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lorei-writes · 3 years

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Abuse in Fiction

I think I spoke of a related issue once already, but well, I do not mind repeating myself. In a way, I even enjoy it, I suppose. It’s mildly personal this time too, hm.

So, as some of you may know, I am of a strong belief that fiction should not be hopeless and that it is easy to write a story full of despair - and harder to undo all the harm that’s been done. However, I am also of belief that... My views never matter more than that of another person, and that we are all entitled to our own stances, morals and opinions, for at least as long as we do not enforce those on others. (For the record here, I do not consider hatred an opinion or standard of any type; another distinction that needs to be made: facts are not opinions).

As such, the following will be my opinions, and nothing more. Whether you agree with them or disagree - this is yours, not mine. I do not aim to convince anybody to see the world the way I do.

Well, where do I even start? One step at a time, I suppose.

Bad people do good things. & Good people do bad things.

You need knowledge to realise what is abusive.

Themes of abuse are not inherently harmful.

Gatekeeping requires proof.

What can I do?

A little bit personal something.

Bad people do good things & Good people do bad things

As alluring as it may be, the world cannot be split in neat categories of pure goodness and pure evil. What makes a person good? What makes them bad? Is the good one that who does not harm others? It is generally the definition of goodness I go by, and yet - it is not absolute.

What I’m trying to say is that, to try and split people into good-bad categories based on a single action is... Not really productive. It may be an error. It may be a result of something you are not aware of. And, yes, it may turn out they are indeed not a “good person��, whichever definition you go by - but it also may not.

We are talking about fiction here, however. Not killing, not abusing somebody yourself, but an act of writing about it. If it is tagged appropriately - then who is being hurt? If it is tagged, the person who read it consented to it in the first place. They could have withdrawn. If it is not tagged... Then, it brings me to my second point.

You need knowledge to realise what is abusive.

I would love to see a world in which every single person is educated and capable of recognising different forms of abuse. However, we do not live in such a world. We live in one where access to sex education is still limited in plenty places, where access to mental health services may be restricted, where mental illness is sometimes still a cultural taboo, where humans are being trafficked, abused in all form, dehumanised, enslaved, all to the benefit of rich countries. We do not live in an ideal world, so to require people to act in ideal ways? I consider it ludicrous.

Plenty cultures around the world glamourise abuse - or so it is at least in Europe. What books are best-sellers? 50 Shades of Grey. 365 Days was somewhat big too. If a person cannot get education from a reliable source, if the culture perpetuates the belief that a form of abuse is not in fact abusive, or what is arguably worse, is well-deserved, then how will they know it is in fact hurtful?

You must realise that, even for victims of abuse, it may take decades to learn why they were hurting, to realise that something was in fact wrong. You must realise those people may include themes of abuse in their work thinking that this is how it just is.

Is it perpetuating the harmful norm? It is.

But are they doing it consciously? Or is it the by-product of their culture? And if so, is it their fault?

Is ostracising them and calling them morally wrong doing anything to counter the hurtful norm? Do we need to abandon a topic completely, as some approaches to it may be hurtful? Or do we need to deconstruct it? To realise what beliefs linger behind the words?

Themes of abuse are not inherently harmful.

Abuse victims do not always get their feelings validated. Not only that, they may lack a safe space to share their experiences in any form at all. Fiction provides such an outlet.

Are all depictions of abuse good? Well, of course, no. Romanticising abuse justifies it. It normalises it. We should strive not to ever include such a thing in a work. Many hurtful beliefs can be transferred through fiction - “abuse made them stronger”, “abuse made them kinder”, “once abused will turn into the abuser”, “if you were abused, you do not have a choice but to abuse”, “a parent and child always have some magical bond tying them together”. The list goes on and on. Some people use it as a shock factor, something that does not have any lasting and realistic influence over the characters - and that, in my opinion, is disrespectful.

However, if one were to ban abuse from fiction, they would have to cut out all the scenes calling out abuse for what it is. They would have to cut out hopeful stories, to take away from what may lead somebody to realise they are not treated appropriately. People learn through stories too - and some use fiction to process the issues they faced.

Gatekeeping requires proof.

As you might have noticed, I spoke about how themes of abuse resonate with abuse survivors themselves. Of course, some will not need it. Some will avoid the topic completely.

But, the question is: so perhaps, only abuse survivors should be entitled to writing about abuse?

Well... No. First, it requires proof. Then, it would require some sort of grading system - and that by itself is so dehumanising and humiliating I do not think I have to explain it. Also, the fact that somebody survived abuse does not mean they worked through all the toxicity it brought upon them and that they are capable of not repeating the hurtful messages.

Some people survived abuse and they are not aware of it. Does it make them a bad, hideous person if they include themes of what they considered normal in their work? Or perhaps they do not view it as ordinary, but cannot see a reflection of that in their own situation? Are they morally detestable? Or are they a victim?

What can I do?

Does it mean you should approve all depictions of abuse in fiction? No. Absolutely not, never. It means you should be critical about it, and that stigmatising people does not solve the issue.

Be critical of what you read.

Educate yourself on what is and what is not abusive.

If your friend (or a person you feel comfortable pointing it out to) made something toxic seem romantic/normal - tell them. (It can be a rather emotional discussion, so really, make sure you can handle it).

Do your best not to romanticise abuse in your own work.

If you do choose to write about abuse, make sure to label it clearly.

If it is a NSFW type of content, and the characters are acting out a scenario - show that it is a scenario played out between two consenting adults, and that it can and it will end the moment one of them opts out. If it is not consensual and was not meant to be consensual, show it for what it is - abuse.

Educate yourself, and if possible others, on what is and is not appropriate.

And, if you interacted with a piece of media that bothered you personally:

Block the author of it. Do not interact with the rest of their work.

If it is not labelled appropriately, do tell your friends of it. Warn them.

If you enjoy other works by the author and still want to follow them - ask them to label abuse. They may do it, they may not do it. Decide whether you still want to follow them afterwards.

A little bit personal something.

Content Warnings: discussion of abuse, domestic abuse, suicide mentions, self-harm, rape

Well, I never hid the fact that I lived through domestic abuse. There are authors in our fandom whose works I avoid specifically because of their poor handling of themes of abuse at the hands of a parent.

It took me 15 years to find words to describe my pain. I did not know I was abused for the majority of the time it happened. It was my reality - it was just how the world functioned. Did it spill into my early writing? Yes. But not in the ways you would have expected. My characters were not abusive themselves. They idealised suicide. They would hurt themselves, although not with blades or anything of the like - and at the time, I did not know it was self-harm either. In the plot, they were being abused, and they would come out of it victorious.

I am comfortable saying this. But somebody may not be. They may not know yet.

This post was sparked by a person calling people who write rape “sick in the head” (ugh, stigmatisation of mentally ill people aside, at least this time, okay?). I do not condone romanticising rape. It is disgusting, as any form of abuse. I blocked authors who did not label it and thus exposed me to sensitive content without my consent. I did not go through it and I do not wish for anybody to go through it. However, the post lacked this sort of nuance. It was about the entirety of it, however it was handled.

I do not know why somebody writes it. I do not think I have the right to demand an answer to that. I do not have the right to decide who was hurt “bad enough” (as if something like so existed in the first place) to touch the subject.

I also do not want to stigmatise people who did not get proper education on the matter. How many of them were raped and did not know that lack of consent equals rape? How many of them realised or will realise it after years? How many were failed by their education system, were victims to the times they were born in, to the culture?

Because, remember, to plenty people rape is something that happens in the black alley, at hands of a stranger. Not something done by their partner, when they hope to just get done with the thing and move on - after all, it happened to them. And said partner is not a bad person, so how could he do something bad?

I cannot say whether a person is processing something. I cannot say whether a person consumed so much of modern popular media and lacks knowledge and experience necessary to understand that scenes depicted in it are in fact ABUSE. Sometimes I am near stating that media almost conditions us to accept some forms of abuse as normal.

What I can say is that, well, if you make writing about one type of abuse a taboo, another one may follow.

I do not think this approach answers the problem of why do multiple people, across different fandoms and countries, perceive something abusive as “not that bad”, even bordering appropriate. I do not think that stigmatising the people who write such things is going to change much. It will certainly not target the ones who need education.

And well, it removes the opportunities to critically approach the matter. I know it is hard. But people need to understand why certain narrative choices are harmful and hurtful, not just be presented with “writing about abuse is evil”. We still need spaces to safely discuss abuse.

People need to understand why something is bad, not just label it as bad and be done with it.

#lorei spoke

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neuromedical · 3 years

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Week 6 of 39

Urology and neurosurgery. Bad and worse. But what can I expect from a failed education system like ours? Sorry, I guess I’m extra bitter today :D

At this point, I’m pretty convinced that I can’t sleep for the three weeks coming in order to pass the state exam. The other problem is that when I start studying, the questions really don’t seem bad. They seem... deceivingly easy. So I skip a few. “Nah, I know that.” Do you know what happens to people who do that? Yeah, they die! Okay, maybe not die, but... it’s bad :D Also the fact that one of my classmates has already failed one of her state exams really didn’t instill a lot of confidence in me. And hers was supposed to be the easy one!

It’s all panic and frustration and desperation at this point. This entire year will be. This is the end of week six... 33 weeks of stress to go. I wrote a post about a person who seemed really bad and happens to be a doctor - that post about a homophobic covid antivax surgeon. I deleted it a few hours later, because I was really outraged and pissed when I was writing it and I guess posts like that shouldn’t make it to the blog... I was just really disappointed that someone like that would present their opinions so proudly and without hesitation. In 21st century. It’s an old doctor, but as medicine is a lifelong education, shouldn’t they be a little more educated about the world as well?! Ugh, sorry, still pissed, apparently :D

This week was saved by the new Critical Role campaign (!!!) and I just finished watching ep1. If there are any critters out there, I’m just gonna say that I am in love with every single character, Laudna and FCG have a special place in my heart along with Liam and his forever somber parent-like characters ♥

I hope your week was better than mine. I have a new mug. I love its colour. Oh and I finally got the gingko tree in Forest. Now it’s even more autumnal. Okay, back to studying!

#personal #medblr #y6

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talatomaz · 4 years

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the silent brothers | izzy lightwood x fray!reader

a/n: I may have projected a little but oh well 🤷🏽‍♀️ I’m actually really enjoying this so far and hopefully, I’ll continue with this

warnings: brief mentions of death

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii | pt.iii

reader is clary’s younger half-sister who learns about the shadow world at the same time clary does

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Ugh.”

Simon groaned as he lay down on the bed beside you.

After Izzy had marked a healing rune on you, Clary had expressed her interest in questioning Hodge, an ex-Circle member, but you had declined to join her and Jace.

The both of them were getting increasingly close whilst you and Clary seemed to be growing further and further apart. She supported your decision, not wanting to push you after your father’s murder, but you could tell she was still annoyed.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help find your mother - of course you did - but you had this feeling that whomever this Valentine person was, and why he wanted the Mortal Cup, was much more linked to Clary than it was you. And you learned the hard way to always trust your gut instincts.

So instead, you both agreed that you would let Clary and Jace question Hodge whilst Izzy would watch over you and Simon, or rather, ‘the mundane’ as Alec kept referring him to.

Currently, you and Simon were in one of the spare rooms in the Institute, which was glamoured to look like an abandoned Church but was actually the Shadowhunters New York HQ, and Izzy was making some breakfast which Jace had ominously warned you to stay away from.

“It’s been a hell of a day, Lewis.”

“You’re telling me.”

You sat up, resting on your elbows, “Oh, really? What have you been doing?“

Simon playfully pushed you when you failed to hide a snicker, “Shut up, Fray. This whole Shadowhunter thing has taken a toll on me.”

“You’re a mundane, Simon.”

“Shut up.” He repeated, but there was no harshness behind his tone.

“Hey, I’m just saying. I always knew you were a muggle.”

“Rude.” He said, swiping at your elbow so you fell back down on the pillow, making you both burst out laughing.

You and Simon always got along well.

Though he was Clary’s best friend, he was more like your big brother, even though he was less than a year older than you. The three of you had known each other for almost all of your lives. And despite you moving away, you and Simon still remained close. So, of course, he was there for you and Clary during this particularly bad time.

You lay beside each other as the silence encompassed the room. Though it was quiet, your mind was loud as you played through the day’s events in your head.

When you had woken up, you were in college, relatively care-free. Only bound by the ropes of education and nothing more.

But now, you were fatherless and practically motherless. You had lost your home, all your belongings too because your father had burned them to protect you from being traced, and on top of that, you found out that you were an angel.

It really had been one hell of a day.

“How are you, y/n?”

“I’m exhausted.” You answered. “My mind is spinning and I just want everything to stop.”

“I’m so sorry. About this. About your dad. About everything.”

“It’s okay. I’ll deal with it.“

Simon sat up and looked down at you.

“You need to learn to process it, not just deal with it. You’re allowed to cry and be upset, y/n.”

“Simon-“ You sighed.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t like to cry in front of anyone but you have to let yourself feel everything. You can cry in front of me and Clary. You know that.”

“Simon, just let it go. Please.” You said quietly, you didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll talk to someone if you need to.”

When Simon raised his pinkie finger in the air, you laughed. You hadn’t done this for a while and it was a silly thing you did when you were kids but it was important. You raised your pinkie and locked it with his.

“Yes, I promise.”

Izzy smiled when she peeked through the door and saw you laughing with Simon. She had finished making breakfast a few minutes ago but had been standing outside the door, listening to you and Simon. She hadn’t meant to do it but this was the best way she could learn important information about you. After all, you, Clary and Simon were complete strangers and she needed to protect her family from any danger.

She was about to interrupt when she heard Simon mention her name.

“How do we know we can trust Izzy and the others? We should be going to Luke.”

“I know. And whilst I agree with you about that, I also trust Clary and if she says we can’t trust him, I need to believe in that judgement. At least for now. She’s all I have left.”

“Okay but just because we can’t trust Luke doesn’t mean we can trust these-these supposed angels-these Shadowhunters.”

Simon said exasperated.

“I get what you’re trying to say but they seem like good people and you know I have a sixth sense about these things and I’m never wrong. Besides, Clary and I are Shadowhunters. My dad is-was. I need to learn more about him. This is the only link I have left to him, Simon.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Okay fine, but should we even let Clary be alone with Jace? We might need to protect her from him.”

“And why would Clary need protection from Jace?”

Your’s and Simon’s head turned to face the door where Izzy walked through holding a tray of food. She gently placed it on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and approached Simon.

“He’s the ultimate protector. I mean, hello, have you seen the guy?” She smirked as she got closer to Simon.

He leaned back, flustered in his usual Simon way. He adjusted his glasses and stumbled over his words as he tried to stand up but failed.

“Now, let’s eat.”

She said, grabbing a piece of toast. Simon politely declined whilst you grinned at his awkward composure.

“Y/N, you need to eat. When was the last time you had anything?”

You thought back to the cup of coffee you had had earlier and remembered that was the only thing you had consumed. And honestly, you were hungry. You picked up a piece of the, well, burnt toast and began eating. You managed to finish one slice before losing your appetite again so you washed it down with some water and sat back as Izzy started to ask you both questions about your life.

She wanted to know what life as a mundane was like and a bit about your family history. You revealed more than you usually would have but you weren’t sure why.

Simon looked like he was ready to hand over his life for her which you thought was unnecessary as Izzy looked like she could take care of herself.

But you could understand why.

She was stunning.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Valentine has her.”

Clary said, a mixture of anger and horror on her face.

During her conversation with Hodge, she’d learned that your mother was an ex-Circle member and that both of your early memories had more than likely been taken by a warlock, at your mother’s request.

Clary then had a vision of Dot at a club called “Pandemonium”. But, by the time you had geared up and arrived, she was gone. More than likely having been kidnapped by Valentine’s men.

When you all arrived back at the Institute deciding on what to do next, Jace had interrupted to suggest a dangerous option.

“I’m sorry, who are the Silent Brothers?” You asked, confused at Izzy and Alec’s outrage and downright refusal.

“They’re like superior Shadowhunters.” Jace explained.

“They possess the ability to recover memories.” Izzy continued.

“Yes and that process can kill you, so there’s that.” Alec finished, making you look wildly at Clary.

“Your bedside manner is abysmal.” Simon’s attempt at humour failed to make you laugh as your mind started to spiral with the possibility of losing Clary.

Alec, Izzy and Jace argued amongst themselves about the danger that it posed and that they should report to the Clave instead.

The Clave was essentially like the Shadowhunters’ Government and Justice System. And all Government agencies were sure to be working in their own interests and not the people’s. And you had a feeling that the Clave were no different.

“Unless someone can give me a better option, we’re doing it.” Clary said, making everyone look at you and her.

“Speak for yourself, I’m not doing it.”

“Y/N-“

“No, Clary. If you want to, fine, but I’m not.”

“Don’t you want our Mom back? Your memories?” Clary asked, raising her voice whilst everyone else remained silent.

“Of course, I want Mum back! But I don’t want to know what I’ve forgotten. I don’t need to-“

“Yes, you do. They’re important or else Mom wouldn’t have had a warlock take them from us.” Clary started to scold you before you shouted.

“Clary, for God’s sake, just shut up!”

Everyone stared at you and you started to blush at your outburst but still remained angry at Clary‘s carelessness.

“You’re so goddamn impulsive that you can’t see the danger in this situation. You could die! And then where would I be? My dad was just murdered, Mum’s been kidnapped by some maniac and now you want me to lose my sister too?”

When she remained silent, you saw tears forming in her eyes and, to your horror, you could feel yours doing the same.

“You think with your heart. Which I love about you. But you need to think with your head too. If you want to do it, whatever. But don’t force me to do it too.”

Then you walked away from the group and made your way to one of the only rooms you were familiar with.

“I’ll go after her.” Simon said, holding Clary’s arm in support.

“No, I’ll go. Might be better if it’s not any of you two right now. And I think I know where she’s gone anyways.” Izzy countered.

She didn’t wait for an answer and immediately followed after you.

She found you sitting on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

You looked up as you heard the door open, surprised to see Izzy standing there. Well, it was her room after all.

After you had eaten breakfast earlier, you had learned that the supposed ‘guest’ room you were in was actually Izzy’s room. And, to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t made that assumption yourself as the room was elegant but also simple at the same time which suited her.

“Nice room choice.” She teased lightly, smirking when you blushed again.

“Sorry. This was the only room that I knew. I should have asked first.”

“Well, that would have ruined the roll you were on. You couldn’t exactly say ‘do what you want, Clary. Oh, can I just storm into your room, Izzy?’”

She said it in such a way that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Awh, see? There’s your beautiful smile.” Izzy commented and you felt yourself blush even harder.

You stood up, feeling uneasy that you were sitting down on her bed, and made your way to a pillar that stood in her room and leaned against it.

“I know Clary’s angry with me and I get it, I would be too. But she’s just jumping into things without thinking of the consequences.” You sighed.

“I know why she’s doing it. The moment she stops and has a moment to think, she’ll probably spiral so this is her way of managing that but she can’t just expect me to follow her. There’s just so much happening and I just need a moment to breathe.”

You explained, your head resting against the pillar with your eyes closed, trying to calm yourself.

“Are you expecting me to give you a pep talk or something?” Izzy joked.

“No, not really. Pep talks are overrated.” You shrugged.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself momentarily stunned because Izzy was no longer by the door, but was instead standing a few inches from you, staring at you intently.

“What?” You asked, your voice but a whisper.

“Nothing, you’re just very...intriguing.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Most definitely.” She smiled.

Then she moved closer and lifted her hand to push a few strands of hair behind your ear.

You held your breath as she did this.

It was such a gentle thing for her to do, and you weren’t sure how to feel.

“You were born to do this, y/n. You both were. This is your destiny. You got this.”

You nodded, biting your lip gently and you caught Izzy’s eyes flickering down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. It was only for a brief moment, but you had seen her and she knew you did too.

“Now, if you don’t want to get your memories back, that’s your choice and something you deserve to have because it’s one of the few things you have left. But we should still be there for Clary, in case she needs it.”

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Are you sure?”

Jace asked as everyone looked at you.

After your conversation with Izzy, you had agreed that you would support Clary in her decision to meet the Silent Brothers but you wouldn’t relent on your own. You would be there for her but you weren’t going to recover your own memories.

So you were all currently outside the City of Bones, where Izzy and Alec had agreed to keep watch and look after Simon whilst Jace and Clary would go inside.

“Yes. I’ll stay here.”

Though you hesitated for a moment, you quickly brought your sister in for a hug. Scared of what could happen if things didn’t go well.

“Be safe.”

“I will.” Clary whispered fiercely, holding you tight in her arms. When she pulled away, she smiled gently, “I’m sorry for trying to force you do this.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Go get Mum back.” You reciprocated her smile, gesturing for her to enter.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Woah, what happened?” Alec asked when Clary and Jace came running out of the dungeon, tears running down Clary’s face.

You quickly approached her and held onto her arms.

“What happened, Ry?”

“V-Valentine. H-He”

You looked at Jace in alarm, Clary wasn’t making any sense and you were beginning to worry.

“Valentine’s her father.”

Though you gasped, you weren’t entirely shocked. You had had a feeling that this was more connected to Clary than you.

Alec then began to scold Jace about Clary’s true intentions, making you lash out at him for the first time.

Since you had both arrived, Alec had been the most unwelcoming, and whilst you did understand his wariness, you didn’t appreciate him acting as if the two of you were as malicious as Clary’s father.

“Wait, where’s Simon? Where’s Izzy?” Clary interrupted, just now realising that they weren’t here.

You were about to explain how Simon had forgotten his phone in the van and how Izzy had decided to accompany him when the latter came running towards you all.

“He’s gone. I just left him for a minute because I heard something but when I came back, he was gone.”

You and Clary began to freak out and started to run in the direction she came from, calling for Simon.

“Is that the mundane’s name?”

You all turned around, looking up at the bridge and what you saw had your heart dropping to your stomach. Simon was being held upside down over a bridge, threateningly close to being dropped and falling to the ground.

“The mundane, unharmed, in exchange for the Mortal Cup. Tick-Tock, people.”

The pale man shouted before disappearing with Simon and another woman. Simon’s scream for help lingered as you looked at Clary and saw the same horror on her face that you were sure was on yours.

“Who the fuck was that?” You asked, looking at Izzy.

“Those were vampires.”

Dead Man’s Party ->

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fuck-customers · 4 years

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Honestly fuck our whole store. For the past several months our registers have been crashing Every. Single. Day. and they won't replace them. Then they have to be restarted which takes 10+ minutes. We only have two registers since due to social distancing we can't use the middle one. And because of all the cleaning, we've had to replace our cardreaders like multiple times already. And fuck the whole store because, even though we're essential and haven't lost any business, all of our hours have been cut severely so we have to manage the store with less than enough people to possibly do so. Like three at a time. So when we get six people needing help at the same time, its literally impossible not to piss people off. And before a week ago, we'd been going months with a broken air conditioner, wearing masks, in 80-100 degree weather. So many times I thought I was going to pass out during a shift from the heat.

The other day our register wasn't even processing sales, it just read everything as regular price. I came in and my coworker told me this when I was ringing her out (literally, when we switched off she didn't tell me this. It wasn't until she did some shopping and came up to the register I noticed the items she was buying weren't ringing up BOGO, then she tells me it hasn't done it all day) and so afterwards I try and ask the manager about this, why it's going on. And he had NO IDEA the system was doing that. Literally my coworker spent her whole shift dealing with this, and didn't feel the need to mention it to a manager???? He immediately made some phone calls and they were working to fix it, just like that. Why are my coworkers so incapable. They don't clean the counter after every customer. They don't do top stock correctly. They shove everything they don't want to deal with onto the middle register we can't use, so it's just piled high with junk no one wants to deal with.

And finally fuck the customers. We've been getting 20x more online orders than ever, and did I mention there's only like three of us there at a time? I understand if people want to order online to avoid going in the store, or interacting with the register. But at least half the people who order online, then come inside the store and do more shopping. What was the point of ordering online? Or we get people who ignore the fact we don't pick orders two hours before close, we also don't do curbside two hours before close, and then they bitch at us about it because they didn't read when they were ordering their stuff. (In general, not a single customer that shops here is capable of reading in my experience. Not a single one. The american education system has failed all of its citizens) Online ordering means you get it when we pick it, not at your convenience. If you want it when you want it, come in and get it yourself.

Also we have a marked area for dirty carts and clean carts, that we clean intermittently. But again, they don't know how to read, so people put dirty carts in the clean section, and take carts from the dirty section all the time. Hey, if you wanna get sick because you can't be bothered to read, fine. Be the dumbasses that you are. The worst customers are the ones that leave their entire carts at my register, forcing me to get out from the behind the register and move it so I can check out the next customers. Are cart area is located in the doorway, you have to pass it on your way out . There's no excuse for not pushing your cart three feet away to the door.

And finally. Masks. Our governor fiiiinally required EVERYONE to wear masks, not just retail employees (like, if I have to wear a mask for a five hour shift with no air conditioning, the customers could have the courtesy to wear one for the five-ten minutes they choose to shop in our store). But we're still getting tons of people in not wearing masks. Even though they're now legally obligated to. Someone asked if it was okay if she came in since she left her mask at home, and my manager was like "yeah that's fine". Like UGH no it's not. I mean, it was nice of her to be polite and ask, but I personally don't enjoy having the customers put my life at risk, and the lives of the family I live with. We can't do anything about customers not wearing masks, but we don't have to invite them in.

#fuck customers #cashier problems #fuck co-workers #fuck retail #fuck coworkers #fuck managers #submission

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ramblinganthropologist · 4 years

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N7 Challenge Month - 7 (Free Day)

Summary: Normally, the first yead med school class at Johns Hopkins has a demonstration from a biotic to understand the system. Problem is, he can’t make it. Luckily, they can rely on their quiet an unassuming classmate to help them out of a tight spot. Did I mention that classmate used to be Commander Shepard?

---

-Brain fuckers group chat-

John: Ugh, bad news.

Al: ?

John: Biotic Bob can't make it for the demonstration Monday. Looks like we're having a lecture instead.

Al: Oh? That sucks.

John: Yeah I did not want to listen to Dr. Yamada again. Ugh... too bad all the biotics are military, right?

---

“Please tell me you brought coffee...”

“No, I thought we were having that demonstration.”

The 1st year class of John Hopkins was not in the happiest mood that Monday morning as they sidled into their normal 8 AM lecture. It was the middle of the semester, so that was to be expected. The reality of the next four years had settled in at last; the only thing waiting for them was more classes, labs, and eventual clinicals. To do it without coffee was suicidal.

And now, they didn't even have the biotic demonstration to liven things up.

That was somewhat of a recent addition to the curriculum. After all, biotics were less than 50 year development in human biology. Most of the times, cases presented as children with tumors or the rare adult who had been discharged from the military. Any others were handled by Alliance doctors, so it wasn't like med students got much to study from. Even their school had to face that.

Still, it was a disappointment they had to live with. It wasn't like they could make a biotic appear.

“Hey, anyone seen Al? He never misses class.”

A quick glance around showed none of the class' oldest student. Al as he introduced himself was hard to miss: his bright red hair drew the eye, as did his scars and artificial parts. He had been in the military before this, or at least that was what he had told them when they had asked. From his less than forthcoming replies, it was clear he didn't want to talk about it. Since he was a nice guy, they had left the matter drop.

Besides, trying to picture the long-haired Irishman in uniform was impossible. You got a headache trying to do it.

“Maybe it's his headaches again.”

“Poor guy, he's been getting those a lot lately. He missed our study session last week because of one. Hope it's nothing from...”

The conversation died soon after that. Even though it had been almost half a decade since the Reaper war, people didn't like to bring them up. Too many had lost loved ones or seen the destruction first hand. Hell, it was probably why most of them had gone to med school in the first place. Doctors had been at an all time need during the war, and after there was a dire need for replacing the ones lost. There would always be that reminder there, like a scar that wasn't finished healing. Maybe it never would.

But... that didn't matter. They had a lecture to sit through. Becoming melancholy saps could wait until after their brains had all been fried.

Right on the dot, as 8 AM hit Dr. Yamada entered the room. However, the small woman was smiling as she surveyed the class. There was a glint in her eye that made them worry about a pop quiz, but then they relaxed. She didn't have scantrons.

“Good morning, everyone. You're in luck, we found a replacement for our usual demonstration of the biotic system in action. If you wouldn't mind going outside, our guest is waiting for us.”

The mood improved immediately as students packed up their notebooks and stuffed them back into bags. Within a minute, the lecture room emptied as they followed their teacher out. Outside, it was a beautiful day as the leaves were really starting to change color. Their goal was an empty field not too far from class.

A giant of a woman was standing there ,wearing nothing but a tank top and some pants. Her muscular arms bore the scars of military service, which contrasted greatly with her bright pink hair and glowing red eyes. Most knew her immediately – retired Commander Bo Peep Shepard, humanity's second Spectre. Thanks to her, they were able to have class and, you know, be alive in general. She was standing there, arms crossed over her chest.

“Remember, you owe me lunch for this. There's still Burger Man's on this world last I checked.”

She was speaking to someone on the other side of the field. A general murmur picked up as they realized who was standing there. Honestly, it was a surprise they hadn't noticed them first. Then again, Al usually wore a hoodie when he was in class.

“I know, I won't forget.” Al was wearing just a t-shirt and loose shorts as he stretched. Much to their surprise... the little guy was actually pretty strong looking. He must've been hiding those biceps under his loose hoodies. That wasn't the only thing hiding either - his prosthetics were in full view, gleaming in the light. With his hair pulled back, those behind him saw both his scars and the embedded metal they had studied in textbooks. It was the very picture of the standard Alliance L7 biotic amp – which meant their classmate was packing some serious brain heat. “Thanks for helping out.”

Commander Bo smirked as she shrugged. She too had a biotic amp, though hers was a bit more visible. “What can I say, you sounded so fucking desperate on the phone and I was near Earth anyway. Now, are we doing this or what? I'm hungry.”

Both turned towards Dr. Yamada, who seemed pleased by her ability to get such an entertaining class. Most of the class had fallen silent as they kept trying to figure out on who to focus on first. After all, it wasn't every day they had such a high powered biotic in their midst. They had seen Bo plenty of times on the vids, tearing reaper husks apart as she blasted her way through the battlefield. Al... well, he was always in class with coffee and chipper encouragement that they could get through the hell that was their first year.

Now... he was fucking biotic apparently!

“I would like to introduce our guest today. Commander-”

Bo interjected. “Retired, doc.”

“Yes, forgive me. Retired Commander Bo Peep Shepard agreed to help us out.” She nodded to the redhead on the other side of the field. “You of course all know your classmate. Al arranged this for us when our previous presenter had to drop out, so make sure to thank him later.”

He answered with a somewhat awkward smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. He often did that, but now they knew why – he was touching the spot where his amp had been embedded into his neck. Now most of them realized they had never seen him with his hair up before. Maybe this was why?

“It's a lot easier to understand biotics when you can see it in action.”

Yamada nodded, pleased. “Indeed, it is. I learn something new every time we hold this demonstration. Now, could you explain what you're going to do?”

Al nodded as he approached the class briefly. His posture shifted as he did, falling into a form that reminded most of other vids they had seen in years prior. Bo, after all, was the second human Spectre the Council had appointed in 2183. Another had stood with her, almost dwarfed by her size. The other Commander, the one who had commanded the famous Normandy. The man who had died, come back, and beaten the Reapers in the desperate days of 2186.

Retired Commander Alistair Shepard: a biotic, a medic, and their classmate.

“Well, we're going to go through some of the basic biotic moves.” his voice projected in a way it never had. It sounded like a post puberty version of one they had all heard on his appointment vid. “Bo's focused on on melee offense, whereas my specialty is more in defense. I would advise everyone to step back a bit more. We uh...”

Bo finished for him. “It's been a while since we've gotten to crack each other's skulls.”

Much to the class's surprise, Al laughed. “I don't know if we're going to crack any skulls, but it's been some time since we've gotten to practice with each other. Though, it has been a while since I've used my biotics, so I have a pretty strong charge to work off...”

Biotics had been mentioned in previous lectures when they had gone over the nervous system. Those who had better memory recalled the nodules, how they interacted with the brain's electronic impulses and the implanted amps that augmented their training. The class was supposed to be going over both the perfected system and all the side-effects that failed cases would be presenting with that week if the schedule was right. This demonstration usually served to help them understand how the human system responded to the training and implantation.

And... well, the cases were swelling post war. Eezo exposure had been on the rise ever since the final days of the battle for Earth. A lot of ships and Reapers had fallen after the battle, so it was no surprise they were seeing more biotic children.

So, now they got to watch two adults kick each other all over a field. You know, for educational purposes and all.

“A good idea. “Yamada motioned them back, behind a line someone had drawn in the field in chalk. “You can begin when ready.”

Al and Commander Bo both took their positions on the other side of the field. They breathed, and then a hum of energy filled the area with static that made people's teeth itch. Both of their eyes started to glow as they powered up, bringing up dust with them. Then a glowing blue wall erected around Al as he held out his hands.

“This is called a barrier. It's a basic biotic ability that allows for defense from physical attacks.”

Al was still speaking, projecting his voice as he held out his hands. He was bracing for something that soon became obvious. Bo had charge forward, a red field crackling around her head. There was a loud thud as she collided, head first, with the wall. Energy filled the field as their energies battled against each other, and sparks flew.

“Bo is using a technique she improvised from a krogan battlemaster named Urdnot Wr-”

He had to stop talking. She was applying more pressure, seeking a way to break his barrier. However, he let it down instead and used a smaller field to jump over her massive frame. She whirled around as he landed on the other side, not letting him rest.

“Improvised? This is shit I figured out on Omega!”

Al, despite the onslaught, laughed as he blocked and dodged. “My mistake, Bo's technique is a human reaction to krogan underground wrestlers trying take her title!”

“They still haven't, but they love trying!”

They clashed again, this time with Bo's hands glowing. Al responded with a wave of energy from his hands that he threw out. The textbook called hers Pull, while his most resembled Shockwave. Both sent out crackles of energy in red and blue that sent hair raising. In the center of this storm, the two participants were too focused on beating the shit out of each other to realize that a crowd was beginning to gather. Other students and various passers-by were stopping to watch, and more than a few omni-tools were recording.

This was definitely going on the extranet later. It wasn't every day you saw biotics sparring out of uniform.

“Your attacks feel different, is that because you're on T now?”

“Yeah, they're a lot stronger now. I had to relearn how to use Warp because of it, it kept going wild and I almost took a window out last time I tried.”

Despite their high level of activity, the pair were still able to talk to each other. Granted, it was more like shouting due to their adrenaline levels pumping, but they were definitely having a conversation as they tried to beat the shit out of each other. Maybe that was something they had developed on the Normandy or any of the galaxy saving missions they had been on together.

Or maybe it was just sibling banter. Who knew with biotics.

Al shifted at one point, and then it was Bo on the defensive. Unlike her opponent, she didn't use a full barrier. Instead, she shifted it to smaller fields wherever he tried to attack. After all, she was the offensive master.

“Someone's been working out, your attacks are actually starting to sting a little.” And then she threw out a sudden wave of energy and he was back on defense. “Whoops, you got cocky there didn't you? Why don't you save the preening for the next dirty pics for Scars?”

His answer came with a shimmering wave of energy - the aforementioned Warp. It made Bo back up to get out of range of the damage. Then she had to block a pretty vicious looking kick that came when Al dropped low. That definitely would've bruised her thighs had it landed.

“Get it straight, he's the one sending dirty pics not me.”

Bo whistled as she dodged. There was a conversation between them,built up on history, that most of them were missing. All that mattered was that two incredibly strong biotics were currently trying to beat the shit out of each other and they were getting to see it first hand. This was the kind of thing none of them ever got to see.

And maybe because of that, the comment about dirty pics and Commander Shepard went over their heads a little.

Al's hand was glowing as he lunged forward. To the more experienced, it could have been a warp or shockwave. With how fast he was going it was hard to tell. “So, how's my favorite sister in law to be doing?”

Bo blocked and sent him jumping back when she swung down with her fists glowing as well. Hers looked more like warp. “Still the best admiral the Fleet has. Well, not much of a fleet since they got Rannoch back and all, but you get what I mean.”

“Your house there looks great, by the way. We getting an invite any time soon?” Al laughed as he dodged, ducking lower than where Bo's fist could have reached due to her height. He was enjoying himself – they had never seen him smile like that in class. Even though he was breathing hard and his cheeks were red, there was no way to deny the fact he was having fun.

Weird, that fun for him involved nearly getting the shit beat out of him. Marines were weird, even the retired ones.

“She said something about winter break, so maybe.” Bo swung hard again. “Ugh, I'm getting bored. Let's just finish this shit before it winds up on the extranet. I think you've had enough of a workout to keep your amp happy.”

Al nodded as he flipped back with surprising grace for someone missing half his limbs. “Sounds good to me. Hope you're ready to bring it.”

“Hey, that's my line.” Her head was glowing as she reared back. “Let's see if you can handle what the last three challengers couldn't!

And then they charged, with the space between them suddenly feeling very heavy. The effect was coming from Al – he had launched a singularity just as Bo struck hard with her forehead. The two forces collided in the center, energies bouncing off each other as the explosion began. However, before it could spread, everything was stopped by a wall of shimmering blue force that kept the whole campus from exploding.

Well... that was a way to end it.

When the energy cleared, both of them were laying on the ground, breathing hard. Bo's forehead was bruised, and Al's hands looked a little sore. Despite that, they both looked pretty happy as they sat up, sweating like pigs.

“I needed that.”

“That makes two of us.” Bo got up first, holding out her hand. Al was soon back on his feet, barely coming up to her shoulder. “Your singularity stings like crazy, by the way.”

Al was grinning as the professor walked back over to take back the class. “I've been working on it.”

Just like that, the demonstration was over and they were heading back inside. The crowd was starting to dissipate, their phones full of images of two Spectres going at it. Nobody was going to forget that anytime soon, least of all the class of first year med students.

After all, it wasn't every day they learned their classmate had pretty much saved the galaxy before he was 40. Though, maybe it was more they had forgotten about it... they wouldn't be doing that anytime soon, thank you very much.

---

“I can't believe I missed that!”

“Well, lucky for you the video is everywhere. It's gone viral!”

Tuesday came with a buzz of activity as the first year med school class waited for their lecture to begin. Most of them had their phones or omni-tools out, watching the different angles of the very fight they had witnessed the day before. To say it had gotten popular was... putting it mildly.

Also people were seriously thirsty for both Shepards. Like calm down, they were both taken.

“I don't see Al, do you think he's out sick with a headache or something?”

His seat was empty. Maybe overdoing it with his biotics had caused a migraine or something. They were learning about that in class – something about the amp overheating and causing feedback. It didn't quite make sense yet, but they were still working on the biotic system. In time, they would come to understand it.

Luckily for them, the class didn't have to wait long. A side door opened, and someone slipped through with the trained calm of someone who had done it way too many times. Al sighed in relief as he closed the door behind him with his foot, already heading over to his seat.

“Morning, everyone. Man, it is crazy out there.”

He took his seat like he did every day, coffee in hand and a neon pink bandage over his cheek and nose. There was also a band-aid with cartoon cat paws covering a few fingers, and he had a few bruises to match that. It didn't take a genius to figure out where it had come from, but... it hadn't looked that bad the day before.

Al smiled at their looks as he waved it off with his bandaged hand. “I might have overdid it with the biotics yesterday, but I'm fine. Besides, we should probably be more worried about class. I think we've got a pop quiz coming if the look on Dr. Yamada's face was anything to go by when I passed her earlier.”

The whole room groaned as notes were grabbed for frantically. They could worry about that later – her pop quizzes were hell on earth. Besides, their biotic classmate who had more or less saved their collective asses would still be there, suffering with them through the worst of med school. In a weird way, that was a comfort.

But, seriously. No wonder he was so calm in class – the guy had shot a fucking Reaper in the face and lived to talk about it.

#n7 month #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Bo Peep Shepard #and then they went and got lunch #Well they probably went back to Al's apartment and cleaned up first they were sweaty and gross #Bo got the shower first she's a guest

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tedfashionski · 4 years

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Seeing Red

I was drawing today and reminded somehow of that depressing development where the sister of David & Samantha Cameron has been appointed editor of the Evening Standard. Like, I’m looking past the implied wider corruption problems in ‘real’ journalism here, but one point she said in her announcement interview really bothered me. She said, something to the effect of ‘Oh, thank god I spent 20 years working at Vogue while David was in politics, because I am just so fond of him and I would hate to have to be critical of him. So I was safe at Vogue.’

That, right there, sums up how far fashion media is from even being able to recognise the functional role of journalism. Oh, thankfully, at Vogue we can hide from criticality and awareness of the political dimensions of the world. All the while, the fashion industry is feeding this planet-killing spirit-crushing capitalist consumerism. But, no, why would it be political? Stop making it political. It’s just clothes.

K, I’m going to RANT a little about these digital fashion weeks we’ve just been subjected to. I’ll preface by saying, yeah, I get it, it’s hard to be creative in the thick of a pandemic. My standards have been accordingly lowered 20%. I am very generous.

Chanel and Dior’s lack of energy was no surprise. Although, keeping in mind female designers tend to be more pragmatic as a matter of course, it’s sad the two top women are being so listless. I was pleasantly surprised by Azzaro – it gave a hint of a vibe but was sure of itself. It emphasised that there was no reason for the Chanel & Dior videos & collections to exist, no point of view. The smaller couture players like the Dutch trinity of Ronald van der Kemp, Iris van Herpen, and Viktor & Rolf were a little more canny, you got the impression they were enjoying themselves at the very least.

Regarding men’s, I do think Rick Owens was actually well judged in its boringness – we don’t need product-based experimentation necessarily. I enjoyed the meta-narrative aspect, it seems to me a good time for that kind of subtle, slightly snide interplay of references. Yohji’s design’s really sang, the video could have worked harder, it felt thrown together and didn’t do the clothes justice. (Side note, that showstudio Yohji review video, 45 mins of failing to say anything, was what finally pushed me over the edge. Dude. Are you guys for real? ‘Where is the avant garde’? If you don’t know, give up already. I’m not even a Yohji fanbear but he deserves better.) Kiko gave us a real stab at a pscho-medieval vibe, and I would’ve written a full review about it cus there’s stuff going on there. But fuck that. If he doesn’t want to talk to us, and show his full vision to the public in a spirit of optimism and faith in the culture, why should I bother with him? Mean and snooty gatekeeping gets mean and snotty graffiti right back.

Fashion culture (twitter, specifically) wants to be wowed by everything all the time. Then, it complains and says why is fashion week even happening during a pandemic, now isn’t the time for fashion. Another example of our schizo cognitive dissonance as we consume this shit. What do we even want?

I’ll tell you what I want. I want fashion designers to be engaged in a collective speculative in-depth discussion of what the future feels like right now, as an artform. So, I’m not going to analyse anything as a commercial proposition, because the future features less and less buying shit. In part as I believe that with growing internet dispersal of OG systems, awareness will rise, the vocabulary will expand, and we’ll stop caring so much about the performative aspects of fashion clothing. The interiority aspect will only grow, and that means unique-feeling experiences that are like conversing with a familiar presence. The fashion designer as moot, a parasocial meta-commentator. A friend you don’t actually have to talk to, just talk with, in the culture. That process won’t start from a point of ‘buy my shit’. First, a relationship should be built up, set up and running along. Then, if product occurs it’s incidental. Wow, I’m being a real little weatherbear. Check out my prophecies!

So, I’m pretty disappointed and depressed about the resentful undertone of much of the work presented to us. Like, they’re crossing their arms and getting all grumpy about how they’re not allowed to carry on like they always do. FFS, you’re FASHION PEOPLE. Change is the name of the game, this shit should excite you. It’s your job to guide each other in an open-ended perusal of future possibilities, and to make recommendations. It’s not just clothes, they’re the medium, the language in which you build the commentary. If all you care about is nice product (*cough*, hedi slimane, *cough* jacquemus), stop calling yourself a fashion designer, because you’re a clothing manufacturer and I don’t care about you.

Why are all these videos so boring? Have any of these people heard of editing, rhythm? They do realise you can hire people for this kind of thing, right? The deadening lack of imagination amongst people whose full-time job it is to be creative about the present’s transition into the future is astounding. This really underlines the risks of nepotism and gatekeeping. The only people who can afford to participate are the gutless products of a bloated upper middle class. I don’t believe in that class’s creative capacities for one fucking minute. They’ve got nothing at stake, no guts to go against anything, because their boring shitty system works for them, so why should it change? Ugh, vom.

Where is the communicative power? Nothing is being said, it’s filler for an elite determined to go down with their ship. I’m glad it’s sinking, it wasn’t fit for purpose and I’ll happily stick some extra holes in to make it sink faster.

I’m going to single out Jonathan Anderson again. Listen, he’s a little pretty boy who’s working so effectively within the system, who has played the game perfectly to the best of his ability. His work is top level, he wins every time. So, I reckon he can be held up as an example. He can take it. I’m looking at the box-shows he did for Loewe and his own brand, and I’m thinking, oh that’s such a lovely take on alt fashion communication. So much heart, and care. Then, what’s the internet equivalent? A little video showing off the box. Some 3d shots & backs of looks and boxes. A little extemporised pitter patter from Jonny. That’s it. It’s still classist as fuck. With garment design there’ll always be limits on what’s possible in terms of digital translation. This isn’t actually garment design though. It’s fashion design. If I’m stuck with a low-grade clip and some jpegs, it’s pretty clear to me you don’t care about your wider fashion community. There should be an open digital experience that feels equally cared for and crafted. And here’s where I get really angry: all these fashion journalists have been delivered this unique, beautiful experience, and what are they doing with it? Where is the thoughtful response? Every single one of these people in this privileged position should be DOING THEIR JOBS (WHICH THEY ARE PAID TO DO, FULL TIME) and WRITE ABOUT FASHION. Not post online, ‘omg lovee ittt, so cutee!’. Anyone can do that. Are you a fan or a professional? This is an embarrassment. I’m stuck analysing some pixels. You’re getting the ‘real’ experience. I know I’ll never be an insider given these opportunities. I chose this path and I’m not going to try and play that game, because the rules are: you get access, in exchange for sacrificing criticality. Because these people, as educated and privileged as they are, don’t understand the value of criticism. Good criticism, the detailed, even handed, unafraid kind, pushes the culture forward. You can’t have a healthy art form without it, it’s essential because it’s the back in the back and forth. I probably could’ve tried to play their silly PR game a bit harder. But I had a nervous breakdown, in part, because I knew I would never be allowed to get close to the art enough to analyse it fairly if I spoke freely as I do now. And freedom is essential. So, pixels it is. Rudeness it is. Because there is work to do to salvage the bottom-dwelling wreck of our fashion dreams so that maybe we can travel somewhere new and better with them. It just sucks that there’s people standing there with the tools to help and no desire to save themselves or anyone else.

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samsterham · 4 years

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The Fuckening, Entry # 1

Despite the novel covid-19 being around for a pretty hot minute now, I have only been self-quarantined about 6 days. There have been several confirmed cases in my county, and today the county had it’s first death.

If it’s not apparent by the title, I’ve decided to officially from here on out refer to this entire debacle as The Fuckening. I will swear. A lot.

I figure it might be somehow lucrative to record my experiences throughout the pandemic, at least as it is pertinent to my country & area. Aside from broader, more public events, it might be interesting to someday look back on my day to day & how we dealt & felt & what we did. I should have been keeping a diary of my life anyway & had intended to despite never making it a priority. Now is as good a time as any.

Anyhow, I anticipate this being a rather disjointed project, variable in moods, topics, formats, etc. & rife with grammatical errors. I haven’t decided how revealing of my identity & location I would like to be, I suppose that’s something I’ll decide as I go. All I’ll reveal for the moment is I live in the U.S. in Pennsylvania.

Recapping what I can right now:

I’m in about day 6 of self-quarantine. All schools have cancelled regular classes and have gone exclusively online, as has happened pretty much everywhere else. My community college also followed suit along with probably every college & university at this point. I’ve had a little over a week off for faculty & staff to prepare for the shift. Class resumes this upcoming wednesday online for the rest of the semester. Curious to how they’re going to structure & grade our biology lab credits.

Bars & restaurants have been state-mandated to shut down except for take-out. Now the liquor stores have shut down as well. Somehow the beer distributor down the street is still open however...

Me & K (boyfriend) haven’t gone nuts with preparations, but we did have 1 significant shopping trip before the state officially began recommending social distancing. We got enough non-perishables for several weeks. We’ve made a couple mini trips for things like milk & fresh veggies.

I also have a few immunocompromised friends who I’ve gone shopping for. I expect to continue doing so as needed. One such friend has a bitch of a rare disease which is frankly on the verge of killing her if she sneezes or coughs too hard. There is so, so much more to it than that, than I dare go into here for privacy reasons but I have spent the last month as one of her actual medical advocates. She is partly the reason I would like to focus my education and eventual clinical research on rare diseases such as hers. Anyhow, despite it being flat out unsafe, she was discharged from the hospital yesterday as my city prepares to get slammed with covid-19 cases.

Both my cats got a stomach bug just 2 days into self-quarantine. It began with Crowley puking, then what looked like bloody emesis & trip to the emergency vet. Sent home with stomach meds & instructions for supportive care before jumping into more than basic testing. He was fine within 36 hours, just in time for Aziraphale to become a little vom-bomb. This lasted for 3 days, with many debates as to when we should finally get her poor little fuzz butt medical attention. She thankfully healed on her own, just as I was about to break down & take her to the vet.

Not to make light of the fact that they were sick, but Zira’s throw-up noise is THE FUNNIEST sound I’ve ever heard in my life. It begins with that usual choppy but also deep guttural *hork hork hork* followed by a very abrupt & very loud scream “rrRAAHH!” as things made their way up & out. I couldn’t help but kinda lose my shit as I pet her & cleaned up the mess. I’m probably going to hell for this.

Me & K have enjoyed spending more time together during quarantine. We have only had 3 friends over since, all being of our regular weekly crew of Sarah, Greg, & Amanda, & all of who are otherwise self-quarantined. Sarah & Amanda came over last Saturday, Sarah made “Quarantinis,” a goddamn delicious cocktail of vodka, lemon, honey, & crystalized ginger. Us girls & K got quaran-trashed, ate dinner together, played Cards Against Humanity, & watched Waking Ned Devine.

We have been making the FUCK outta some food. This is easily the healthiest we’ve eaten in a long time. Thank God we both can cook.

The weather has been fairly forgiving & the two of us have made efforts to get outside as much as possible while it’s nice. K works from home with some good flexibility & I was fired about a month before corona shit hit the fan. We’re enjoying the local parklette & the humongous cemetery in walking distance from us.

Yesterday was mostly blustery & rainy, save for a 2 hour break in the weather where it was sunny and around 70 degrees. We trekked through said cemetery. As we were on our way out, we rounded the bend of one of the long paths, along the side of a large grassy hill. From that initial perspective of the hill, there was a large pile of indiscernible objects about halfway up the hill. As we came around, we noticed the pile was next to a grave very freshly covered in dirt. Upon closer inspection it became apparent that the “pile” was actually a man wrapped in blankets, with one arm stretched over the dirt of the grave. On the road at the bottom of the hill was what I assumed to be his car. I don’t know who he was, I don’t know who he lost, but they’re burned into my memory forever. It was one of those sights that breaks your entire heart. I cried a little & held K’s hand a little tighter as we made our way toward the gate. K kissed the top of my head & gave me a loving squeeze.

I didn’t get fired over anything serious; my chronic migraines plus a personal failure to obtain intermittent FMLA in a timely manner resulted in termination. My bosses didn’t want to let me go, but you can only fight HR of a corporate health system so much. Oh well. I wasn’t happy there anymore anyway. After 3 years I was bored, having trained up as much as possible without my degree. Some toxic personalities made their way onto our floor staff in the last year which made some shifts absolute hell despite my efforts to avoid them & remain utterly professional. Aside from running out of money, I’ve been incredibly relaxed since being let go. I’ve even lost 4 pounds in the last month. My hair is currently a weird ginger-pink, the result of a failed self bleach job, but it’s not entirely embarrassing so I’m going to let it recover before I try it again & go teal.

I never got around to watching Breaking Bad when it was popular, but last night I finally saw the first episode. K has seen it before, it’s one of his favorite tv shows & he’s ecstatic to watch it together. One episode legit got me hooked already. I know the premise of the show & I can’t wait to see how it pans out.

The political fuckery around this has been.... ugh. I wanted to say “staggeringly defunct” but what else is there to be expected from this current administration? I have designed most of my tumblr to be apolitical but that will change with these specific entries. I’m politically outspoken on Facebook & Twitter & I wanted one or two platforms that could just be fun and neutral. My current politics are very leftist, a head-spinning 180 degree turn from my upbringing & early voting habits. The last four years have sent me purposefully, intentionally & determinedly headlong into the progressive movement, feminism, and hunger for democratic socialism. The only conservative thing left about me is my stubborn remaining infatuation with firearms & gratitude for the 2A. Counterintuitively I’m very pro-sensible gun control, but having the discussion with either side of the issue mostly leaves me wanting to knock heads together.

I digress, the administration’s response to the pandemic has been unsurprisingly subpar, yet somehow not as awful as I expected. Trump went from “not a big deal” & “liberal media hoax” to “oh shit, I actually better get my shit together for this” real quick. I don’t know if it’s because it’s an election year or if there’s actually a shred of competency that’s been hiding under the comb-over but I’ll take what we can get from him, including that $1000 check. Getting unemployment has been a bitch. None of this however, changes the fact that Republicans have known about the crisis since December & instead of preparing the public, decided insider trading was a better idea. This doesn’t change the fact that the DOJ is trying to invoke indefinite detention as a “crisis response” and the only thing standing in the way are House Democrats. And it doesn’t change the fact that our hospital system is overloaded & underfunded, and the Republican controlled government would still rather bail out large corporations as we plunge into an inevitable recession.

I’ve spent too much energy fighting ignorant shit sticks on the internet over all this, including people I know in real life. I gotta keep remembering that all I can do is my best, that you can’t change the world but you can make a dent. On that note, I finally introduced K to Danny DeVito’s cinematic masterpiece Death To Smoochy.

Today I finished reading Darker Than Amber by John D. MacDonald. Quick, fun read, definitely a product of it's time.

That’s all I have in me for today. My neck hurts. Sleep sweet and WASH YOUR FILTHY PAWS.

#covid19 #covid_19 #corona virus #coronavirus #quarantine #social distancing #wash your damn hands #diary #journal #the fuckening #the fuckening diary #death to smoochy #pandemic

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cliquestitsandicks · 5 years

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Tracking Kat

Episode 1: Kat is mourning the end of her relationship with Adena. It has been 5 weeks since the breakup in Paris. She's still looking at old pictures of them and posted one. She still hasn't sent Adena's equipment to her, even though Adena has been texting her asking for it. By the end of the episode, she's admitted to (in order) Alex, Patrick, and Jane & Sutton that she is not okay. She is still sad about the end of her relationship. Alex tells her "you're so hard on yourself. You got your heart broken. There's no expiration date on heartbreak. You move on when you're ready to move on and when you *are* ready, you will find someone amazing. Someone who will never leave." Then Patrick is an entitled, invasive dick. She told her girls she wasn't ready for it to be real yet and that's why she hadn't told them... but she broke down in front of them. She'd finally accepted it was over. End of the episode, she makes an instagram post exposing her vulnerability to the world and packs up Adena's things for good.

Episode 2: Kat injects Jane for fertility treatment. She is very familiar with Jane's reproductive system at this point - best friends. She learns the Wild Susan, a club Adena took her to that became a safe space she frequents and which happens to be 1 of only TWO lesbian bars in the city, is closing. She learns the only reason it's happening is because developers want to gentrify the neighborhood. We learn Kat has a lawyer (not sure how that may come up later) that she met through the #BeReal campaign. Anyway, Kat throws a queer prom as a fundraiser to help save the Wild Susan. It ultimately fails because $42,000 in one night from poor people is a bit much. But it was a valiant effort and, as Kat learns, the gentrifiers were well aware of its impossibility. This episode is leading up to her political career. "I've been so into my feelings lately, it feels really good to challenge my energy into something that really matters". I am so proud of Kat. In Season 1, I would have worried she was avoiding her feelings, but the writers made a big deal of showing she's done the exact opposite of that in the prior episode.

Episode 3: Kat has been researching councilman Reynolds and he's a total piece of shit - helping gentrifiers, cutting funding to parks, and voting against paid maternity leave. She's fired up. Our girl is P A S S I O N A T E & informed! We meet the councilwoman for whom she plans to volunteer and her campaign manager, Tia. Tia's a tiny, bubbly boss with natural hair and a bright smile and we see Kat brighten up. We later learn she and Kat have more in common, both being NYU grads (actually overlapping while there) and both brilliant. Tia, however, is not from a wealthy and connected background. In their initial meeting, Kat tells Tia "I'm just looking for something to channel my rage and depression". Kat enlists her besties to help get the councilwoman to unseat problematic Reynolds. Sutton clearly sees something between Kat and Tia because she does a friend's background check (checking the social media) and tells Kat she looks very single to which Kat responds "it really doesn't matter because I'm still getting over Adena" and Jane seems skeptical of Kat's protestations with her silent smirk. We learn Kat has really soft lips. Kat is the voice of reason for Alex, being the first one to acknowledge the hypersexual "dangerous" Black man depiction that will likely be projected onto him if he admits he is the man in his friend's story. Then we see her naturally command the crowd at the rally. Again, I am so proud of Kat. She isn't holding back when she knows she should speak up. She's taking control of her narrative. She's fighting for what's right in a constructive manner. And now Tia, who has way more experience with this than Kat, is recommending she run for office.

Episode 4: We start the episode with Kat describing what would be her district and job description to her best friends. She's looking excited about the potential to do something that matters and really help people. In her conversation with the Toby (?. don't know, don't care), we get to see more of Tia being supportive of Kat and Kat being confronted with whether she's motivated to actually run or just wants someone to beat Reynolds. We learn Kat had an abortion in 2013 when she was 20 AS IS HER GOTDAMN RIGHT BECAUSE IT'S HER BODY, but it's something she's felt some sort of shame/concern over seeing as nobody close to her knew about it. Then, and this is so great, after telling her friends she has the conversation with Tia. Tia shares that she's had one as well and completely understands not wanting it to be public knowledge, but in sharing her experience educates Kat on yet another way vulnerable people are having their rights stripped, this time through manipulation and "crisis centers" that shouldn't exist. Tia remains supportive and doesn't pressure Kat at all with her decision. "I am by your side if they come for you, but you gotta do what's right for you". When we get that great speech from Jacqueline we see Kat being moved my the statement that you'll never know what you're capable of if you don't take a leap faith to face challenges that frighten you, then you'll never know what you're capable of. [i'd like to pause right now to say Jacqueline is fucking wonderful and i love her like my white auntie. also Sutton needed to hear that again just as much as Kat and i really appreciate this entire moment.] When Kat leaves Jacqueline's celebration, she passes by one of those "crisis centers" Tia told her about and decides to use her voice to help others. "I like to think of myself as a pretty strong, empowered, forward-thinking, open-minded woman. But, up until now, I haven't been able to talk about my abortion. If me putting myself out there helps even one woman to feel less alone, less ashamed, and less guilty then it's worth it." And just like us, dear Tia is blown away. She actually exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and biiiiiiiitch (!!!! excitedly). and then they're dancing! This is the episode, upon rewatch, when i recognize how often Tia touches Kat unnecessarily.

Episode 5: Kat's entire recap includes Tia, ending with Sutton saying "she seems to be very single". Her very first scene, Tia is complimenting her walking out of some campaigning event we later learn was a Town Hall. Can we just talk about Kat's blazer for a second? First of all, i want it. Second, how did they find something so perfectly her? It's colorful but still semi-professional, fun, but still about her business. Heart-eye inducing. ok. So the next time we see Kat, she and Tia (whose last name they finally mention as Clayton) are reviewing campaign platform and doing debate prep at Kat's apartment. Tia's complimenting Kat almost continuously at this point. Clearly she's impressed, borderline gushing. and Kat tries to brush it off. Tia's not letting her. And there's this moment when Tia forces herself to break eye contact with her (around 5:40 of the episode). The show tells us Kat still hasn't dated since Adena, but Sutton brings up the "stupid smile" she gets whenever Tia's mentioned. She's making better decisions than Patrick and her being compared to Patrick is lowkey happening a lot. I'm starting to wonder if they're setting up Kat taking over digital if she doesn't win the campaign. Ok, the song choice as they pan to Kat and Tia... "I never normally check my phone 10 times in a minute. I'm not the girl to be kept on hold 10 miles from the finish." Again, Tia is very touchy with Kat, never anything inappropriate of course, but the hand is always on the back or the arm. and their interaction is just.. lovely. I squeal. it's so cute. they're so comfortable. Kat invites Tia to the dinner BEFORE (i got the timing on that mixed up before) Tia says she's "a boring straight girl" [the test determined that was a LIE... nah, my good sis Tia is dealing with some internalized homophobia which is no joking matter, but we don't learn that until the next episode]. Apparently, Kat can cook now? So she just liked Adena's food better i guess? idk... anyway. I get why some of the things Tia said can be taken as flirting, but i still believe that you accept what someone says is their sexuality until they say otherwise. yes, that's even when they're saying things like "when i see what i want, i go for it" and "Annndd she can cook. it's hot" and looking at you like that. Kat telling Jane to apologize because he's her boss and she got suuuper disrespectful and would absolutely deserve getting fired makes me proud. She's the mature friend now. She's the one with a level head on her shoulders. Kat finally makes her feelings known to Tia, but this is after Tia has already stated she's straight. Tia reiterates that this is a professional relationship and apologizes for Kat getting the wrong idea. I'm reminded of when Alex Danvers told Maggie Sawyer she was into her and she was rejected... but in that example i was floored and heartbroken for Alex because ugh, i just didn't see that coming. With this, however, it felt like Tia was clear in her words even if it shocked the hell out of me what the words were. So i didn't feel heartbroken for Kat. I thought... tbh... she brought it on herself for refusing to respect Tia's "no", however soft it was. But the writers did let us know it wasn't over with the music selection... Kat looking at "You and Tia make a great team :)" as "I'll go to war for you" plays.

Episode 6: All the emails have been released and Kat has no worries at all about that because she's a professional. And we get to see her be a boss addressing the entire group. Patrick isn't there this episode (YAY for our sanity!) and i think Kat being a boss so often when Patrick isn't around is intentional. When we see Tia, she says last night is forgotten but she thinks it's a bad idea to remain Kat's campaign manager... which is clearly a hard rejection. One can argue that it's too harsh for someone merely admitting they were into you. But it's just as easy to argue that it's appropriate after telling someone, very clearly, that you are not into them romantically and them ignoring that and saying that you were flirting with them on this date they never called a date before you were already there?? so i'm not mad at it. At the end of the episode, we find out that Tia was rejecting herself, not Kat. Turns out, Ms. Tia Clayton has known she's attracted to women since she was in high school, but she "didn't want to want it". Tia is so TINY AND ANXIOUS ABOUT HER SEXUALITY AND MANY OF US HAVE BEEN THERE. But... and i say this in jest... for someone who is really trying not to be out in the open with her gay, she sure was comfortable kissing Kat all outdoors for anyone to see. My good sis is smitten. I'm excited for the story. Again with the music during their scenes though... "I cannot fallll in love with youuuuu. I cannot feeeeel this way so soon, so soon." Also, my girlfriend and I have watched the gifset of the kiss over the phone and swooned (we live in different states for now). This episode, we also got the flashbacks (i missed Lauren so much). Kat's got red streaks in her hair, is a friend to strangers, has regrettable sex with men who taste like pickles, and is cute as a button. She also called Jacqueline "Mama Jackie" and that's it; that's her name now.

#the bold type season 3 #the bold type #katia #kat edison #tia clayton #TBT S3 SPOILERS #i rewatched the whole season today

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oxwills · 4 years

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maths IS SO FUCKING HOT

nother rant time: MATHS IS SO FUCKING SEXY. right, the amount of people i’ve talked to who are like “eww maths”, “maths is so shit”, “i’m just not good at it”, and we can forget “i’m just not a maths person”, like to run the risk of sounding condensing and like an asshole but i feel bad for them, cause our education system has failed them; in school we are taught shitty maths. we are taught a system of operations, how to apply them, what order to apply them, and then just given task after task of the same fucking boring shit, this locks people into a monotonous way of thinking, and schools drill in the idea that we need to solve for x, yes, you’ll get the odd question that gives you that spark, that makes you think, but it’s only brief and you have to sit through hundreds of the boring questions just to get to them. BUT THATS NOT WHAT MATH IS! yes, some maths is like that, but the real, beautiful aspect of maths is far different, it’s more about finding patterns, having a fucking difficult question and thinking about it in a different context to get your head around it, getting already existing proofs and finding different ways to prove them, THATS THE REAL BEAUTIFUL SHIT IN MATHS! like i can’t explain the weird yet amazing feeling i got when i finally understood why e^i(pi) + 1 = 0, like just that final light bulb moment was just pure ectasy. yeah i’m being overdramatic but i just, ugh, like it just annoys me when people say they hate maths

#maths #rant #maths beauty #e^ipi+1=0 #maths ISSS SEXY

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kivaember · 6 years

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29. — preparation

(This is… minor spoilers, sort of, for Sharpen Your Claws. Slightly AU since it’s about a year after the fic, which was after 4.2 but before 4.3, and ofc that takes us beyond current patch time so… ugh fuck it let’s say minor AU and there was a suuuuuuuper long break in between 4.2 and 4.3! Also this is fanfic so it takes place wherever i want it too.

In short: enjoy disgustingly domestic ‘Aza and Aymeric raise a child together’ nonsense)

“I think she should have a knife.”

“She is not bringing a knife to school, Aza.”

“A small knife,” Da amended grudgingly, and Sameh hida smile by ducking her head as she pretended to tie her shoelaces. Da and Daddywere getting ready to walk her to her first day of school, bundled up againstthe snow outside, and they’d been having this argument since she’d been brushingher teeth. Da seemed to think she might have to knife-fight her way in betweenclasses and fend of creeps on the way to lunch, and Daddy thought he was beingsilly.

“No knife,” Daddy said.

“Tiny knife?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Sameh couldn’t stop the snort of laughter bubblingup, helping to dispel some of the tiny nervousness that had been sitting heavyin her belly since last night.

“What’re you giggling at, gremlin?” Da asked her,and when she looked up he was smirking at her. He was being ridiculous onpurpose, she realised, and she shyly smiled up at him as she fidgeted with hershoelaces. She had to wear a pretty stupid outfit – nothing like the comfy,fluffy tunics Uncle Felyx and Auntie Bluebird buried her under – but Daddy hadinsisted that it was a uniform and everyone else would be wearing the samestupid thing, so she wouldn’t be the odd one out.

Only, she’d be the only Miqo’te. Everyone else would be Elezens. It made her nervous.

“You’re being silly,” she said, flicking her tail, “Idon’t need a knife, Da.”

“See,” Daddy said a bit smugly.

“I need a sword,” she finished, and chanced a lookat Daddy. He let out a sigh of fond exasperation as Aza laughed.

“Well,” Daddy said wryly, “I know a few childrenwho would take a sword to school. Evidence of lordship and all.”

“Right, and Sameh is a little lord too,technically,” Da quipped, leaning down to ruffle her hair so hard her headwobbled. She whined and ducked to escape, “Heir to House Borel and whatnot.Anyone give you grief over that you can bop them over the head with your Ma’ssword.”

“Please don’t,” Daddy said, “Fighting is grounds forexpulsion.”

“I’ll bopthem over the head,” Da said instead.

“You’ll be arrested for that, Aza.”

“Well, it’s not like they’ll bop themselves, Aym,” Dahuffed, then perked up, “Oh, how about Rations-”

Daddy interrupted Da by dragging him into aheadlock, and Sameh heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes when they started doing areally childish playfight. That was eithergoing to end in gross kissing or Daddy getting bitten followed by gross kissing,so Sameh ignored them and finished tying her shoelaces.

—

It ended with gross kissing because of course. They were so disgustingly inlove sometimes.

Sameh loved it. The kissing was still gross though.

—

Ten minutes later they were walking to school,Sameh in between Da and Daddy and feeling more and more nervous with each step.It was snowing a little, and the ground was crunchy from where the grit was putdown that early morning. The school she was going to was also part of the bigspiky looking church that sat at the very top of Ishgard, and she was told thatit was a school most ‘stuck up spoiled high-class brats’ went to, according toDa. Daddy said the same thing, but in a more polite way.

Because of who Daddy and Da were, she was allowedto attend that school – was actively encouraged, in fact, since everyone sawWarrior of Light and Lord Commander of Ishgard as her parents and expected bigthings from her too. She had to cram so much stuff about Halone that was testedin its entrance exam because it was mandatory to have some understanding of Herdue to some dumb reason Sameh didn’t care about. She knew there were lots of noblesunhappy with her going, because of more dumb reasons she didn’t care about, andDaddy told her to expect to be tested harder than anyone else.

She pointed out that this was unfair, and Daddysaid that it was, that he understood because he experienced the same thing when he’d been adopted by the House Borelfamily. Everyone wanted you to fail, to prove their stupid self-superiorityright – in her case, that Miqo’te didn’t belong in the upper-class education systembecause they were stupid or too uncultured – so you had to work harder just togain the same amount of recognition for those who barely worked at all. Daddyhad told her she didn’t have to go because of that, that he could see if shecould be home-schooled by some of Da’s Scion friends instead, but…

Well. She didn’t want to be chased off by some dumbspoiled brats. Sameh was tough as nails, Da said so, and compared to the otherthings she saw and endured, putting in hard work to put some dummies in theirplace wasn’t all that bad. She knew she could do it. In fact, she could be the best so no one could say bad things aboutMiqo’te ever again in Ishgard, and that otherMiqo’te could do this super amazing schooling without having to have parentswho literally saved entire City States strongarm the headmaster.

(Sameh knew that her application had been rejectedat first, that Daddy had to tell Da to calm down and that he would deal with it.The next day she got her acceptance letter and when she went to the interviewwith the headmaster afterwards where he congratulated her on ‘winning’ herplace, Daddy accompanied her and had terrified the headmaster in squeaky silencejust by smiling pleasantly at him.

People always said Da was the scary one, but Daddycould be really scary when he wantedto be. Even Da listened to Daddy when he got mad)

“What’re you thinking about, gremlin?” Da asked herwhen she’d been quiet too long, “You still traumatised from us kissing?”

“Yes,” she said, “I see it in my nightmares.”

Daddy made a suspicious coughing noise that soundeda lot like laughter.

“Who taught you to be so cheeky?” Da grumped, buthe was smiling so she knew he wasn’t that annoyed, “I bet it was you, Aym, yousnarky git.”

“Me?” Daddy sounded so offended it was hilarious, “Iam the model of good behaviour, thank you very much. She must have learnt itoff you.”

“Hey, I’m the Warriorof Light,” Da drawled, “I can neverbe cheeky. It’s not in the job description.”

Sameh listened to her parents playfully banter witheach other, pleased with herself, and idly kicked a clump of slushy snow as shepassed it. Yeah, she thought, squeezing her parents hands tight, she’d be fine.

—

Da revisited the Knife Issue once they were in theschool’s front courtyard.

“Look,” Da was saying, holding Sameh tight aroundthe shoulders with one arm, and holding a small pocket knife with the other, “I’mjust saying, if a Garlean assassin comes dropping out of the ceiling, thisknife could mean life of death.”

“If a Garlean assassin comes dropping out of the ceiling,one tiny pocket knife won’t decide anything,” Daddy said a bit flatly, “Aza,stop giving our child knives. She doesn’t want one.”

Sameh, who had been eyeing a few of the otherchildren milling in front of the school’s courtyard and noting how many of themlooked twice her size and weight, said, “I think I want one now.”

“You were saying? See, Sameh knows what’s up.”

Daddy confiscated the knife.

“Aw,” Da said.

“Sameh,” Daddy said, the knife vanishing somewhereinto his coat. He knelt in front of her, since he was ridiculously tall, andsmiled at her, “You have your linkpearl, right?”

“Yup.”

“Any difficulties, you can call one of us at anytime. Don’t worry about interrupting us, we’ll answer.”

“Yeah,” Da said, giving her a squeeze about theshoulder in a half-hug before reluctantly letting go, “If anyone gives youshit, beat them up.”

“Aza.”

“Tell the teacher,” Da amended with a wink.

“I will,” Sameh said, making a note to beat uppotential bullies where there’d be no witnesses.

Daddy ruffled her hair, a lot gentler than Da, andstood up, “Behave,” he told her, “And good luck.”

Sameh nodded, her stomach fluttering like she’deaten a whole cage of butterflies, and tried to keep her face very straightwhen Da tried to slip a pocket knife into her coat pocket without Daddynoticing. Daddy did notice. He confiscated that knife too.

“Aw,” Da said again.

Daddy curled his fingers into the collar of Da’scoat and hoisted him to his feet, keeping him in place like he was amisbehaving puppy, “Do you want us to walk you inside?”

Sameh hesitated but shook her head. She wasnervous, but she was prepared. Daddy had made sure she was educated to the samelevel in between work, and Da expanded her knowledge even further on morepractical things. She wasn’t the frightened little girl Da dragged out of theIshgardian wilderness anymore. She could face down a school filled with snottynoblemen who’d look down at her for something as simple as her birth and race.She’ll prove them all wrong, easy.

“I’ll be fine,” she said brightly, “I’ll make youproud, Da and Daddy.”

“You already have,” Daddy said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Da added, “Show them who’s the best, gremlin.”

Sameh saluted, delighted when her parents laughed,and turned on her heel and boldly strode forwards, her stomach twisting with nerves,but her heart strong with courage and determination.

#ffxiv #fanfic #drabble #warrior of light #aymeric de borel #this is disgustingly sweet and fluffy and i don't apologise for it

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ohmytheon · 6 years

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The Definition of a Hero (FMA x BNHA, 6)

Notes: Ah yes, I had a lot of fun with this chapter. We get to see the full scene of Class 1-A’s first class with Mustang, but from his POV. It’s time for Bakugou to get schooled. Mustang is here to teach and he doesn’t do it with pats on the back. Edward also unfortunately gets the brunt of it as well. Time to listen, you little shits. (This is why I could never be a teacher.)

The Definition of a Hero educator: a person who provides instruction or education; a teacher

Four nights after the entrance exams, Roy found himself restless and decided to go on a patrol with Riza. Normally he did them alone, but his mind had been running a mile a minute and so he’d asked if he could join her. It wasn’t all that unusual for the public to see the Flame Alchemist and Hawk’s Eye working together, so no one at the agency even blinked when he stepped out with her.

It had been a month since they’d done so and he’d missed her calming effect while on duty. He had been so busy after accepting the teaching position that it had slid to the back burner. With school officially starting in three weeks, he knew that their time together like this would be limited even more and he wanted to squeeze in as many opportunities as he could.

Yes, it sounded a bit desperate, but he didn’t care and she didn’t point it out, even if she had noticed his slight change in behavior. He was utterly grateful for that. His pride could handle a lot these days, but Riza pointing out any cracks in his armor was not one of them.

The streetlamps were turning on, glowing orbs in the night, as the sun settled behind the buildings. This was Roy’s favorite time of day -- where night struggled with day and slowly but surely overcame it. There was a certain feel about it, lulling most people into a strange sense of calmness. Even most villains or mere criminals, he found, waited until night fully hung over them to do their business, as if the dark might hide them and those few minutes where light clung to the sky would expose them and get them captured.

For just a few minutes, Roy could close his eyes, breathe, and pretend.

As much as he wanted to though, his mind was still very much focused on what he’d witnessed during the entrance exams. It had been very enlightening. Seeing all those different quirks in action had shaken up something in him and the students… Hell, they were going to be a handful. It’d be like dealing with all his sidekicks at once, but without any of the training, just the confidence of their quirk and the desire to be a hero.

“You should have seen him,” Roy was saying, gloved hands shoved in his pockets as they walked side-by-side. “He was spectacular. A little shit, to be sure, but powerful. No rescue points and still took the number one spot?” Roy shook his head. Bakugou had been wild, looking like he was on a rampage, and despite trying not to, it had reminded him of himself when his temper had gotten the better of him. “He’s going to crash and burn hard when he gets knocked down a peg or two.”

Riza smiled faintly. “Like you did during our first combat simulation?”

“Ugh,” Roy groaned, “don’t remind me of that.”

Bad enough Riza and Aizawa had been paired up against him while Roy had been stuck with some kid whose quirk had clearly been inferior to his own. He’d gone off the rails to get the job done on his own and it had been an absolute disaster. All his ferocious power meant absolutely nothing the second Aizawa locked eyes on him. He’d been so stunned at his quirk getting cancelled -- all of it -- that he’d froze up and the other boy had landed a solid punch to his face.

Roy could have destroyed the building they were in with a single snap of his fingers and yet he’d gotten a black eye just from being stared at. He’d never been so humiliated in his life. He had almost blown it up in retaliation.

“Some kids, especially ones born with stronger than normal quirks, need to be brought back down to earth,” Riza told him. “If they can’t connect with humanity on some level, they won’t make a good hero.”

“Oh, I’m going to do just that,” Roy replied confidently. “I’m just fairly certain he’s going to come down to earth with all the delicacy of a fiery asteroid.”

Some landed harder than others. Roy knew that for a fact. His crash had blown up everything around him. He did not want that to happen to anyone else, not even a random kid with a hair-trigger temper. It had been easy to see how confident the kid was, blinding to the point way past arrogant, and those kinds of people fell hardest. Roy knew that there would be no easing that landing -- and that he shouldn’t try in the first place. Guiding the pieces back together into a functional, unwavering hero was the hard part.

Pride was not easy to mold. Gods knew how any of his teachers, especially Nezu and Riza’s father, had been able to handle him.

“Any other kids show promise?” Riza asked, just a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Shoto didn’t take the exam,” Roy told her, knowing what she was truly asking. “I asked Nezu afterwards. He was accepted in on recommendation.”

Riza nodded her head. “Of course.”

Roy chuffed. “I bet Endeavor was pleased with himself. Strong enough to skip the exam entirely. He got in solely on recommendation too.”

A soft look fell over Riza’s face, which was strange since they were talking about Endeavor. Normally, talk about the number two hero brought out a side of anger that she hid from everyone else. “I just hope Shoto was happy about it.” Of course she would be focused on the boy and not his father. Roy would do the same once classes started. It was only fair. He was curious if the kid would follow his dad’s agenda or create his own path.

“There were a few other standouts though,” Roy continued, steering them away from the ugly subject. “One boy, Edward Elric -- he must have some sort of metal manipulation quirk -- made mincemeat out of the bots with just a touch of his hand. It was like they turned to liquid and formed into whatever was in his head.” He thought back to the robots-turned-statues. “Probably would make a great artist if he had a creative bone in his body.”

Riza gave him a look, a faint smile on her face. “You’re enjoying this.”

He shrugged his shoulders, but did grin back at her. “In a strange way, yeah, I am.” He looked up to the dark sky. “It’s different. The kids… I don’t know how good of a teacher I’m going to be. I still don’t know what Nezu expects of me. All I can do is hope for the best.” Roy made a face. “In addition to hero training, he’s also making me teach regular classes as well. History. He must think he’s terribly clever.”

Even though he clearly wasn’t pleased with it, Riza laughed. “That’s part of his quirk, isn’t it?”

Before Roy could respond or say any potentially derogatory remarks about his future boss and past mentor, there was a buzz in both their ears, signalling them that they were getting a call from someone in their agency. Both came to a halt on the sidewalk and listened as Havoc, one of the sidekicks working under Roy, piped up, “Hey, sorry to disturb you two lovebirds!”

Neither one of them said anything in response to that, but they glanced at each other and Roy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Havoc?”

“We’ve got a situation about five blocks from where you’re at,” Havoc continued without missing a beat, listing off an address. “I’m here with Catalina -- yes, I’m calling them now, another agency isn’t going to -- sorry that was her -- anyways we’d take care of this ourselves but there were hostages involved by the time we got here and--”

“We’re on our way,” Riza interrupted him.

“Righto. We’ll fill you in when you get here. This could take a while.”

Roy scoffed. Not on his watch. The line went dead and he caught Riza’s eye as a smirk took over his face. “Now this is what I needed tonight.”

“A hostage situation is nothing to get pleased about,” Riza pointed out.

“Oh it’s not that,” Roy replied cheekily as he made sure his gloves were on tight. It was the fight. He almost felt bad for whoever was causing all this ruckus because he was going to make that person burn. The problem with people that had fire-related quirks was that they had to get it out of their system. It hadn’t always been that way for him, but the second it had changed, he’d felt it in himself. That timer, always ready to go off, if he didn’t do something to move it back a little more.

Roy should have expected that teaching would be like this. After finding out about the stunt that Aizawa had pulled with Class 1-A (threatening to expel one of them right off the bat for failing to meet his and therefore U.A.’s expectations, how like him), he’d started to go through the teachers’ records just a few days shortly before All Might, the two of them intersecting their research at the end. He wasn’t quite sure why the number one hero was interested in who was teaching, especially the first years, but then Roy was snooping as well, so he couldn’t outright question him without looking suspicious.

That wasn’t the same for All Might, who had asked Roy was he was looking up on the teachers.

Roy had smiled pleasantly. “Just figuring out how I’ll stack against my fellow teachers.” It had seemed like an almost admirable statement, like he was admitting that he was nervous about joining the staff since he’d never taught before. All Might had thought so at least, telling him how commendable and diligent he was being. Ah, it was always a fun time lying straight to a superior’s face. Not.

Oh well. He didn’t want to admit that he was seeing what his old classmates had turned into. Already it was obvious that Roy had gone to school with three of the other teachers at U.A. They were too familiar with him and Kayama had already said a few things. Luckily he knew they would be close-lipped about just what school had been like. Heroes weren’t known for opening up about their darkest secrets and that was certainly one of them, binding them together for life with an uncomfortable string.

Still, meeting the kids for the first time proved somewhat nerve-wracking. They were all fifteen and Roy knew exactly what he’d been like at that age. He’d been awful. His quirk had been too strong for his age and his mind too sharp. He’d thought himself terribly clever and above everyone. If he had to deal with someone like himself, he might actually lose his cool, but then, no one could possibly be as bad as he had been and was now.

As he walked across the field towards the group of students gathered sporadically in the spot the sign on the classroom door had told them, Roy wasn’t so certain. Class 1-A was always problematic. It was filled with the best, but the best came at a price.

“Sorry for being late,” Roy said, lifting a gloved hand out of his pocket to wave at them. It felt good to have them back on. The second he’d stepped out of the building, he’d slipped them on and relief had washed over him. Not that he needed them to do damage, but this kind was easier to control. His real quirk did little more than hurt as far as he’d used it. “School was never my thing.”

“You’re our other new teacher?” That was Teyna Iida, who, as far as Roy had seen so far, was intensely earnest in every single way. He looked and sounded suspicious, which was amusing. Roy knew that he didn’t look like much in his civilian clothes. He probably looked more like a businessman than a pro hero. He didn’t need a fancy costume to be flashy though. That was where he and Aizawa agreed at least.

Ah, so most of them hadn’t recognized him yet. That was good. “Do I not look it?”

There was a slight unease in the crowd of students as they looked at one another, trying to figure out what they were supposed to say or how to react to his attitude. Aizawa had put them on edge. Only two people had given reactions that made Roy think that they knew him.

Katsuki Bakugou was one of them. His sharp red eyes had widened a little and his normally tense jaw had gone slightly slack; in a flash, as if realizing what he was doing, he wiped them away and replaced it with a knowing smirk. He looked pleased, like he was happy with this outcome. Even better. If Bakugou was a fan of the Flame Alchemist, it would make it easier for Roy to be able to push him past his limits.

Shoto Todoroki was the other one. Roy had spotted him first in the crowd as he’d walked up to them. The boy had been standing slightly apart from everyone else, as if he didn’t really belong in the group but had been thrown in with them anyways. And he probably didn’t. Knowing Endeavor, the man had more than likely put Todoroki through the kind of intense training that most kids didn’t get until their second year at U.A. The second Todoroki spotted him, the kid had frozen on the spot, as if struck by his own quirk.

The green-haired kid with the ridiculously strong quirk that punched back, Izuku Midoriya, eyed him with some sort of suspicion, his lips moving as he muttered under his breath as he thought aloud to himself. It looked like he was piecing things together. Might as well give him a hand. Now all Roy needed was a volunteer.

“If school isn’t your thing, then why are you teaching us?” Edward Elric demanded with his arms folded across his chest in that stereotypical moody teenager way.

There it was. Nice of him to volunteer, no matter how unsuspecting he was.

Roy snapped his fingers rather casually, and (what he considered) a miniscule ball of fire exploded a few inches from Edward’s feet, sending the kid flailing backwards. It was such a comical scene that Roy couldn’t help but laugh. Had the fire actually touched the boy’s shoes, it might melted or burned some of the rubber, but Roy was careful. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt the kids. They’d have to get better before he started trying to scare them. The fire wasn’t even a blip on the radar of his true power, but then he rarely even used that when fighting villains. Only Riza knew that he was truly holding back. Going one hundred percent -- or plus ultra -- was too dangerous.

Nonetheless, the little fire was enough to get everyone’s attention though. Anyone that had had doubts before were now gawking where the fire had suddenly appeared and then back at him.

“Y-you’re the Flame Alchemist!” Midoriya exclaimed, sounding nearly overwhelmed with excitement. A visible thrill went through the students as they all began to talk at once. Roy did not think Midoriya’s eyes could get any bigger and he stood ramrod straight. A few meters to his left, Bakugou planted his hands on his hips and outright sneered at his classmate, like Midoriya was nothing more than a bug under his boot. Hm, Bakugou might be rougher around the edges than Roy had anticipated.

Roy shrugged his shoulders. “Mustang is fine at school.” Outside of it, of course, was another matter.

He could do this, he realized. Sure, he’d taken the job and he’d told Nezu and Riza that he could handle it, but a part of him in the back of his mind had wondered if maybe this was a mistake. That it would end up being another one of his failures. But seeing these kids now and the enthusiasm that they brought to the table, Roy found himself ready to return it tenfold. They’d be better than he had ever dreamed to be. They’d be good. They’d be heroes.

It wasn’t going to be easy though and certainly not always fun. It never was.

“Lesson number one and two,” Roy told them in a voice that commandeered their attention and forced them to go silent. “As a hero, you’re going to end up doing a lot of things you might not necessarily like in order to do what’s best.” He could attest to that. He wasn’t a teacher, but he would be now. “And always be on your guard. That was nothing. Villains won’t be kind and so therefore neither will I. If you want a pat on the back, you can go to All Might, but in my class, I expect you to fight back or suffer the consequences and they will be quite unpleasant.”

That caused a ruckus again. Some of the kids began to pump themselves up, most notably Bakugou and Midoriya in their own separate ways. Edward was scowling at him, furious that he’d been used as an example, so he would probably spend at least the rest of the class fighting with Roy on some level. Todoroki’s eyes were still locked on the spot where the fire had appeared, which was a curious reaction. He knew that the boy’s quirk allowed him to create both fire and ice, but he seemed almost...uneasy now.

“Aizawa informed me of your physical tests using your quirks,” Roy said, clasping his hands began his back. “Some of you came up with some seriously impressive results by pushing your quirks to the limit.” He shot a smile at one of girls with impossibly pink cheeks. “Infinity on the ball throw? You put those boys to shame.”

He hadn’t thought that Ochako Uraraka’s cheeks could get any pinker, but they did and he had to fight the urge to laugh again. A few of the other girls pat her on the back or ribbed her teasingly. Teenagers were so easy to mess with that it almost wasn’t fun. Almost.

“It’s important that you all learn the limits of your quirk and continuously push past that limit to strengthen them,” Roy continued. He noted the anticipation building up in the students, how eager they were all to let loose. It was hard to do outside of school. There were always rules or laws and some quirks were too strong to be used at full power without purpose. “But we’re not going to do that today. You’ll be doing something different.”

The reaction was like deflating a balloon and letting it fly wildly in the air until it died. The students looked at one another in confusion and disappointment. Bakugou looked as close to being crushed as his moody face would let him while Todoroki appeared steady and cool, but Roy thought he saw some relief in the latter’s mismatched eyes.

“Like what?” a startlingly pink girl, Mina Ashido, piped up.

“Shut up and he might tell us,” Bakugou snapped.

Roy acted as if neither one of them had spoken. “You will have plenty of time to practice using your quirks at mass capacity in combat, but that’s not the most difficult thing to do. In a fight, you’ll expect the need to go all out in order to get the job done.” He shook his head. “That’s not the case. The smallest, precise attack can change the course of a fight and those I can guarantee you are much harder than you think. A large attack does not require nearly as much concentration or even accuracy.”

“They also cause more collateral damage,” Midoriya put in with a kind of intense thoughtfulness.

“That’s right,” Roy agreed, “and as heroes, it’s a part of our duty to keep that to a minimum.”

Not all heroes considered that. Some forgot it in the heat of battle. Their quirks were so strong that it was only natural that things broke around them. It had taken a few months for Roy’s childhood apartment complex to be rebuilt after a hero had unintentionally caused it to collapse in on itself. It had taken only a few minutes for it to come crashing down. He hadn’t even received a slap on the wrist for it; instead he’d been given interviews and gratitudes for his work in taking down a villain.

No one interviewing that hero had asked about the young couple that had died in the collapse. They had just been collateral damage that was swept under the rug, left to be forgotten. Roy hadn’t though, even if his memories of his parents were foggy at best now. Time and someone rooting around in his head had taken them from him.

“The right attack, no matter how small, can be effective and damaging if precise.” Roy pulled out a baseball from an equipment bag and tossed it in his hand. “Anyone want to give it a go?” None of them wanted to step up first, concerned about looking foolish. “No one?”

Bakugou stepped up, his feet scuffing the grass. “Whatever. I’ll do it. This will be cake.”

“Excellent.” Just as Roy had suspected, the boy who Aizawa had used as an example moved to do it again. Bakugou would not want to be seen as afraid and he didn’t think he’d look foolish. Poor kid. Without warning, Roy turned and tossed the ball over to Uraraka, who caught it clumsily in surprise. “Why don’t you do the honors?” That seemed to irritate Bakugou even more. He rolled his eyes, but pulled his hands out of his pockets, flexing his fingers. “She’s going to throw the ball as hard as she can with her quirk and I want you to use as much power as you deem necessary to destroy it when you think it’s as far as you can reach it.”

All he got was a wave of Bakugou’s hand and a “tch” in response, his back already turned. Roy nodded to Uraraka, who hesitated for a second and then let loose. The ball soared high in the air with no intention of coming back down and Bakugou, essentially, exploded.

The explosion that Bakugou let loose was a lot like standing next to someone that triggered a landmine. It was way too powerful, forcing some of the kids to jump back in shock. The whole field seemed to glow with fire and the ground actually shook. Only Roy and Todoroki had held their ground, both of them too used to fire to flinch away from it. Even Bakugou seemed exhilarated, as if seeing what he was truly capable of for the first time. Nothing but some ash that fell to the ground remained of the ball.

“Wow! That was awesome!”

“You almost hit me, you ass!”

Bakugou threw them a lazy smirk. “Move out of the way next time then.”

“Very impressive,” Roy admitted. Definitely like him at that age. Bakugou was all power, but he had no direction for it yet beyond becoming a hero. If he could figure out a way to direct those explosives instead of just letting them fire off, he would really be able to do some damage. Roy tossed another ball to Uraraka, who looked a little dazed from the blast. “Again. But this time much smaller. I’m talking an explosion no bigger than the ball.”

The confidence didn’t waver from Bakugou’s face. “Yeah, yeah, throw it already.”

Uraraka glanced at Roy, who nodded his head, and she threw the second ball. Once more, Bakugou waited until he thought it was as far as his quirk would go before letting off a more contained explosion, so that it shot out like a beam of light instead of one big explosion.

And was off by at least three meters.

In a matter of seconds, Bakugou went from total confidence to rage, using his quirk to launch himself off the ground towards the ball and setting off a spatter of explosions in the air like fireworks until nothing remained. He was red in the face and panting by the time he dropped back down, glaring at the sky like it had offended him somehow before turning that molten lava focus on Uraraka, whose protests of “I didn’t do anything different!” went unheard by him.

“Not so easy, is it?” Roy said smugly. He had known it wouldn’t work. As of right now, Bakugou’s range with his quirk was highly limited. To hit a target far away, he had to use a much larger explosion and it lacked some serious control. The ground was scorched where his fire had hit. Hopefully the groundskeeper wouldn’t be too mad.

Bakugou turned on him. “My quirk--” But then he snapped his mouth shut. Someone with as much pride as him would never admit out loud to any sort of weakness, especially with their quirk.

The fact was that Bakugou’s quirk, however powerful it was (and it truly was dripping with potential), was not meant for such precise activity. It was partly why Roy had decided on working on it first. It had been his problem. He could blow a building up, but he had struggled using it against people without hurting them. Some quirks were meant for destruction; all quirks, if nurtured right, were meant for saving. Roy was certain of it.

This time, Roy tossed a baseball to Bakugou, who snatched it out of the air one-handed and held it like he wanted to squeeze it flat. “As hard as you can, if you will, like with Aizawa.”

Bakugou stretched his arm, swinging it back and then in a circle, before launching the ball in the air like it was a rocket. Roy waited, yawned, and then looked back to the sky before snapping his fingers. He could have simply timed the fire to explode around the ball, but he wanted something a little more eye-catching than that. A thin line of fire, no larger than yarn, zipped through the air like lightning until it connected with the ball and exploded like the end of a bottle rocket. It wasn’t explosively loud or terrifying like Bakugou's had been. Burnt leather, stuffing, and ash rained down on them, but it was still possible to tell what it had been before by looking at the pieces.

Everyone gawked in astonishment. To them, it looked as easy to Roy as breathing.

“That,” Roy told them, “is precision. If I can do that, just think what I can do in close quarters and combat.”

Edward glowered and grumbled under his breath, “Smug bastard.”

Next to him, Midoriya was much more enthusiastic. “Oh! Like your fight with that villain in May of last year! His healing quirk was so strong that his skin was fire resistant and he’d broken into a chemical plant. Obviously your fire quirk would have reacted negatively to the chemicals he’d stolen. But you were able to take him down by, um, well--” His brain had finally caught up with his mouth as he recalled the events like it had been yesterday. Not one of Roy’s kinder takedowns or finer moments, but it had been necessary. No one else could get near the villain without the threat of him releasing the gas or one of them breaking the containers. Riza hadn’t been around for that one.

“Oy, don’t skip the best part,” Bakugou drawled in a sharp tone, as if demanding that Midoriya get it right. Like he was telling Midoriya to suck it up and tell the damn truth. “He burned the villain’s eyes and mouth with pinpoint accuracy and nothing else. The villain’s skin was fire resistant, but not underneath, so the Flame Alchemist burned him from the inside out, allowing him no time to heal.”

The class dissolved into a frenzy of whispers and Roy let them. It was clear that not everyone had known about it and he knew that it would shape their view of him. He could cut the talking quick or he could let them work things out on their own. The latter was the better choice. They’d talk about it regardless. If they still felt comfortable to do it while he was right in front of him, he was in the clear.

“That’s really scary…” one of the girls whispered.

“He’s crazy strong!” another replied.

“Isn’t he kind of dangerous to be a teacher?” a boy asked quietly.

“That doesn’t...sound like what a hero would do...but if there wasn’t another option…”

“Like he said earlier, sometimes you’ve gotta do things you don’t like in order to do what’s best.”

They had tried to keep that fight under wraps because of the brutality it had took to take the villain down, but there had been too many witnesses. Roy still believed one of the other heroes on the scene had leaked the info first, but no one had copped to anything, not even when Riza questioned them. Some of the others that didn’t like him might lie to his face, but usually not hers. It had done little to damage his reputation as a hero, considering the severity and desperation of the situation, but he knew some people looked at him differently.

The villain had survived the attack and he had healed as well -- eventually.

Roy had never killed anyone, but he had come closer far more times than he liked to admit. It appeared as if a few of these kids were read up on those times. Midoriya seemed nervous, Bakugou thrilled, Edward disdainful, and Todoroki…. Nothing. He was a blank page.

“Are you all done yet?” Roy sighed.

The class jumped to a start. “Yes, sir!”

“Pair up in two’s. Let’s see if any of you are good at close combat.” Roy thought a few of them were probably leagues ahead of others, so he hoped they’d pair up accordingly. “And remember, only small uses of your quirk. If I see anything big or near maximum, you’ll regret having a quirk.”

Well, this was going to be fun.

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