#Alamo care

[cctinsleybaxter]

Common Bruce W / Danny L

[leohtttbriar]

The Alamo was originally established in 1718 as Mission San Antonio de Valero, founded as a Spanish foothold to convert indigenous people to Catholicism. It’s best known as the site of the 1836 Battle of the Alamo during the Texas Revolution — the culmination of a 13 day siege between the Texas defenders and the Mexican army in the fight to gain independence from Mexico. The Spanish tours is the latest move in the Alamo’s half-a-billion dollar effort to try to tell a more nuanced history. Ernesto Rodriguez, a senior curator and historian at The Alamo, said it’s crucial to acknowledge where the narrative of the Battle comes from. “All the defenders were killed. Who survives? Women, children, [the] enslaved. Our story is one of those special stories that the people without a voice are the ones that give us the narrative that are the loudest in this story." The Alamo’s history has often been mythologized to focus on the story of the white defenders, like Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie. It can often leaves out its complex history of the groups who had ties to the land. Groups representing Mexican Americans, Black Americans, and Indigenous people have long advocated to include the story of all those involved before, during and after the battle — NOT just the story of the famous defenders. Mexicans fought at the site. It had ties to slavery, and Native American groups cite the Alamo as a sacred burial ground that includes the remains of their ancestors. Rodriguez said the Alamo’s recent efforts aim to diversify the narrative. “You cannot tell about a place without including everyone, because it's sort of like when you weave a tapestry — if you're missing a thread, it's going to fall apart.”

[haunting-hari]

…Dear arc. Why is the boy fearing for others rather than himself?? I didn’t think worrying others would be of his concern.

I am a little worried as to what brought up this self-destructive mindset..

Ah. Feeling some fear manifesting on the lower floors. I’d suppose that means his father is here. ..Oh dear.

[area51-escapee]

Why on fucking earth would a cis man ever use a female bathroom wtf how naive are you

Mistakes happen. Signs get misread or misinterpreted (I have seen so many examples of establishments trying to have quirky symbols for their M/F restrooms but they end up just being confusing)

For some people with some disabilities if they need a restroom they need whatever is available Right Then. I don’t think a man deserves to get physically assaulted just for trying to make it to the closest toilet.

If a Cis man walks into a female restroom and goes to a stall and uses the restroom and washes his hands and leaves. Who fucking cares. No one was harmed in this situation the restroom was used for it’s intended purpose literally who gives a shit. It is NOT the end of the world it is a RESTROOM.

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I was planning on answering a bunch of asks and writing up that au I was talking about into an official post but I got distracted and, long story short, it's been four hours and I now have an 11-page Google Doc about the 7th Governor of Tennessee, Sam Houston (6th, depending on who you ask)

[newalamocarehome]

Quality Hospice Care at Home in Alamo

For high-quality hospice care at home, select New Alamo Care Home. Our team of professionals offers comprehensive support to improve comfort and quality of life, enabling patients to pass away in the company of loved ones in a setting they are accustomed with. For any further information visit: https://alamocarehome.com/services/hospice-care/

[lafayettegardensllc]

Best Hospice Care In Alamo, CA At Lafayette Gardens

Lafayette Gardens provides superior hospice care in Alamo, California. In tough times, our compassionate approach offers patients and their families comfort, support, and dignity. For any further information visit: https://lafgardens.com/hospice-care-in-lafayetta

[1alphabetz]

Navigating the Path to Independence for Kids

Raising children to become independent, self-sufficient adults is one of the most important tasks a parent faces. However, the journey towards independence is filled with various obstacles that can hinder a child’s growth. In this blog, we’ll explore common challenges and provide solutions to help your child navigate the path to independence successfully.

Understanding Independence in Childhood

Independence in childhood is about allowing children to think for themselves, make their own decisions, and perform tasks without constant supervision. Fostering independence is crucial for a child’s development, as it builds self-esteem and confidence, essential for navigating the complexities of life.

Overprotection: The Invisible Barrier

One of the most significant barriers to developing independence in children is overprotection. While it’s natural for parents to want to shield their children from harm, overprotective behavior can stifle a child’s ability to learn from experiences. For instance, a parent who always intervenes to resolve their child’s conflicts with peers denies the child the opportunity to develop negotiation and problem-solving skills. The impact? A child who may struggle with autonomy and self-reliance later in life.

Fear of Failure: A Double-Edged Sword

Both children and parents can fall prey to the fear of failure. This fear can prevent children from attempting new activities or taking risks, essential components of learning and growth. To combat this, parents can adopt a supportive approach, emphasizing effort over outcome. Celebrate attempts and failures as part of the learning process, and encourage your child to see challenges as opportunities to grow.

The Digital Dilemma: Screen Time vs. Real Time

In today’s digital age, excessive screen time can impede a child’s development of social skills and problem-solving abilities. While technology is an integral part of modern life, balance is key. Encourage activities that require real-world interaction, such as team sports, family board games, or outdoor adventures. These experiences promote independence by fostering social skills and critical thinking.

Fostering Independence with Love and Limits

Setting appropriate boundaries and expectations is vital in promoting independence. This involves teaching children to perform age-appropriate tasks on their own, such as tidying their room or preparing simple meals. At the same time, it’s important to provide support and guidance. Striking this balance shows children that while they are encouraged to be self-sufficient, they are not alone in their journey.

Empowering Choices: Encouraging Independent Thinking

Encouraging children to make their own choices within safe and reasonable boundaries is a powerful way to foster independent thinking. Offer choices in daily matters, such as what to wear or what to eat for breakfast. Additionally, allow children to face the natural consequences of their choices when safe to do so. This approach teaches them to weigh options and consider outcomes, a critical skill for independence.

Conclusion

Developing independence in children is a complex process, fraught with obstacles. By understanding these challenges and implementing strategies to overcome them, parents can effectively guide their children towards self-reliance and confidence. Remember, the goal is not to remove support but to empower children to stand on their own, equipped with the skills and confidence to face the world independently.

To know more about our childcare program please contact us at https://www.alphabetzmontessori.com/contact-us.html 

https://alphabetzmontessori.com/

Call us: (210) 350-9000, (210) 993-5577

Add: 12026 Culebra Rd, San Antonio,TX 78253

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[grox]

I do hold scorn for people in weed states I do. I really do. The way your stupid 21 year old ass can go to the weed store and buy weed. The way your stupid 21 year old ass can buy weed online not a care in the world. And you have so much to choose from. You have so much fucking gorrila cumshot big fat load of cum horse cock mega 1 billion tch % to choose from and they all got different names and when our good texan plugs come home from colorado they bring that poison with them. They bring that poison home to us. And the people of texas, we're smoking that poison. Were smoking that filthy filthy colorado 10000 thc shit, and were dying. Were dying out here. The soil down here is lerfect for weed. If we could have weed we could create, beautiful poison. Way more toxic than colorodo. Way more toxic than california. We can make weed so insane, bitched from colorado will come down here, to smoke OUR poison. And WE could name it shit like Ram Ranch. We could name it shit like Horse Erection. We could name it shit like, I dont know, Forget The Alamo. YOU, worthless idiots up north, can smoke our latino magic. You dont got tejanos. You dont got our technology. You don't got what it takes. You dont know what its like. Theyre not legalizing weed down here cause they hate us. You know they do. You know for a fact they do. So yeah. Just think before you spark up with that shit you got down the street trouble free. Do so in my name. In our name. Keep the less fortunate in mind. I HOPE THE CIELING FAN FALLS ON YOU

[alamocarehome]

Home Health and Palliative Care - New Alamo Care Home

New Alamo Residence Home is committed to the health and well-being of our residents and providing those we serve with high-quality, resident-centered care. That means narrowing our focus to continue leading the way in exceptional senior living care and partnering with other leaders in the healthcare industry to enhance the care our residents receive across our broad care continuum

[wwditsdaily]

[Sing-songy] Naaandoor, hello. It's your boy, Colin Robinson. But I'm going to tell you my real name. It's...Arthur Simon Santino. But I-I had to change it because people would laugh when they realized the initials spelled ASS. Do you know who it was who pointed that out to me? It was my ex-boyfriend, Davy Crockett. At the Alamo. If you don't believe me maybe this knife that Jim Bowie gave me will convince you.

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS 5.06 Urgent Care

[princesscolumbia]

Star Trek Captains, A Review and Categorization

Star Trek is a show about a Neo-military organization that has rank structures, ships, and fights wars, so naturally there's plenty of captains to talk about, but for this post I'll be highlighting specifically the main cast captains, in something resembling chronological order. (But, I mean, this is Star Trek, so even that's kinda up in the air)

Captain Archer

That Guy who had to hand crank the warp engine up-hill both ways in the blinding ion storm. We don't need no stinkin' Prime Directive! Remember The Alamo Pearl Harbor 9/11 Florida! But...uh, maybe don't be dicks about it, not everyone who looks like the ones responsible for that thing we're never going to forget actually wants us dead. Got transformed into an alien, got possessed by another alien, slept with a couple more. Never got pregnant, though (that was his chief engineer)

Scorecard

Ships commanded: 1

Wars started: 0

Wars ended: 3

Times on screen naked: 1

Nazi facilities destroyed: 1

Category: Grampa

Captain Pike

Midlife crisis? What midlife crisis? Everything's fiiiiine. Now eat something, it'll make you feel better. I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. Number One, don't tell me I can't adopt more kids, I don't care that they're from the future they're mine now. Besides, we've already got a whole ship-full, what's two more?

Scorecard

Ships commanded: 2

Violations of the Temporal Prime Directive: -3 (yes, it's an irrational number, we're talking time travel, people!)

Musical Numbers Participated While On Duty: 3

Hair: Really Great

Category: Dad (or DILF if you swing that way)

Captain Georgiou

You will be captain when you can snatch the stone from my hand.

Scorecard

Ships commanded: 1

Protege's who required a redemption arc: 1

Awesomeness: Transcendent

Category: Gone too soon, also, MILF who can kick your ass

(Edit: Courtesy of @cheer-me-up-scotty for pointing out an oversite on my part)

Captain Burnham

Cosplays as a Vulcan 'cause she's jealous of her adoptive brother. Accurately called an audience-stand-in-self-insert-mary-sue (shut up, Star Trek fandom invented the Mary Sue, it was a term coined by women fans, so shut up!), but by season 2 she actually gets interesting.

Scorecard

Mommy Issues: Has a subscription

Moms: 4

PTSD inducing life events: Like, all of them

Ships commanded: 3

Mutinies led failed: 1

Category: That One Cousin who married surprisingly well and made something of herself in spite of all expectations

Captain Kirk

Golden retriever energy, would be the Useless Bisexual Himbo if he didn't have so much game. Probably smarter than he lets on. Polyamory King and certified Alien Fucker. Boyfriend is a half-space-elf, main sometimes-girlfriend will go on to create the deadliest super-weapon ever built by humans by accident.

Scorecard

Number of Klingon Bounties on his head: [CLASSIFIED]

Number of women he's slept with: [CLASSIFIED]

Nazi regimes toppled: 1

Number of times he should have had a test that determines if you can stick your dick in it that got named after an upstart from that other science fiction show instead: 1

Ships Commanded: 3

Ships He's Stolen: 3

Category: Slut(affectionate)

Captain Kirk (the other one)

Golden Retriever that got left behind when his family moved away and had to lead a ragtag team of a crotchety older dog and a wet cat on a journey...

No, wait, hold on...

Right! That's the one!

Scorecard

Times he should have been kicked out of Starfleet: At least 4

Ships commanded: 3

Ground transport destroyed: 2 (that we know of)

Number of middle fingers given to Admiralty: 2

Category: Bad Boy

Captain Picard

You know that guy who you see going to the library all the time and always seems to have his nose in a book and always seems to be telling people off for breaking the rules and doing dangerous shit? You'd never know it but he used to be That Guy in college who got, like, ALL the girls and is going to be the Hot Grampa that you don't know how he has that much game, but he got it.

Scorecard

Ships lost in the line of duty: 2

Number of times he married and then estranged his best friend's wife who named their son after her dead first husband: 1

Number of toxic omnipotent and omniscient boyfriends who are obsessed with him and spends their spare time playing with ponies: 1

Category: Inexplicable Sexyman

Captain Badass Sisko

The Cool Dad with baggage. He's got game, but he's got priorities as well, and DON'T mess with his son or you won't even exist anymore to regret it. BLM before it was cool. Led a civil rights riot two centuries before he was born. Space Jesus who can make the best jambalaya you've ever had. Fought and won a war, punched a god, then became one.

Scorecard

Civilizations saved: 4

Native Cultures Treated With the Respect They Deserve: Many

Times He Bent the Rules so his CMO could get some nookie from a Cardasian spy plain, simple tailor: The counter broke

Successful black-ops assassinations completed: 1

Category: BAMF

Captain Janeway

THE single most decorated captain in Starfleet history. Successfully dropped the hammer on dozens of petty tyrants, oppressive regimes, roaming mass murderers, and the Borg. What Prime Directive? Your Mom. Also, probably slept with your mom, that's how much she is the Domme-est of Dommes. She told the Borg to use the safe word...and they DID!

Scorecard

Borg Daughters: 1

Times she told the Borg to step off: 3 (or 4...or 5? Honestly, with the time travel shenanigans it's hard to know for sure)

Nazis she's personally shot: 1

Category: Mistress, but it's "Ma'am" to you

Captain Freeman

She's angry AND disappointed! She's just as good as all the other captains in the fleet, and the good ones know it, but all the rest? They see "cali class" and assume all they're good for is the jobs nobody else wants. But jokes on them, because thanks to that attitude her crew are the flippin' Jacks and Jills of all trades and are more capable of fixing AND fucking AND "fucking" shit up than damn near anyone else!

Scorecard

Times the ship has nearly been destroyed but she and her crew got through it: ...uh...how many episodes are there? And then there's the times that get casual mentions that we never get the details on!

Daughters who should probably be captains now if they were at least a LITTLE more respectful and didn't actively try to piss off Admirals: 1

Times the Cerritos has had to be rebuilt to the point it might as well be called "The Ship of Cerritos Problem": At least 4

Category: Your mom...get back here, I'M NOT DONE TALKING TO YOU!

Captain R'El

Cinnamon Roll, just let m'boy into Starfleet! He just wants a home and a family! I'd like to see full-grown captains who can keep up with half of what this Best Boy is capable of!

Scorecard

Number of species his genetic code is made up of: All of 'em. Even the GODDAMN Q!

Number of Janeways he impressed the socks off of: 2

Quality of his Janeway impression: Bad

Number of Ferengi he out-Ferengi'd: 1

Nazis punched: Give him time...

Category: Teenage Boy Who's NOT GOING THROUGH A PHASE, MOM!

Should I do Captains Shaw and Seven? How about Alternate Timeline Tripp or Future Chakotay? (Going too far down that rabbit hole will eventually lead to Imperial Kirk and Captain Spock from the movies.) Let me know in the comments.

Next Post in this series

[cillianhead]

oppie (cillian’s version) is a sub change my mind

i think oppie (cillian's version) is a freak in the sheets. (listen this is all just me daydreaming more about Cillian AS OPPIE just doing stuff BUT LIKE I DO SAY STUFF REFERENCING OPPENHEIMER KIND OF??? SO SORRY IF ANYTHING IS INCORRECT (tbh this ain't that freaky it's just me writing a short little random blurb lol) (also i sorta switch in and out of using she / you)... 18+ OBVIOUSLY MINORS DNI!!!)

i think he's probably more than happy to be a dom or a sub, he doesn't really care. I think he'd also be into being pegged by his woman or pulled around on a leash or slapped around. oppie is pretty open-minded and pretty eager to 'spice' things up. but this is all just me daydreaming

i can imagine you in the Los Alamos home, waiting for him in bed after a long day's work of telling men what to do. And finally... the time when he got told what to do... whether it be fuck her harder until his back aches or let him be the chew toy he usually was. she liked to joke she'd make him his own personal collar to go along with his clothes... and the thought of that did turn him on, not strange at all to him who stares into the making of the death of mankind. The idea of sex was something just as complicated and interlaced with deep intricacies we will never understand but also something more primal. Something that reminded him he was human. And fuck... staring into your sticky pussy you fiddle with as he starts to undo his tie was like frying every cell in that brain of his.

"No... keep it on..." You shake your head, fingers still drawing circles lazily on your clit barely teasing yourself as you lay there proudly for him. His eyes soaked in your body and how utterly breathtaking the sight of what lies in between your legs was. "I wanna pull you around on it..." "Well... yes, ma'am," He'll flare his nose in a tone of amusement as he tips his hat off to her and sets it down on the dresser as he unbuttoned his shirt. Robert would watch you in the mirror as you slid your sticky fingers to your thinly-veiled tits, slipping your fingertips under the lacy top and toying with your hard and incredibly sensitive nipples. You drove him crazy in the best of ways... in the ways he should be crazy. "Now don't look at me like that, bunny..."

"You're taking way too long to undo those buttons of yours..." You complain and he'll roll his eyes as he always does once he gets off his top pieces, he's undoing his belt and pants within a matter of seconds. His tie still around his neck as he stood fully naked and fully erect for you as you got up on your knees on the bed, perched up and facing him as you leaned in. You'd grab his chin and he'd feel how wet your fingers are. "Are you gonna behave tonight, daddy?" You asked, tilting your head as you yanked on his tie a little, enjoying the way he flinched.

"Yes, of course, my darling..." He nods desperately, mouth full of drool for your demands. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it... command me, I'm your slave." "Get on your fucking knees and beg..." You whisper harshly and then slap him across the face and he lets out a delightful sigh at the familiar burn and the handprint on his face. "You like that don't you..." As he collapses to his knees, Oppie nods and prays for you to give him something.

"Please... Y/N..." Oppie tries, head tilted slightly down as you lower your feet down to the floor and run your fingers through his short hair, treating him like a dog. "I'll be a good boy." You pulled his face to force him to look at your pretty pussy, close enough to smell but not close enough to taste... you were teasing him. "I beg of you..."

'Tsk Tsk Tsk' You shook your head with a smug grin on your face, swaying your hips and tantalizing him with his favorite view. "More."

"Darling," He pleaded, eyes so big and blue, he was defenseless to how he showed his emotions through the dread of the irises honesty. "Please let me taste you... I've dreamt about you in my head all morning and all afternoon..." "Dreamt of me?" You mused.

"In the daytime," He mumbles, trying to shake his head from your grasp like a feral dog trying to get at its prey. "I see flashes of you... pictures of you... traces of you everywhere... I see you in my mind wherever I go."

"How very romantic of you," You chimed, letting go of his hair to lean back on the bed and prop your legs up on his shoulder, spreading yourself out on display for him. His pupils expanded like black holes on the horizon of a dying sun that shone blue. "You can taste..."

No other words were said by him as he (for once) mindlessly dove in and buried his face into your wet cunt. Oppie wasn't sure there was a god up above but he knew this was heaven right here with his head between your thighs and your lips slipping his name loudly and endlessly.

He loved being bossed around, being possessed, it reminded him of his body, and for once not his mind.

??? did any of this make sense??? sorry??? lol

[youthereader]

Near Zero part 1.

pairing: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

summary: 2.8k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

rating: eventually E (no smut in this part); age gap (10+ years), infidelity, period-typical sexism

a/n: Though based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character. This is not intended to be historically accurate, merely written as entertainment. This is my first reader fic ever, so please be kind! Many thanks to @indulgence-be-thy-name for encouraging me and helping iron out wrinkled ideas.

part 2. 3.* 4. 5. 6.* 7.*

When you see him now, he’s so different to the last time, but he’s unmistakably the same man. Now, he wears a broad hat and carries a pipe as he approaches you in the empty room.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he says, and his smile opens him up completely.

He extends a hand as you rise to meet him. Your things are being sorted thoroughly somewhere out back, but you still hold onto your coat and matching pocketbook. Los Alamos feels like another world, so remote that you hadn’t expected the town to be built here, with roads and people swarming. It is a living, breathing thing you’ve somehow managed to stumble into, it feels.

“Dr. Oppenheimer,” you reply, shaking his hand. “I didn’t know if you were meeting me.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss it,” he replies, though he sounds distracted. “What do you know?”

Hardly any pleasantries, which you expected. In the years of knowing him, Dr. Oppenheimer didn’t get to know you as your professor, and certainly not as anything else outside of the classroom. You had not subscribed to the Cult of Oppie, and not necessarily out of choice.

Though there were women studying theoretical and experimental physics, they were few and far between. Since leaving high school, you had understood that to be taken seriously, you could not act like a man. The few friends you had in high school often teased you about your lack of grace, your ability to be covered in chalk dust at any given time, and your unwavering standoffish nature.

You belong in a think tank, not on a podium proclaiming these theories. You could work in a team, which was why you supposed your name came up for this.

“My country needs me,” you reply.

He smiles again, somewhat smaller. His eyes survey you a beat longer and you swallow, picturing your hair windswept and unruly from the train journey. You might smell of sweat, you hadn’t showered since yesterday and came straight here when you let yourself known to security.

“And your country will be glad to have you. Have a seat.”

He gestures to a desk and chair, waiting for you to sit. The silence stretches and you feel his eyes on you. You’re wearing your best dress and your nails match your lipstick. Though you were given little context about being summoned here, it felt like a job interview from the telegram you received a few days ago.

The last time he saw you, you dressed like someone that didn’t care about making a good impression.

To stamp down any nerves, you pluck your cigarettes case from your pocketbook, fishing one out. A lit match appears as you put a cigarette between your lips, Dr. Oppenheimer’s hand cupping the flame as you lean in.

“Mm, thank you,” you murmur. You exhale, watching as he pulls back, extinguishing it with a short puff of air.

He stares down at the burnt-out match for a couple seconds before he looks back at you again, his brows furrowing.

“This opportunity means reaching beyond what we have before scientifically,” he says, and you take another pull from your cigarette.

You speak around your smoke. “This is to do with Nazi weapons, isn’t it.”

“They split the atom,” he replies, and you nod. “And since you’re here, it means you’ve been cleared to be part of our great endeavour.”

The ‘our’ would be ‘his’ to a lot of people. You know better, having seen the hundreds of people outside.

“I need like-minded people,” he says.

You rub the tip of your thumb and forefinger together absently, frowning. You were the first to admit that you had very little in your life besides your work, and that hadn’t been plentiful since war broke out. Belatedly, it occurs to you that he’s referring to your intelligence.

“What could I contribute? I wasn’t one of your best.”

“You were,” he amends, lowering his voice a little. “You just didn’t participate outside of a school building. You were invited.”

Your eyes swing to meet his and you recall that Oppie reputation, that he was a womanizer underneath the genius. It never meant to be aimed towards you, that charm. Or so you assumed.

“I’m not the type to enjoy crowds,” you reply. “It’s a character flaw of mine.”

You were speaking just like your parents, the ones that had not encouraged you to pursue academia. Being a homemaker, someone with a reliable husband was what they wanted for you.

“Would you have come, if I asked you to, personally?” he asks.

His question throws you, and you stammer out: “N-now, or back then?”

“I asked for you both times,” he says.

For the first time, you blush. Hoping he ignores this, you smoke some more to clear your head. You had almost forgotten about his ability to make you flustered.

“If you asked me to come to a class party personally, I would have said yes,” you admit.

You dare to glance his way again, stomach flipping. So much for being a more polished version of yourself, you’re back to being mousey and strange under those intense eyes.

“That’s a pity,” he murmurs. “But I’m glad you’re here now.”

-

In the days and weeks to follow, it’s quickly made clear that there’s no leaving Los Alamos. Your residence is between a series of identical houses. The house itself is barely larger than your living quarters you remember from college. A cramped bedroom, a washroom, and a kitchenette. Nowhere to entertain to speak of, but it was still a privilege to have your own space. Your neighbors to your left are a young family of three, and to your right, there are two secretaries related to fellow scientists.

You keep to yourself. You opt for a long letter to your parents explaining very little about the new role here. You’re certain your letters are read by someone along the way for obvious reasons, and explaining it all tires you anyway.

Being a part of something as insular as this takes some adjusting to say the least. There is no escaping without being noticed, as there are guards all over. You overhear town gossip without meaning to; the tiny bubble you circle over and over is both thrilling and stifling. Everything feels pressurized in those first couple days in your new home especially. You sit on your new bed with your hands in your lap, cigarette perpetually lit in times like these.

You leave early the morning you’re expected in the department, unable to delay the inevitable any longer. You’re not the only one with this drive, walking into the main laboratory (a wide room with desks in rows with a blackboard at the back) to find several men already seated, chatting with one another.

You pause, waiting as their attention diverts to you. You recognize a few of them from professional acquaintance, whereas others you’ve only known by reputation. The air shifts, and you feel very out of place.

“Good morning,” you say, voice soft, controlled.

You wish to be invisible, which was why your clothes were far demurer than what you arrived in earlier that week. Admittedly, you did agonize over your hair for perhaps longer than necessary, but you’re glad you haven’t done childish braids or nothing at all. There’s a fine line to tread with these men; being attractive but not ostentatious is usually the aim. From what you’ve learned over the years, not caring about your appearance tends to backfire in terms of being taken seriously.

You don’t agree with any of this, of course. No-one should be judged on their appearance in terms of their intelligence or whether they’re worth listening to. Unfortunately, this is just the game you must play, especially in academia.

Your eyes catch various reactions, some eyes lighting up with recognition, others perplexed. Some might not have seen you in years and don’t remember you at all, which is fair. You never strove to be known; your work is what mattered.

A couple men come forward to shake your hand, pleased to see you. You ignore the way a few pairs of eyes dip to your exposed ankles. You’re scanned and assessed, and whether you’re found wanting is forgotten, for you feel the touch of someone’s hand on your arm and turn your head towards the source.

“Oppie. Back in one piece!” someone calls out.

You stare at the side of Dr. Oppenheimer’s face, your arm burning from where he touched you to slip past. Had he been that close behind you on your way there? You don’t think you could have missed him, though you were preoccupied with your thoughts.

“Yes. Well rested and ready to get back to work,” he replies, striding towards the front.

He doesn’t look your way, doesn’t acknowledge you in the slightest, which is fine. It’s not out of the ordinary, and so you sit down on the edge of the group, ankles together under your desk.

“Oppie the Rancher, I don’t see it.”

You can. His hat reminds you of a frontiersman. You can picture him staring out across the desert on his horse, reins in hand.

“A night under the stars can do wonders for your mind, Richard,” Oppenheimer retorts, pointing with his pipe. “You should try it sometime.”

The men banter and you sink into your observer role with ease. At least they’re not acting that differently with a woman present. As more people fill the room, you relax into your chair with your notebook and pen at the ready.

You stand as Dr. Bethe enters, shaking his hand. You will report to him, the head of the theoretical division. Once he takes a seat, the noise dissipates, and Oppenheimer launches into the meeting.

You will have to play catch-up for some time, but it’s not altogether intimidating. You know you can dedicate all your time to this, since you have no family staying here.

-

Days are spent with your head full of equations. You drink cups of drip coffee over and over, and ashtrays are filled and emptied. You are among a team of theorists assigned to a specific task by Bethe, whose own intellect is dedicated to your cause.

The goal is to solve the issue of nitrogen fusing into magnesium, or, to understand the probability of the nitrogen atoms fusing. There isn’t data on this, and so you must calculate for this occurring every time a fission bomb would detonate. Every time, there is a chance that the bomb would cause a chain reaction.

You write out the calculations like everyone else, and each conclusion is the same. There is a chance that the atmosphere itself may ignite.

Everyone else begs for rest, but your mind won’t give you relief. You chain smoke, standing in front of the blackboard with your chalk aloft, as the world darkens around you. You ignore your rumbling stomach, finishing the calculation again with a short sigh. Stepping back, you hear:

“What are you doing here?”

You turn your head to see Oppenheimer standing by the doorway, lips parting at the sight of your face, his hat in his hand. He walks over, glancing at the board behind you.

“It’s the same,” he says, eyes darting left to right.

“I’ve done this ten times,” you murmur. “Theory always leaves near zero chance of catastrophe.”

“Near zero,” he repeats, pulling in a breath. “Yes, I know.”

The weight of this is as much a reality to you as a theory, since this isn’t a classroom back in California, but a laboratory equipped with hundreds of scientific minds all working to build the same weapon. There are marbles representing very real plutonium in the fishbowl six feet away from you.

“I don’t wish to be an alarmist,” you add.

He looks at you again, eyes dipping to your mouth, and you feel a stir beneath your navel. To your surprise, he gives a small smile, but it’s not condescending. You’ve seen him give those out plenty before but have yet to receive one yourself.

“Your fears are valid, though not entirely necessary,” he murmurs. “I just got back from Michigan. I left in a panic about theory. But theory can only take you so far.”

You recall not seeing him for a couple days, though you are prone to missing others when you’re stuck in your own head. Oppenheimer is the exception, always.

He moves to lean against the desk beside you and you follow him, perching yourself at the edge as he looks down at his hat.

“I needed to speak to Compton about the potential chain reaction, of course there’s no possibility of speaking about it on the telephone-”

“So, you took a train all the way to see him?” you ask, and he nods. “But now you seem calm.”

“Not calm,” he says, though his voice is level. “More understanding that there’s a 3-in-a-million chance of total apocalypse.”

Those chances, though conceptually low, are not non-existent. You watch as he glances up at you once more, the air leaving the room. His eyes implore you.

“Near zero.”

“Near zero,” he echoes, his voice a near whisper. He places his hat back on his head.

You push off the desk and pick up the eraser, beginning to wipe the board clean of your calculations. When you finish, you look over at him again, frowning.

“If you’re more understanding, why are you here?”

It’s possible he didn’t go home because he needed to work this all out, like you. He keeps staring back at you, intimidating you as always, causing heat to rise at the back of your neck. In the low light, you hope it’s undetectable.

“The light was on. I saw you through the window.”

You swallow, ducking your head. “Oh.”

You place the eraser back on the ledge, and the space between you seems to shrink though neither of you move. You might be imagining the way he takes you in. He’s the director, and he has valid concerns for his staff.

But you’re no fool. His gaze is too familiar, especially when he nods at you, saying:

“Grab your things. I’ll work you out.”

You obey, following him out, switching off the light along the way. As you walk together down the halls, your footsteps echoing, you smell him beside you. He is tobacco, and body odour. Nothing sharp or unpleasant, but intimate, a semi-sweet musk. You smell the dust on his jacket and think of him sitting astride his horse with that thousand-yard stare.

You exit the building with nods to the guards, bringing you back to the present. You don’t want to leave him there in the street, but his residence is nowhere near yours as far as you know. You think of his wife, not for the first time, and wonder what he tells her about what they’re doing here.

“I’m this way,” you murmur.

Oppenheimer doesn’t respond how you expect, walking beside you for a few minutes instead of leaving you to find your way home alone. The silence between you in companionable, not strained, which feels like a miracle to you. From memory, he has never been someone you had a poor encounter with. It feels like a fluke, but statistically, it makes sense.

Your head still reels with equations, probabilities, and dire consequences. The chances of sleeping are so low, but you still wish him goodnight when you arrive at your residence.

There are people in the street, some glancing your way, seeing him and wave. He lifts a hand but doesn’t greet them further. He waits, watching you try to figure out how to leave him.

“Try to sleep.”

“I don’t know how likely that is,” you admit, turning back to him.

His hands are on his hips, and he smiles knowingly.

“I need you sharp tomorrow.”

You stand so close to one another now that his voice is low, the intimacy of the moment spreading over you.

“You’re no longer Sisyphus, you can rest.”

You think about pointing out the hypocrisy of this. You doubt he finds it easy to sleep at night, under the stars or otherwise.

“I think it’s more like the incy wincy spider,” you say, emboldened by his proximity to you. “Not quite as tragic.”

He chuckles and you smile back at him. He steps back, nodding a little. “Have a good night.”

He waits for you to go to your door, and you open it, glancing back at him for a moment. His smile returns, an understanding shade to his eyes.

“Remember the sun comes out again,” he calls.

He takes off, and you shut the front door behind you, leaning your forehead against it as you exhale.

Thank you for reading! 🖤 Likes, reblogs and replies are always appreciated and genuinely motivate me. 🥺

[bread--quest]

when i first heard about taylor swift's "1830s without all the racists" line, my first thought was, naturally, "but why the 1830s?" "what even happened in the 1830s?" i foolishly asked. over the past few days a variety of sources, including my readings for class, have led me to discover that in fact many things happened in the 1830s. i therefore present, less because i actually care about anything taylor swift thinks and more because i care a LOT about making silly history jokes, An Extremely Non-Comprehensive List Of Things That Happened In The 1830s.

queen victoria takes the throne (perhaps swift intends to replace her?)

a LOT of colonialism

THE JUNE REBELLION OF 1832 !! (immortalized in les miserables)

nat turner's rebellion

CHICAGO FOUNDED !!

andrew jackson's presidency

on a better note, the first public physical attack on a us president and first attempted presidential assassination (both on jackson)

texas war of independence (taylor swift at the alamo is an amusing image to me)

invention of the telegraph

a variety of extremist religious sects, most famously mormonism

canadian rebellions

the aroostook war (ask me about the aroostook war. i dont think taylor swift would have enjoyed it)

women's outfits "featured larger sleeves than were worn in any period before or since," according to wikipedia

conclusion: i still have no idea why anyone would want to live in the 1830s, racism or not. as cool as the telegraph and chicago are the concept of bathing regularly had not come into fashion and andrew jackson was there. perhaps taylor swift has a fondness for ginormous sleeves.

[a-daks]

glad I saw the final season at the alamo drafthouse surrounded by other fans and people who made RvB happen over the years and listened to the q&a happen because I literally don't really fucking care what headcanons got destroyed or some shit. wah wah muh grimmons who gives a shit. matt hullum teared up talking about this thing he started making with his buddies 21 years ago turning into this. He liked being in it. Everyone loved working on it. That's what I want to take away and remember it by.