak out of turn, but I think we should hire you."

Ms. Berloff and Mr. Shamberg headed to New York to meet with the two officers and their families, and to visit both the Port Authority Bus Terminal, where the men had once patrolled, and ground zero. In long sessions with the Jimenos in Clifton, N.J., and with the McLoughlins in Goshen, N.Y., Ms. Berloff says, she quickly learned that both families, despite the nearly three years that had elapsed, remained emotionally raw. "Within 20 minutes of starting to talk they were losing it," she says. "We all just sat and cried together for a week."

Before leaving, Ms. Berloff says, she felt she had imposed on, exhausted and bonded with the two families so much that she warned them that in all likelihood she would not be around for the making of the movie. "I had to say, 'The writer usually gets fired, so I can't guarantee I'll be there at the end,' " she recalls. "But I'd recorded the whole thing, and I said they shouldn't have to go through this with a bunch of writers. They'd have the transcripts to work from."

Ms. Berloff returned to Los Angeles, stared at her walls for a month, she says, and then wrote a script in five weeks, turning it in two days before her October wedding.

Ms. Hill died of cancer the following March. Mr. Shamberg and Ms. Sher moved ahead, circulating the script to Kevin Huvane at Creative Artists Agency, and to his partners Bryan Lourd and Richard Lovett. Mr. Lourd gave it to Mr. Stone, Mr. Lovett to his client Mr. Cage.

The agency also represents Maria Bello, who plays Mr. McLoughlin's wife, Donna, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, who plays Alison Jimeno. Ms. Gyllenhaal, who'd just seen "Crash," suggested Michael Peña, who made a lasting impression in a few scenes as a locksmith with a young daughter. (Mr. Peña did a double-take, he confesses, upon hearing that Mr. Stone was directing a 9/11 movie: "I'm like, let me read it first — just because you're aware of the kind of movies that he does.")

Given the need to shoot exteriors in New York in September, the cast and crew raced to get ready for shooting. The actors aimed for accuracy in different ways. Mr. Cage says he focused on getting Mr. McLoughlin's New York accent right, and spent time in a sense-deprivation tank in Venice, Calif., to get a hint of the fear and claustrophobia one might experience after hours immobile and in pain in the dark. Mr. Peña all but moved in with Mr. Jimeno.

Ms. Gyllenhaal had her own problems to solve. That April she had stepped on a third rail, saying on a red carpet at the Tribeca Film Festival that "America has done reprehensible things and is responsible in some way" for 9/11. She apologized publicly, then met privately with the Jimenos, offering to withdraw if they objected to her involvement. "We started to get into politics a little bit, and Will said, 'I don't care what your politics are,' " she recalls.

With Mr. Jimeno and Mr. McLoughlin vouching for the filmmakers, more rescuers asked to be included, meaning not only that dozens of New York uniformed officers would fly to Los Angeles to re-enact the rescue of the two men, but that there were more sources of information to replace Ms. Berloff's best guesses with vivid memories.

Ms. Bello, who had gone to St. Vincent's Hospital on 9/11 with her mother, a nurse, and waited in vain for the expected deluge of injured to arrive, contributed a scene after learning from Donna McLoughlin of a poignant encounter she had had while waiting for her husband to arrive at Bellevue.

Some of the film's most fictitious-seeming moments are authentic. Mr. Jimeno's account of his ordeal included a Castaneda-like vision in which Jesus appeared with a water bottle in hand. But Mr. McLoughlin recalled no hallucinations, or nightmares, or dreams: only thoughts of his family. "He kept saying I'm sorry — 20 years in the job, never gotten hurt, and here we go and I'm not going to be there for you," Ms. Berloff says. "So we tried to dramatize that."

Nearly everything else in the movie is straight out of Mr. Jimeno's and Mr. McLoughlin's now oft-told story: the Promethean hole in the ground, with fireballs and overheated pistol rounds going off at random; the hundreds of rescuers, with a few standouts, like the dissolute paramedic with a lapsed license who redeems himself as he digs to reach Mr. Jimeno.

And the former marine who leaves his job as a suburban accountant, rushes to church, then dons his pressed battle fatigues, stops at a barbershop for a high-and-tight, heads downtown past barricades saying he's needed and winds up tiptoeing through the perilous heap calling out "United States Marines" until Mr. Jimeno hears him and responds. Mr. Stone says he is adding a note at the end of the film, revealing that the marine, David Karnes, re-enlisted and served two tours of duty in Iraq, because test audiences believed he was a Hollywood invention.

Reality can be just as gushingly sentimental as the sappiest movie, Mr. Stone acknowledges, especially when the storytellers are uniformed officers in New York who lived through 9/11. And particularly when it comes to Mr. Jimeno and Mr. McLoughlin, who have struggled with the awkwardness of being singled out as heroes when so many others died similarly doing their duty, and when so many more rescued them.

"You could argue the guys don't do much, they get pinned, so what," Mr. Stone says. "There will be those type of people. I say there is heroism. Here you see this image of these poor men approaching the tower, with no equipment, just their bodies, and they don't know what the hell they're doing, and they're going up into this inferno, they're like babies. You feel saddened, you feel sorry for them. They don't have a chance."

Mr. Cage says he once mentioned to Mr. Stone that their audience had lived through 9/11: "That it's not like 'Platoon,' where most of us don't know what it's like to be in the jungle."

"He said, 'Well what's your point?' " Mr. Cage says. "And my point is that we all walk into buildings every day, and we were there, and we saw it on TV, so this is going to be very cathartic and a little bit hard for people."

Despite its fireballs, shudders and booms, Mr. Stone's film is also unusually delicate, from the shadowy intimacy of the officers' early-morning awakenings to the solemnity of their ride downtown in a commandeered city bus, to the struggle of their wives to cope with hours of uncertainty and then with false reports of their husbands' safety.

"It's not about the World Trade Center, really. It's about any man or woman faced with the end of their lives, and how they survive," Mr. Stone says. "I did it for a reason. I did it because emotionally it hit me. I loved the simplicity and modesty of this movie.

"I hope the movie does well," he adds, "even if they say 'in spite of Oliver Stone.' "

-David M. Halbfinger, "Oliver Stone's 'World Trade Center' Seeks Truth in the Rubble," The New York Times, July 2 2006 [x]

#oliver stone #world trade center #the new york times #2006 #9/11 attacks

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firesign23 · 4 years

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Hot in Herre

So, I made a joke about how it’s insane how we’ve never had someone use Hot in Herre in a modern AU given Jaime’s... intense sauveness.

And then people egged it on ( @kiraziwrites @agirlnamedkeith and @pretty--thief can all bear some responsibility) and I was just migraine-hungover enough to listen. What was meant to be a silly little thing that involved an homage ot Canadian content laws and Brienne knowing The Thong Song ended up being... worse. So much worse. But god I’m laughing at myself, so...

Just under a thousand words of nonsense below the cut. I’m so sorry.

The worst part of hitting his mid-30s is that Jaime seems to have multiple weddings a month to attend, none of them enjoyable. He’s got some hope for tonight’s, if only because it’s Addam and the suitably terrifying northern woman he’s marrying means that Brienne has made the trek south to attend as well, but the first half of the reception is the elegant but family-friendly affair that Jaime can smell his father’s influence all over. He’d warned his cousin that dangers of holding an event at Casterly Rock, but Addam had been going on about warriors and knights and whatever-the-fuck it was his new wife was so into on that front. (Dacey? Darcy? He’s only met her a handful of times, his attempts at befriending the woman soundly rebuffed with mutters about Lannisters; pointed comments that Addam’s mother had been a Lannister too had done nothing to endear him to her. He was frankly surprised he’d still managed to be best man.)

But then the kids and older generation had retired--aside from Olenna Tyrell, who would probably outlast every other guest--and… well, it was remarkable how quickly Casterly’s Grand Ballroom had morphed into a nightclub circa fifteen years ago. The lights, the music, the frankly horrific grinding that passes as dancing. The really terrible alcohol. All of which is weirdly delightful, except there’s one thing that hasn’t changed in that time and it’s frankly pathetic to admit that he’s been pining after the same woman since his first year of university, especially when their work keeps them on opposite ends of the continent for years at a time.

Even more especially when she’s never shown a damn glimmer of interest in him in all those years.

But he’s been drinking and she’s been beside him all night and they’ve affectionately bickered their way through updates in their lives--she’s still single and he cannot fathom why, especially living in the north when the men seem to have a healthy appreciation for women who could crush them, but he’s just selfish enough that he can’t lament the fact--and, well…

Hot in… so hot in here... so hot in...

“Brienne!” he shouts as he turns to her, his voice a little louder than he intends, but that’s what enthusiasm does to him. “Come dance with me!”

She looks horrified, and so he pulls out the secret trump card he’s held on to for years.

“You danced with Renly.”

Alright, so it wasn’t meant to sound quite so petulant, but it works. Not the way he intends it to work, true, but she crosses her arms and scowls.

“I don’t know the song.”

In the background, Nelly’s broken into lyrics about bodacious asses, and Jaime just cannot believe that anyone, not even proper and quiet Brienne Tarth, could have escaped that particular song. It was everywhere. For years. If they were making a soundtrack of the era and left it off, its target audience would riot.

“Bullshit.”

She shrugs, not blinking as she meets his eyes.

“Tarthian Content Laws,” she says. “Stations had to play at least 40% Tarth content. We had one radio station, which prided itself on doubling the government standards, and an hour long music show once a week on the local channel that was hosted by Gal the Shoe. You’d be shocked how little I know.”

“But it was… You went to KLU!”

“If I wasn’t in class or on the rink, I spent 90% of my free time in the library or the gym.”

Which… fair. Both her grades and her body would attest to that. He does a weird little shimmy-thing that he wouldn’t admit to under any other circumstance, and extends a hand.

“It’s easy. Just follow my lead.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You don’t dance? Or you don’t dance with me?”

She flinches, and however quickly she masks it, he thinks he might have hurt her. Not his intention. He drops his hand, and turns back to watch the dancing. Addam and Dacey/Darcy are dead centre and have clearly replaced the bedding ceremony of old with being two seconds away from fucking on the dance floor. More than he ever wanted to see of his cousin or his terrifying warrior-wife.

“So what music did you have?” he asks, not daring to look at Brienne. It’s fine. He can talk and lick his wounds without being too much of an asshole. Mostly.

“Quarterchange. Mai Lejardin. Selyse Dion.” Jaime grimaces, and Brienne laughs. “There were better options, but they never managed to get quite so popular off the island.”

“So if one of them came on…”

“I’m not dancing, Jaime. Drop it.”

The song is almost over, and with the fearless idiocy that’s defined his life, he leans up so his mouth is at her ear.

“No dancing then,” he concedes. “But it really is hot in here. If you want to...”

Whatever the fuck he’s expecting out of this stunt, it’s not the way she turns on him.

“I don’t do drunken hookups, Lannister.”

She hasn’t called him Lannister since that first year. It had been annoying at the time, but now it’s just another thing that makes him want her.

“Neither do I,” he says, tilting his chin a little in challenge. Misinterpret that, Tarth, he hopes it says. He underestimates her willingness to be obtuse.

“Then why--”

He kisses her silent, suddenly certain it’s the only thing that she will understand. And it’s so much better than he’d imagined, awkward and strong and then she’s taking the lead and his hand is in her hair and--

She pulls away. Cocks her head, as if to listen to the new song that’s just begun. Groans.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says. “I’m pretty sure that’s The Thong Song. Not even content laws could save us from that one.”

#jesus fuck I don't even want to tag this nonsense #but I suspect there will come a day I want to find this again #my fanfic #hot in herre #also I did not edit this #WHICH PHYSICALLY PAINS ME #but if I tried to edit it I'd realise why it was a bad idea #and send it to the folder of shame with the kink fic and the first time fic #ANYWAY please someone take the comedic potential of this and do it justice

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astoldbygingersnaps · 4 years

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On Petco and COVID-19:

I’ve seen a lot of stories and reports about various companies and how they are treating their employees poorly in the wake of COVID-19, but to my surprise I haven’t seen anything about my company, Petco. I suppose it makes sense, given that Petco isn’t as large a company as Target, Starbucks, or Walmart, but I believe people should know what we as partners have been dealing with since the outbreak really picked up steam in the US.

Before I detail exact what my personal struggle with the company has been, I’d like to make one thing clear: I am a hard worker. I have spent five years of my life--half a decade--dedicating myself to this company. I am both a dog trainer and a keyholder, and I take both of those duties very seriously. Nothing means more to me than taking care of pets and their people, and I pride myself on providing the best care and service to our guests as possible. So when I say that this entire situation is forcing me to abandon my job out of disgust for the way I and my fellow workers have been treated, I want you to understand how much that means.

I love the work that I do, but that does not change the fact that I, along with many other Petco partners, have been exploited, dismissed, and outright lied to during this crisis. While I understand that we are living in a dangerous and chaotic time that is difficult to navigate, such a fact makes it all the more necessary to treat people with dignity, compassion, and respect. I do not enjoy putting an organization that I have given so much of my heart and soul to on blast, but the events of the previous month have made it clear that Petco as a company does not care whether or not its employees or even its customers are harmed or killed because of their negligence.

For almost a month our concerns have been ignored, belittled, and redirected, and the little action that has been taken has been incredibly delayed and led to even more confusion. Furthermore, we’ve had little clear guidance on what we, as partners who work in retail stores, should be doing to take care of ourselves and our guests.

It is also worth noting that our CEO, Ron Coughlin, was sending out emails to Petco Pals Rewards members in the beginning of March claiming that stores would be instructed to disinfect and clean regularly, but no such instructions were ever given. We never received any emails or forms of internal communication telling partners on how they should be cleaning, and because of this my own store took time out of our day to develop a cleaning schedule and shared our template throughout the district. Again, this is something we did OURSELVES, NOT something we were explicitly told to do. So, if you don’t care about how retail workers have been treated, at least care that you, as a customer, have been lied to.

From the beginning, there has been a very clear divide in how store partners have been treated compared to corporate/office workers. While corporate/office workers have the luxury of working from home with full benefits and are allowed to perform social distancing to the CDC’s guidelines, we are not so lucky. Again, I understand this, to a point: because of their positions they are able to perform their jobs from home while we are not. But such a decision was consistently framed as “difficult” and “emotional,” which, frankly, is bogus. What’s so hard about giving your employees access to work from their personal computer? And what’s so difficult for them anyway considering they’re not the ones who have to come in contact with the public day after day?

Through the second week in March, numerous communications were spread throughout the company on our internal Workplace service, each one more inadequate and inefficient than the last. The worst was a ten minute long video where our CEO repeatedly stated that “pets are our main priority” and described over and over again how we simply MUST stay open for our customers. It wasn’t until the very end of the video that any mention was given to partners at all. The entire post was incredibly off-putting and made me, as a partner, feel incredibly undervalued.

What made things worse, however, were the comments under the video. Floods of partners shared their concerns and disappointments. Many of them cited having young children or older relatives at home, or were immunocompromised themselves, and worried about the danger that working in a retail environment put themselves and their loved ones in. And what was the company’s response? To tell these people over and over to simply “partner with their district manager if they were worried.” That’s it. No direction, no guidance, no words of comfort. Nothing. One person was even accused of simply not having a desire to work rather than, I dunno, A FEAR OF CONTRACTING AND SPREADING A DEADLY ILLNESS.

The post in question (all names have been blacked out to respect privacy):

It was some of the most vile behavior I have ever witnessed, both from upper management and lower-level employees like myself who were displaying an almost slavish devotion to a company that was so ready and willing to dispose of them. Multiple people stated they were proud to work for our company in this moment, which was utterly baffling to me, as I had never felt more worthless to Petco than I did seeing those messages.

So! Let’s talk about partnering with your local leader! (Spoiler alert: it’s fucking useless)

On March 15th, my direct supervisor and I made a call to our district leader to “discuss our concerns.” What followed was thirty minutes of our life wasted where we were told the exact same thing as we had been told via the Workplace post: no partner would lose their job for taking time off if they displayed symptoms or came into contact with a person who had COVID-19 (the absolute bare minimum, in my opinion), but they would be required to either take a fourteen day unpaid medical leave or use their personal PTO and sick time to cover the cost. Around this time I was both showing symptoms (dry cough, fatigue, shortness of breath) and learned that my fiancee, whom I live with, came into direct contact with someone with the illness via her work. The possibility of contracting COVID-19 was especially worrying for us, as my fiancee has severe asthma and I have scarring on my lungs from chronic bronchitis; were we to get sick, the consequences could be severe. It’s even more concerning given that the state we live in, Massachusetts, has one of the highest rates of infection in the US and hospitals are in danger of becoming overwhelmed. Therefore, I decided to make what I believed was the most responsible and ethical decision, and went on leave.

Fortunately, I am lucky; as a full-time worker who has been with the company for many years, I have accrued enough PTO and sick time to cover the weeks that I would be gone for. But many people who work for this company are not so lucky. Many are part-time workers who are not entitled to benefits, and some are full-timers who may have already burned through their paid time off as it resets on the anniversary of your hire date. So now these workers, like many other workers across the country, are being asked to choose between taking care of themselves and their community or putting food on the table. It is absolutely inhumane, especially given that last time I checked our CEO is worth more than two million dollars--yet the rest of us are forced to worry about paying our rent and feeding our families while we do the dirty work on the front lines.

Since I initially took leave, this has been amended, and employees who have been affected by COVID-19 have been given access to 40 hours of sick time, regardless of their status as full or part-time. But that only covers one week of the mandatory self-isolation period, meaning partners are still at risk of losing money.

Time and time again we have been told how much our overlords value us. We have been thanked, we have been praised, and we have had so many meaningless words and tiny gestures thrown at us. Sure, our store hours have been cut and we’re offering curbside pick-up to reduce foot traffic in certain stores (my store, a smaller Unleashed location, doesn’t qualify for curbside pick-up, because of our size). Sure, changes have been made to the dog training program to freeze classes and puppy playtime for the time being. And sure, there has been a partner assistance fund opened to support partners in these ~trying times. I applaud the company for making these necessary changes and for putting their money where their mouth is when it comes to donating directly to us.

But in a lot of ways, it’s too little, too late, and so many of these services remain inaccessible to all partners. Hell, partners have even been policed about when they can actually utilize their own personal sick time even though we are in the middle of a global health crisis.

Even for those of us who have done everything exactly as we were supposed to, we are still getting screwed. Currently, I’m battling with Petco HR to get paid for the first week of my self-isolation as, even though I submitted all my time off requests accurately, none of it was reflected in my paycheck; because we get paid by-weekly, I have yet to see whether my second week will be covered, but I suspect I will have to battle for that as well. As a person who lives paycheck to paycheck in one of the most expensive cities in the country, I quite literally can’t afford this right now. But, of course, the HR team is off work right now because of COVID-19, because unlike us they have that luxury.

In addition to this, I’ve also been prevented from coming back to work because our Leaves Coordinator now claims I need a doctor’s note to return to work even though I have it in writing, from paperwork directly from the Leaves Department, that I do not, as evidenced here:

I would also like to note that I confirmed that I would be returning to work on the afternoon of March 27th and received an automatic reply that I would hear from a representative in 24 to 48 hours. I did not, in fact, hear back from a representative until March 30st at 11:59pm EST, ten hours before I was scheduled to return to work, as you can see here (again, I am hiding my personal information as much as possible to try and avoid retaliation from my employer):

While I understand delays given that our HR and Leaves Departments are no doubt bogged down given how many employees are currently in the same boat as me, it does not change the fact that I am suffering because of their lack of action.

It would be one thing if the facts had been clearly communicated from the very beginning, but as you can see that’s very much not the case. Instead, I’ve been jerked around, lied to, and, again, had my pay withheld. Every day I spend at home fighting with these people is another day of pay I lose and cannot get back. Words cannot express how terrible this whole experience has been. I’ve cried nearly every day and been so anxious and depressed I’ve literally vomited from the stress. All the years I’ve spent building my career and taking care of clients while earning money for this company and this is the thanks I get in return. It is quite literally sickening.

Throughout this entire process I and many of the Petco employees in my area have been treated like absolute garbage. The stores in our district are running on fumes because so many partners are sick and/or on leave. Employees are running entire stores on their own and not getting breaks because we’re so short-staffed. One store in our district even closed down because a groomer tested positive for COVID-19 leading to the entire store shutting down and being professionally cleaned... and then re-opened almost immediately, causing even more of a burden on the remaining employees scrambling to cover all these near-empty locations. Our technology is over-loaded and crashing because it can’t bear the weight of our increased Buy Online, Pick Up In Stores (BOPUS) and curbside pick-up orders. It’s absolute insanity and it needs to stop.

I am not the first person to say this, nor will I be the last, but the crisis we are currently experiencing has starkly exposed how broken our economic and social structures truly are. Along with doctors, nurses, and medical care professionals working in hideous conditions to keep the rest of us healthy and safe, the people who contribute the most to our communities are those that have traditionally been looked upon as unskilled and overall less-than: janitors, housekeepers, garbagemen, cashiers, shelf-stockers, etc. Very quickly public perception has turned, and now society as a whole knows what those of us who work these types of jobs have always known: we are essential. We have the power in society. And we should use that power to defend ourselves and each other, which is why I’m writing to you now. By shining a light on the flaws and failings of this company, I believe we can hold them and others like them accountable and demand better, because we absolutely deserve it.

The bottom line is this: if you care about workers’ rights, if you value the safety and lives of your fellow humans, and if want to slow the spread of this disease that has upended everything we hold dear, don’t go to Petco. Don’t reward this company’s bad behavior with your money because they have proven they do not deserve it.

#petco

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thesealfriend · 3 years

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*puts on Serious Game Dev Hat"

This one might get really rambly so it's going under a read more. Main topics are Games, Crunch and University.

(For folk seeing this who are curious but completely divorced from the games world, because even though it's in the news a lot lately it's hardly the universal topic people think it is, Crunch is the term for when creative studios, in this particular case games studios, overwork their employees by "incentivising" them to work longer hours or produce more content for little to no compensation, usually towards the end of a development cycle when deadlines are looming. I put "incentivising" in quotes because a lot of companies say they don't force workers to crunch, it's voluntary and workers are just so passionate! But actually, taking a stand and enforcing boundaries can often come with consequences within the workplace - workers who stand up to crunch might be first for layoffs or receive bad references from employers when trying to move jobs. It's hardly as "voluntary" as they make it seem.)

Anyway, rambling already! Let's begin...

So I studied game design at uni. This is no surprise to those who know me or note my "game dev hat" tag. I don't work in the industry right now for Reasons™ but I plan to one day.

My across my degree, grades were based on about 70% coursework, 30% exams/class tests. Funnily enough, the best way to learn games is to make games. So out of that coursework, I'd say the fair majority was, if not "make a game", then at least "produce a design document"/"prototype a game"/"create a level". There was a decent amount of essay-based coursework, writing about the psychology of games or theory of play etc, as well as reports on projects, but I'd say at least half of my grade came down to some aspect of actually creating games.

And that was a lot. It's understandable for the kind of course it is, but we often found ourselves working on 2-3 games or levels in 12 weeks. Which, when you vaguely run the numbers and compare the expected output to the time, was about doable. We weren't making AAA masterpieces of course, we were working in groups of 2-4 usually to make a vertical slice prototype (all functionality of a game across a small segment of the content) or a level or two to fit a brief. But!

We were expected to put in 40 hours a week for uni, as though it were a full time job. That explicit expectation means I can try and step around trying to calculate hours in the day and subtract for travel, leisure, eating etc. I'm using the numbers we were given. So that's 40hrs total, over 12 weeks, but that's including all the time we spend

Depending on the semester we had about 12-16hrs of teaching time, sometimes plus up to 4 hours unsupervised lab time to work on class exercises, so let's call that 16 hours overall in uni. That leaves 24 hours per week, to work on usually 3 classes at a time. That's 8 hours, per class, per week. Multiply that by 12 and you get 96 hours. 96 hours in which to complete each class, assuming we spend the exact amount of time we're meant to on uni work.

Now that sounds fine, right? That's two whole Global Game Jams* for each class, and that's not including time one would spend at a jam eating, sleeping or resting. People make pretty impressive stuff at jams, so why not be able to do that over the course of 2 jams comfortably?

(*for the uninitiated, GGJ is an annual event where game developers (including designers, programmers, artists and musicians etc) cram into a room for 48hrs straight, get given a surprise theme and make a game out of it. It's entirely for fun and I love them. Also some jam sites give you free pizza.)

Well, the thing is, I've led you all down a bit of a rabbit hole going purely by the numbers. I've not gotten into the nature of some of the work, and the overall system, which makes a difference. See, unis want to teach us good time management, and they want to actually steer us away from crunch. I've been verbally told many times that Crunch Is Bad And We Shouldn't Let It Happen. So they build in systems like interim reports, and enforced team meetings with minutes taken and then rating your team members' performance, appointments with tutors throughout the year for bigger stuff. These are all meant to ensure that you're working on projects at the "right rate" and keeping up with deadlines. And honestly? For some of the less game-specific coursework (psychology projects, essays on theory of design etc) this works fairly well. Universities have been structuring courses the same way for decades, why change it now?

But the thing is, game development is game development whether you're in the "controlled environment" of a university or the Real World™ of the games industry. Quite frankly put, shit happens. And this goes for all university courses, not just games. You get the usual tech issues ("my computer broke and I'm having to do this work at the library/elsewhere on campus", "my internet is down and I can't collaborate with my group" etc etc) as well as the personal life interruptions, both of which are highly tied to class and that's a whole other essay ramble. You also just get that one person who assigns themself task XYZ then never does it, which you could have managed to do yourself if you'd known they weren't going to do anything, but they assured you they would! These are the things we're warned about, told to give extra time to account for, and if it's really bad most unis have some kind of "oh shit something outside my control happened" form you can fill in for extra consideration, as well as individual tutors offering extensions.

But on top of that you also get the games-specific issues.

You get that one animation that, no matter how much skill and effort you put in, you're not happy with. You get that weird code that won't compile, and nobody on StackOverflow can recreate. You get the creative block. My god, the creative block. And then, you get the last minute changes to the brief or structure, or if you're unlucky enough to be working for a real world client, you get *weekly* changes to the brief or structure. You get the fact that the software you've been given doesn't fit what you've been told to do. You get the natural period of downtime because you've worked on your character model, and you're waiting for another group member to finish an animation and there's bugger all you can do in the lull. Most of these are just, things that happen, and we're expected to work around them because they happen in the real world too.

But in the Real World™, whenever "shit happens", that's when a studio, if it's a good one, can work around the issues. They hire the right people, and the right number of people for each role, knowing the kind of work that's expected, rather than just going "ok we have more programmers than artists this year so the teams will reflect that, good luck". They vet the software to ensure it meets the needs of the employees and their tasks. They have producers to keep on top of the brief, and liase with clients to make sure everyone knows what they're going to be doing ahead of time and throughout. And on top of all that, they remove the time pressure. They set goals, that "we'd like to have XYZ done in 6 weeks, and a beta released in the coming months" but they don't expect the workers to perform miracles.

But universities can't, or won't, do that. At the end of it all, the end of the semester is approaching and you've been putting your best work in all term, but there's 2 weeks to go and so much left to do if you want to submit something you're happy to be graded on. You could ask for an extension, but if everyone who was in that situation did so there just wouldn't be deadlines. You could just push ahead at normal pace, and submit what you have and hope for the best, but then you're risking failing the class and having it all be for nothing. And some people will do either of these things + they'll sacrifice a grade and do a resit in order to give themselves more time to finish another concurrent project, or they'll glean a few days' extension for a very specific issue, but for a lot of folk, you do what feels natural when deadlines loom and you're behind. You crunch.

And much like industry, uni society encourages crunch implicitly, even though it explicitly shames it. The tutor tells you, "last year's students managed this project in the same length of time!" but they don't mention how all of them probably crunched too. They blame your time management, not realising that if 75% of the class are having to work around this then the issue probably isn't with individuals' time management. The students talk among themselves about who got the least sleep over the last two weeks of term, and it's a badge of honour (again, not necessarily game dev-specific, but there's definitely an enhanced culture of it there) and who put in 8hr shifts after uni to crush the bugs.

And we're taught about passion. One of my tutors, who is the most Explicitly Anti-Crunch man I know, was also the first one who told me that "If you aren't working on other stuff in your personal time you can't expect to get a job easily". He didn't say it in a positive way, but he knew it was the case and didn't encourage us to fight it. And sure, if game dev is something you enjoy as a hobby that will stand you in good stead. But if every student or young dev is told they have to go "above and beyond" to succeed, then that shifts the bar for what "above and beyond" means. Exactly the same as companies "incentivising" 60 hour weeks, so that everyone works 60 hours to prove they're passionate, and then 80 hours is above and beyond.

And you know the worst part about all this? From a purely productive standpoint, it works. For every class I got a good grade in, I'd crunched. And sure, I'd have probably just about passed most of them if I hadn't, but crunch in my case (and other folk I've spoken to) isn't the difference between an A and a B in games courses, it's the difference between an A and a D. Because sure, I'd submit 80% of the work, but without that final 20% tying it together that 80% of the work might make up 40-50% of the grade requirements. It's a very all-or-nothing discipline, except you can't physically do "all" because if you satisfy all the grade requirements, you get 80-90% because "there's always something more you could add to make it better". Which is also a whole other rant.

Anyway, my point with all of this is that, despite how it seems, studying game design at uni sets prospective employees up for crunch. The magnitude is lower, but the attitude is there. They know that they've done it before, that if they can just pull through a couple of weeks doing double time, they'll get it out the way. And so far, that has worked for them, because deadlines rarely do move. But in industry, they work their two weeks double time only for the worst of the studios to say "actually we see you working hard but also we're not gonna make it, you've got another month". And then they have to pull that time for another month. And maybe again after that. As a student, that kind of extension happened to me once - my 3D coursework was meant to be due before the Christmas break, and with 2 weeks to go, the lecturer announced we had til the start of the exam period (mid-January). But because we had that extra time, he expected the quality to reflect it. We weren't getting extra time so we could do the same amount of work without crunching - we were getting it so we could do more work. Again, the exact same pattern we see in industry right now.

So what's the solution? Honestly, I don't have one. Reviewing workload for students in creative subjects is a sticking plaster, and removing time pressure from coursework would require an overhaul of the system that I can't see coming any time soon. Acknowledgement of the problem is the best we can do for now. If you or someone you know is in or studying for an industry prone to this kind of behaviour, talk about it. Push the idea that the institution is flawed, and that whatever kind of unhealthy habits people pick up while studying don't have to become their life.

Look after each other. Peace out!

#game dev hat #long post under cut #ramblings #mild rant #game dev #crunch #this got away from me once more

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wings-of-indigo · 5 years

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So, Waitress is closing and Why I am Happy about that: An Exceedingly long essay Rant about Broadway

Look. Nobody's gonna read this, most likely, but it's 2 in the morning and my brain's been obsessing over Broadway (more than usual, anyway) since communing with my people at intensive this week. So, in the interest of getting some sleep before 8 hrs of dance and shitty high notes tomorrow, here goes.

I love classic, high-school-and-community standard musicals. I love new and experimental musicals. I love Disney film-to-stage musicals. I love institution musicals like Chorus Line, Cats, and Wicked; I even have a soft spot for Phantom. I am eagerly anticipating West Side Story next Christmas (seriously, I have a calander).

BUT.

As I said to one of my fellow dancers during post-class stretch (after noting his insane flexibilty and making yet another resolution to stretch more) I am Sick to GoDAMnEd DEATH of revivals, franchise adaptions, and restagings taking up the Broadway and greater theater markets.

I get why it's happening; I do. Musical theater, even shows that never make it out of Regional productions (Be More Chill, btw, I'm so proud of you bby :'-D ) are REALLY FREAKING EXPENSIVE, not just to stage, but also to develop. Broadway productions nowadays regularly go upwards of TENS OF MILLIONS OF DOLLARS in costs.

Those costs are more and more frequently being met through funding by large groups of wealthy investors, who can expect basically little to no return on that investment. Only a select few shows that make it to the Great White Way do well enough to turn a profit (let alone the kinds of numbers that Hamilton, DEH, and Wicked continue to make), and more and more shows are closing in defict or once they break even. (Coincidentally, this is probably why we're seeing more and more straight plays on Broadway, especially in limited engagements. They're quicker, cheaper, and still have the same level of prestige.)

It makes sense then to assume that a show linked to an already successful property has a better chance of reaching that break-even mark, or perhaps generating a small return, than a more original idea. It's a surer bet, and we've seen it a lot these past few seasons. Anastasia, Beetlejuice, Pretty Woman, Moulin Rouge, Mean Girls... we get it. We promise. Investors want some security in an extremely and notoriously insecure market before they're willing to lay out the dough.

I get it. Everybody gets it.

And, to be fair, some of those shows are and continue to be GOOD. Tony nominees and award winners, even. But here's the problem: it's boring.

And not because I know how Act 2 ends without getting spoilers on tumblr. Unless they're younger than ten, the population of Broadway-and-musicals fans generally has a good handle on where a show's relevant plotlines are going. It's really not the wanting to know the end that keeps your butt in your overpriced red velvet seat and your eyes on the stage. It's the score, the words, occasionally the choreography, and most importantly the magicians on, off, and backstage bringing those things to life in a new and interesting way.

The antithesis of this, then, is having to watch slavish recreation of iconic scenes, lines, and characters from iconic films, presented Onstage! (TM), now with Bonus Songs! for your reconsumption. (Yes, Pretty Woman, I'm looking at you.)

Hey, I love Pretty Woman the Movie, slightly dodgy messages about feminity aside. I love it as a movie, and I really don't need to watch the knock off version of it, even if it comes in a shiny Broadway package.

Anastasia, and Beetlejuice, on the other hand, work extrodinarily well as musicals because they are NOT carbon copies of the original, somehow miraculously transplanted onto the stage.

Ironically, musicals based on original ideas are actually some of the most successful and well reviewed recent productions. Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, Come From Away, and Hadestown this season are all original works, and well, look at them. (Fishy, huh? Coincidence, I think the fuck not.)

Recently I got to see The Prom on Broadway, the day after I saw Pretty Woman. The contrast between shows and my enjoyment of them was well defined. I couldn't look away from The Prom, despite many of the major story beats being as obvious as our Cheeto-in-Chief's spray tan. I and the entire rest of the theater were completely engaged by what was going on onstage, both comedically and dramatically. At Pretty Woman, I found myself checking the Playbill to see how many songs were left for me to make it through and anxiously comparing the size of my thighs to the dancers onstage to pass the time (ah, pre pro Body Issues, welcome back! We all thought you'd retired!)

Three guesses which show I'd choose to see again.

When I read that Waitress was closing, the first thing I did was panic and start marking pre January weekends where I would both be free and possibly have disposable income (I've never gotten to see the show, and frankly I would like too). My second reaction was, yes, to mourn the closure of a wonderful show, but it was mixed with hopeful anticipation. Waitress had a good long time in the sun, and just like a well lived life, eventually it must and should end. It's better, in my humble student opinion, to live with memories and cast albums (and regional productions) than the stodgy life of a show that's jealously clung to its Broadway berth through the tourist-and-date-night trade (*cough*Phantom*cough*). It's sort of like your 40 something mother taking selfies in booty shorts in an effort to prove she's still 'hip' and in her twenties. Cringe.

Ephemera is the nature of live performance, and probably part of its allure. And just like in the natural world, old things have to end so that new things can become. Waitress closing is a vital part of this cycle.

Broadway has a limited number of theaters. That's a hard and absolute fact. Maybe a quarter of them are effectively taken off the market for new shows by productions apparently cursed with immortality. Waitress has just opened up another spot both physically and creatively for a new project- hopefully something we haven't seen before- and I hope to God, Satan, and Sondheim that it doesn't get filled with another franchise spinoff, celebrity jukebox musical, or -Lin Miranda forbid - yet another revival.

Why the revival hate, though? Aren't revivals an major way to revisit the landmark and important musicals of the past and bring them to a new audience?

Well, yes. They are, especially when they're staged and presented with the emphasis on letting the music and words speak for themselves and giving the actors leeway to work with the material, without the typical levels of Broadway Extra (TM) and creative meddling from the producers. (The recent Lincoln Center staging of A Chorus Line is a good example of the stripped down style I'm talking about.) But even if they have their place, once again, revivals (while valuable and cool and all that) are Something We've Already Seen.

Let's take Newsies for example. A show with a huge fan base (mostly teen, mostly girls) who I frequently see wishing for a revival.

Now, I am a raging Newsies fan. Newsies is the show that got me started on attempting to make a profession out of dance and theater. I can sing both the OBC and Live albums back to front. I may or may not have had embarrassing crushes on certain cast and characters that I will take to my grave (I'll never tell and you'll never know, mwahhaha). So, do I love and worship ever iteration of this show? Yes. Do I wish I had been able to see either the Natl Tour or Broadway productions? Hell yes, with all my heart. Do I wish the Gatelli choreography was in any way accessible for me to learn? More than I want Broadway tickets to cost less than my soul, kidney, and hypothetical but unlikely first born combined.

But do I want a Broadway revival? Hell FUCKING No.

It's over, it's done, and it lives on in reinterpretation in regional and junior productions. Good. That, to be quite honest, is where it should belong.

It doesn't need to be rehashed on the biggest stages, and to be frank, neither do most of the ultra popular revivals that have been happening. (Yes, Ali Stoker is awesome and deserves the world, but Broadway does not need Oklahoma. If you need to see it that bad, go find a high school production somewhere. I recommend the midwest.) Broadway does not need 1776 (even though I am looking forward to it). Broadway does not need a Sweeney Todd revival (even though I want one like I want ice cream after suffering through jazz class in an un-air-conditioned studio on a 90 degree afternoon with no breeze. Seriously, I might be making sacrifices at my altar to this cause in the back of my closet).

Broadway needs musicals that are at least nominally original, and if not, come from something obscure enough (Kinky Boots, Waitress, Newsies) that they can make their own way. Barring that, investors, writers, and directors, please have the courage and decency to take established content in a new direction. Please, I'm begging you. I'd honestly-and-truly much rather sit through something that didn't try to shove the better version of itself down my throat even as it bored and annoyed me to tears. If I'm going to pay $80+ to sit through two hours of something terrible (and less engaging than my dancer body image issues) at least let me get my money's worth in unique horribleness.

#broadway #newsies #hadestown #mean girls #anastasia the musical #musical theater #waitress #hamilton #beetlejuice #tony awards

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toussaintsteachings · 3 years

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Put Down Your Weapons

“The 22nd of July”

https://www.netflix.com/search?q=mass%20shooting&jbv=80210932

“A Killer on Floor 32″

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVfzxLvIxi8

Gun control is a topic of discussion in the United States which many Americans seem conflicted about. People advocating against the use of gun control and gun reform have consistently expressed concerns regarding the second amendment in the constitution, the right to bear arms. Many pro-gun Americans believe this is an invasion of privacy and does not represent a democracy that we pride ourselves in. Along with the infringement of privacy those who are pro gun feel that laws involving gun control will limit the ability for people to protect themselves and even lose hobbies like hunting with the progression of gun reform. Individuals who see the need for gun reform and gun control are adamant that the presence of these guns is in fact a risk to people's safety. They stress how easy and available guns are to the public, bringing people to forget how dangerous such common commodities are to the public eye. Our gun culture as a country stems from our revolutionary roots throughout colonial history. In the second amendment it states, “ A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” Pro gun individuals insist that the second amendment protects the individual's rights to own guns and allows them to protect themselves and their families whenever a threat becomes real. With the relevance of mass shootings in our country especially throughout the past decade, people who are not pro gun believe that having guns around is doing more damage to society than protecting individuals. The easy access along with the new technology that breeds these killing machines are not the same guns that were used to protect ourselves when the Constitution was written. They believe the answer is not to abolish all gun ownership but to look into the laws and writing of the constitution and see if there is a common ground in which we can still have guns, but be safer with them.

My father is a retired marine and correctional officer at the maximum security prison, Sing Sing. My dad is a Republican and is very conservative in his views, but gun control is always something that he has been relatively progressive about when we talk. When I was growing up we never had a gun in our house, specifically for the reason that my dad associated guns with violence and having them in the house increases the likelihood they will be used in a time or place when they are not needed. After he retired he did armed security for a while. This was a job that required him to have a license to carry and own a handgun and was the first time that we had a gun in our household my entire life. In my family we never hunted or use guns as a hobby, so it is tough for me to acknowledge and understand the persistence of people who support guns for this specific reason. This helps me shape the severity of my stance when it comes to gun control and how I feel as if this is a major cause of violence in our country. Being someone who completed their K-12 education, lockdown drills, and active shooter drills was something that we rehearsed a couple of times a year. This was one of my biggest fears growing up, being involved in a school shooting, and how that would cause so much trauma to the individuals involved. Mass shooting alone fuels the fire when it comes to gun control and reform. This is not a matter of guns or no guns, but a middleground to please both parties. I believe that there are ways to allow us as Americans to feel safe and protected that do not involve arming every citizen. In addition, the accessibility level is another major issue when discussing gun control.

My friend from home called me over a week or two ago to hang out. I walked into his house and my friend Chase was standing in his living room with a semiautomatic rifle, with a smile on his face. My immediate reaction was to ask him where and how he got it. He proceeded to tell me how he walked into Dicks sporting goods, traveled back to the hunting section, provided an ID, followed by a quick background check, and walked out with the rifle all in the same hour. This is when I decided that I would write about gun control for my final paper and blog post. I wanted to write about this because in my eyes, guns scare me. I have never shot a real gun, or quite frankly even want to. I have grown up with an officer as my parent, and have heard many stories about how my dad almost lost his life with all of the gun violence he has encountered. The amount of damage that a gun causes, does not correlate with the difficulty of getting and owning a gun. The elimination or ban of guns would not address the problem. We have seen that throughout history when you tell a group of people or an individual that he or she may not do or partake in something, it only increases the likelihood of them disobeying. This was most popularly proved when the prohibition of alcohol was instated. People found every way in their power to not only consume, but illegally sell alcohol, regardless of the prohibition. This is not a way to cure the gun problem we have in our country, eliminating all guns will not work, and is not even a possible idea. People who are pushing for this need to realize that compromise will be the only way that we can properly address it and take into account society as a whole's belief, not just one side or the other. The need for reform is simply based on the amount of time that has passed. In the constitution guns were used for hunting and were oftentimes not even efficient or trustworthy enough to complete their original task. Now, technology has advanced these guns into killing machines that need active reform. The question is will these gun laws actually be effective.

An article I read from the National Center for health research, explained how guns are a part of U.S. culture. However, public opinion polls show that “85% of gun owners and non-gun owners support gun control laws like background checks.” Regardless of your take regarding gun control, the everyday citizen will agree a background check to own a gun is more than necessary. What was shocking that the article brought forward was that, 40% of gun sales do not go through a background check because they take place online, at gun shows, or through classified ads.(Manier, 2018) This was a shockingly high statistic, and even more reasoning for more efforts than a background check. Background checks are originally required by law under the “Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act of 1993.” The bill allows states to decide whether local law-enforcement or the FBI will do a background check for the individual attempting to purchase a firearm. The article stated how the “Brady Bill stopped 2.1 million gun purchases between 1994 and 2014—an average of 343 purchases per day. The law blocked 1 million felons, 291,000 domestic abusers, and 118,000 fugitives from purchasing a firearm.” The bill was extremely effective and the checks done at the local level were said to lower gun related suicides close to 25% and lower gun related murders to roughly 20%.(Manier, 2018) Although we see the effectiveness when conducting background checks and how it affects gun related crime and violence, there are still holes in the system that peak through. The bill has had times where it has failed to report felons to the federal databases. The story regarding Devin Kelley in 2017, explained how he entered a church in Texas and killed 26 people. “The Air Force failed to report Kelley, and other service members charged with serious convictions, to the federal gun background check database. If Kelley had been reported, he would have been stopped from buying a gun because of his previous domestic violence conviction.” I thought this was interesting that many of these stories include retired or ex military, and are often a demographic that slips through the cracks when discussing responsibility of gun violence. It was reported that the Army fails to report roughly 40% convictions, followed by the Navy, with a striking 36% of convictions not reported (Manier, 2018). I also believe there is a hole in background checks when it comes to mental health. A lot of the time individuals can go decades before being diagnosed with a mental health disorder that would not show up in a background check if they are not diagnosed and have had any convictions involving this illness. Someone who is bipolar, living with their parents but has not been diagnosed may just come off as an adolescent struggling with anger problems or behavioral issues, but when a background check is done this will not come up on paper even though this is a clear characteristic of someone who our society deems not fit to own or purchase a firearm. The data and statistics have proven that we need more than a background check for an individual to own a gun, period. It has proven to be a step in the right direction, but there are too many holes, and non reported conventions for this to be the only limit of gun control in a country with the highest prevalence of guns.

More effective laws and control appear as the article continues, starting with Missouri's “Permit to Purchase” this law requires people to get a permit from local law-enforcement before purchasing a gun. Oddly enough Missouri repealed its permit to purchase Law in 2007, resulting in roughly a 60% increase in the firearm homicide rate per year following the repeal (Manier, 2018). Connecticut had a similar permit to purchase law instituted in 1995. This installment of the permit to purchase resulted in close to a “40% drop in firearm homicides. There was no drop in non-firearm homicides, indicating that it was likely the permit-to-purchase law that prevented gun deaths.” Requiring a permit before purchasing a gun could help a substantial amount in efforts to reduce gun-related homicides. It is an additional safety net to ensure the buyer is an appropriate holder of a firearm. Another issue in gun control is the accessibility of automatic and semi automatic assault rifles. In 1934 the transfer of machine guns was taxed under the national firearms act in effort to discourage their use. Semi automatic weapons, which are categorized as burst guns, are illegal in most states but banned in California Connecticut Washington DC Massachusetts Maryland New Jersey and New York (Manier, 2018). What I thought was really interesting that the article touched on after stating that semi automatic weapons are legal in most states was the ability to turn a semi automatic rifle into an automatic rifle. It went into further detail of explaining accessories like a bump stock that was added to the exterior of the gun to make the gun shoot faster similar to an automatic rifle. The Las Vegas shooting in 2007 was an example of someone who purchased the accessories, like a bump stock, to modify the semi automatic rifles so they would fire like a machine gun. The technology of present day people allows there to be loopholes in many of the gun laws and reform.

I did a lot of research regarding other countries' gun laws, and how they change and additional reform has led to a decrease in gun violence. I watched a video produced by global news regarding where one of their examples included the “Australian Port massacre”. I also researched an article, titled “Are Gun Control Laws Effective in Reducing Gun Violence” where they touch on this example as well. A gunman armed with semi automatic weapons killed 35 people, while wounding 23 others. The country responded with fast reform and some of the most comprehensive firearm laws in the world. They started by buying back around 700,000 firearms (Semple, 2019). In addition, they banned civilian ownership of semi automatic rifles and shotguns. They also implemented background checks when purchasing a firearm. Unlike the United States, Australian did not see “self defense”as a valid excuse for owning a weapon and one must have a more reasonable need for ownership. Although the right to bear arms is not in the constitution like what we have in the United States with the second amendment. When the laws passed, the firearm homicide rate dropped by more than 40% in the 7 years following. Also, “within 20 years from 1996, the odds of being murdered by a gun decreased 72% from 0.54 per 100,000 to 0.15 per 100,00 people”. They closed this section of the article with somewhat of a “jab” at the United States says “ many supporters of gun control believe the United States could follow Australia's successful and effective gun control rules and regulations.” In the video, South Africa has a similar reform of gun laws that took place in 2000. South Africa banned powerful weapons and implemented a background check system. They also required gun owners to have permits and licenses. A study found that gun deaths in five major South African cities decreased by nearly 14% per year for the next five years (Semple, 2019). Similar to the reform that took place in South Africa, Austria had a similar gun law implemented in 1997, that included background checks, limited access to powerful weapons, and a change in how people who owned guns wore store and carry them. It has been statistically proven that those cross countries with harsher gun laws and more restrictions have had less gun related deaths and are responsible for a much smaller percentage of gun violence, like mass shootings.

In the article, “Are Gun Control Laws Effective In Reducing Gun Violence”, the author explains how other cultures deal with guns and gun violence. Honduras has shown to have a different outlook on gun culture, but not by choice. A statistic provided stated that “Astonishing 80% of deaths in Honduras or a result of gun violence. Honduras is an underdeveloped Third World country and is a victim of gun trafficking.” Due to its location it is home to see routes in airdropped zones for gun trafficking. Corruption mixed with drug cartels is the perfect recipe for gun violence. Israeli gun culture is much different from the United States due to the fact that it requires military service from its citizens. When they are 18, they take a gun safety course along with other military training. Israel does not allow citizens to have guns unless they have a reasonable need to carry a firearm or are in a military practice (Paulsen, n.d.). That being said if you are employed in a security job or someone who cares about objects of high value, this deems fit as well. Due to the location of Israel and the neighboring countries like Iraq and Syria, citizens take personal protection very seriously. Many people believe that due to the high gun usage and access in Israel it would produce the same number of gun related deaths as the United States but this is not the case. This is because of the common practice of gun safety in the familiarity with guns on a day-to-day basis for reasons like personal safety. Finally, Japan was introduced to the discussion, which is practically a “gun free zone.” Japan practices an extremely strict set of laws and requirements when purchasing a gun. People who want to own a gun in Japan must complete a plethora of steps. These include Taking an all day safety course in passing your written exam followed by the requirement to shoot 95% on their marksman test. After this a rigorous background check which includes criminal records, drug use, both illegal and prescription based and mental health screenings (Paulsen, n.d.). The buyer is even checked at an employment level and colleagues are checked for links to extremist groups. In addition, yearly inspections are required and license expiration every three years are just some of the many rules Japan has in place for gun laws. Due to the vast rules and requirements, the ownership of guns and gun related death are extremely low. The author states how “In 2014, only 6 deaths by gunfire occurred in Japan, compared to the 33,599 deaths in the United States.” The stigma around guns has held true and allowed Japan to have success containing gun violence. I really enjoyed this article and how it was outlined. The main theme used the other countries, and their gun laws with the results, constantly comparing them to the US. This helped exploit and highlight the fact that we need reform and how that will lead to a progression when dealing with gun violence.

People who are anti-gun control often use the defense of protection. To them having a gun is the ideal way of protecting their families but statistics have shown that this is just simply not true, or a valid excuse to disregard gun reform. An article from ProCon.org states that, “The United States has 120.5 guns per 100 people, or about 393,347,000 guns, which is the highest total and per capita number in the world. 22% of Americans own one or more guns (35% of men and 12% of women).” The second highest country, Yemen, was at 52.8. We are also the highest in mass shootings. Mass shootings are one of the main indicators our country should note in regards to the gun control discussion. I found an article by SabRang, which showed a graph of mass shootings from the years 1983, to 2003. 119 shootings occurred, 78 of them in our own country, with the seconds closest being Germany with 7. We account for close to 65 percent of those shootings (Lemieux, 2018). People who believe this ideology that more guns equals a higher protection rate are not reading into gun related crime and deaths. If you read that graph, it helps you visualize the severe difference in ownership of guns in the United States, but this directly correlates with the amount of mass shootings taking place. This is a major area of concern when dealing with gun reform. This is especially important, because we see the amount of damage that these guns can cause and how more recently how they have affected schools. Are you supposed to arm everyone or teacher in a school setting? Will this result in a dramatic drop in school shootings and actually serve as a preventative measure? No! The most simple analogy, two wrongs don't make a right, can be applied here. More guns are not the solution when it comes to gun control. That is at the very bottom of the priority list, compared to making it harder to access these killing machines, and taking a look at which guns we should even have access to as everyday citizens. The only way to take a hard look at our issues with gun control, is to take into account how other countries who have had success with this dilemma, and try to model our society and begin to practice their restrictions. The common theme of countries like Japan, and Austria, include severely reducing the amount of guns available for the public, rather the implementation of more guns as a defense mechanism.

“Guns don't kill people. People kill People'', is something you commonly hear when discussing the argument of gun control with someone who is against reform. An article by the Rolling Stone titled, “4 Pro-Gun Arguments We’re Sick of Hearing”, by Amanda Marcotte, states that this is a logical resonse when dealing with one death, but to rack up a death count of 10-20 people, you need a weaopn, a gun. Appointing and reflecting the blame is a lackluster way of going about such a serious dilemma. It highly suggested that if you do have any sympathy or feeling toward the recent trend guns have attached to themselves, then you should have no issue in implementing laws that make it harder for individuals to obtain. A little further down in the article it touches on a similar blame tactic pro gun individuals use when defending guns, which is mental health. I thought that the author did a great job of highlighting the neglect of mental health from the republican party, until something like a mass shooting comes alone. Statistics show that 1 out of every five Americans are diagnosed and deal with a mental health disorder (Marcotte, 2018). Due to the abundance of shooting incidents, we have a lot of information on these individuals. “Data shows it is hard to predict when someone suffering from mental health is going to go off, and only 23 percent of shooters have a diagnosis. Even if all of those individuals got gold-star treatment, the system would only stop a few shooters.” (Marcotte, 2018) Although I felt that these were the major takeaways from this article, the author did have additional information exposing limitations of the argument that guns are the only way to protect us from gun violence. No mass shooting in the past 30 years has been stopped by armed civilians. Only in 1982 did an armed civilian successfully kill a shooter, but it was only after he committed his crime (Marcotte, 2018). The idea is that shooting back during the chaos of a mass shooting or a school shooting is unrealistic and oftentimes makes matters worse. We saw this with the example given in the article when in 2011 Gabby Gifford nearly shot the wrong man when attempting to take out the active shooter.

To come back to the original question will gun laws be effective, I think there is a clear-cut answer. Yes! Throughout the extensive research there has been an abundance of articles, and videos that thoroughly support the enforcement of stricter gun laws in the United States. Just like any other topic of discussion the best way to bring awareness to a dilemma is through comparison. I saw by researching other countries and getting familiar with their gun laws that there was a common trend that led to successful gun control; low amount and accessibility of guns in the first place! This is not an object or a commodity that should be taken lightly, since we have seen its potential and how it is only growing through the revamping of technology and the progression of time. It is fair in every Controversial topic to take both sides into account, and try to come to a middle ground rather than in this case abolishing the right to own or purchase a firearm.

References:

History of Gun Control - ProCon.org. (2020, November 03). Retrieved November 13, 2020, from https://gun-control.procon.org/history-of-gun-control/

Lemieux, F. (2018). “5 things to know about mass shootings in America”. Retrieved November 13, 2020, from https://www.sabrangindia.in/article/5-things-know-about-mass-shootings-america

Manier, L. (2018, April 12). “Does Gun Control Really Work?” Retrieved November 17, 2020, from https://www.center4research.org/does-gun-control-really-work/

Marcotte, A. (2018, June 25). 4 Pro-Gun Arguments We're Sick of Hearing. Retrieved November 23, 2020, from https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/4-pro-gun-arguments-were-sick-of-hearing-194212/

Paulsen, M. (n.d.). Are Gun Control Laws Effective in Reducing Gun Violence. Retrieved November 13, 2020, from https://www.arcgis.com/apps/Cascade/index.html?appid=4a1b03cf5575487190772768259d653d

Semple, Jeff, director. Gun Control: Do Firearms Laws Actually Work. Gun Control: Do Firearm Laws Actually Work?, 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODwRtjN13No.

#shootersshoot #whyyousoobsessedwithguns

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