#and I don’t feel informed enough to speak about how it screws over disabled people but it definitely does

[tristinian]

It’s always “what will you do when you’re old and you have no one to look after you” and never “there’s a societal problem where we expect people to have partners or children that can look after them”

[ethrenisnotthehero]

@hogwartsmystory is a predator (final)

If you haven’t read the other parts of this callout, I encourage you to start here. As in both previous posts, the normal tags are not included in order to allow this to reach as many people as possible. Potential triggers are listed below, and the main content is hidden to keep sensitive individuals from being unintentionally exposed.

TW: Pedophilia, Abuse, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Self Harm, Suicide, NSFW Topics, Faked Illness, Faked Mental Illness, Faked Death, Victim Blaming

Originally, I intended to craft this final part to you, the reader, as an emotional appeal. To be wholly honest, there’s only so much evidence that can be utilized without either forcing Jill to relive unnecessary trauma or exposing deeply intimate or personal parts of her life. Until now, everything I’ve told you and everything I’ve shown you is what was enough to convince me when Jill first reached out to me. If you, the reader, don’t believe the factual information that’s been presented so far, then I don’t think that you will. If you, the reader, believe Jill and her story, then no further evidence is going to magically make her story more true.

However, I don’t have to. Instead, I can let the friends-- the family--that Ren created on his website speak for themselves, and show you with their own testimony just the kind of person he was. Jill wasn’t the only person that Ren hurt. Jill wasn’t even the only person Ren preyed on as a sexual predator. Many people on staff, and many people outside of it, knew Ren and grew to have what they thought was a close relationship with him. People regarded him as someone to look up to, to find comfort in, to aspire after, to lean on; people thought of him as a friend and a hero in his community.

On April 12, 2021, at 9:57 AM Greenwhich Mean Time, the current administrators of Advanced Scribes issued a statement addressing Ren’s actions and his faked death. An additional announcement was made the following day. While the announcements themselves and the replies (including moderator statements) are publicly available, I have saved a print-to-PDF versions on Google for you to browse at your leisure. 

I intentionally waited until the initial panic and outrage died out a little to let the most important statements come to light. Included in the PDF are sentiments that I personally thought were the most important sentiments; edits have been made and pages have been deleted, so you can see the current state of the conversations by visiting them directly. You can find the first discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42100#p1454263 and the second discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42107#p1454361.

Before you continue reading, please look over the statements and replies. The words of former staff former friends say more than I can ever hope to about Ren and the kind of reality that he stood for. Additionally, Jill herself has added to the conversation (username Rakuen), so you can read a bit from her perspective by looking into these announcements. After you’ve taken a look, continue below and I will sum up my final thoughts on this predator and his legacy.

Advanced Scribes • Our Statement (PDF)

Advanced Scribes • Change (PDF)

The Act of Grooming, Part 3: Entrapment

One of the reasons that predators get away with their crimes for so long is because they trap their victims. When they gain access to and successfully lure in their prey, they then engage in entrapment behavior to separate victims from other people and build reliance. The reason why kids are so prone to predation is because of how vulnerable they are. Young people just want to belong. They just want to have community, security, and affection. When they can’t get those things in their lives, they seek it out and take it where they can get it even when the situation is obviously bad. Kids can’t be held accountable for being smart because they’re kids. Jill was vulnerable. She wanted belonging and support. She fell into Ren’s lures, and he trapped her. He used his affection as a tool to solicit sexual favors and pictures from her, but never shared his face with her. She was always chasing his love, and all the while he was simultaneously preying on other individuals in the community. For God’s sake, this man had a selfie thread where underage girls would send pictures of themselves publicly on the site for him to look at, and he even intentionally disabled the website’s COPPA features.

Before Jill, there was Buttercup. Buttercup was also an admin, and she was also 13 when she met Ren. While Ren was a minor during he and Buttercup’s relationship, his behavior with her was just as predatory and Buttercup attempted to warn Jill via PM before she ended her relationship with him.

The picture he sent Buttercup wasn’t even him.

The entire time that Ren was convincing Jill that Buttercup was evil, and jealous, and a spiteful, hateful person, he was manipulating her the same way he was manipulating Jill. Ren is a predator who knows what he’s doing; he always has. He draws in his victims and makes everyone hate them so that he’s the only person they have. He makes them so desperate for his approval that they let him screw them over time and time again, and for what? Just to see his face. Think about what you read. He didn’t just do this to Jill and Buttercup. He did this to every person he cheated with or got close enough to get a grip on. Even if he didn’t sexually exploit someone, he emotionally did. An entire community of people suffered through this over and over and over again. Read the statements again. If you only read the live version, read the PDF. 

I also want you to bear in mind that everyone on staff was equally a victim as they were an enabler. It doesn’t erase their responsibility, but their roles in this story or more nuanced than “moderator bad, burn the witch!” Some of Ren’s supporters were as young or younger than Jill when they met him. The two people most notorious for standing at his side right now were both “rewarded” with a relationship with him in the fallout of his faked death.  

At some point, this man looked at his behavior and not only decided that he didn’t need to take responsibility, but that his victims daring to try and claim some kind of ownership over their own story was a personal affront to him. 

Ren is a monster of his own creation. He chose to be that monster again, and again, and again.

What makes his enablers equally to blame is when they became adults and made a conscious choice to ignore what was happening, which brings us to the next topic.

Finally... How Old Was Jill?

Despite everything I’ve said and shared so far, I still get this question in my inbox.

How old was Jill? Did she lie about her age? Is she free of guilt because she was a kid? Did he know how old she was? Was she legal in her country?

I gave you all everything I had. There were some things I just couldn’t confirm because there was no proof either way. However, all of that changed when the announcements were released. I now know exactly how old Jill was when they began dating, exactly how old she was when people knew about their relationship, and even that Ren was public with all of this information. I also know that staff knew everything, and chose to do nothing.

As you can see in the screenshots above of Buttercup’s message, it was sent on Jun 17, 2015. At that time, Jill was 14 years old. By Buttercup’s estimation, they had been dating for around a few months, which is how I was able to discern the previous exact age of 14 years old at the time they began dating.

However, Ren himself refutes that fact in a Valentine’s post for Jill. As pointed out in the “Our Statement” thread, the post that user amnesia. references includes very sexual and disgustingly graphic descriptions of Ren’s activity with her. It also says this:

As per the timestamp of this particular post (as seen below), Jill was 16 at the time. Ren, a man claiming to be twenty-five years old at the time, was proud to admit that he had been with Jill since she was 13.

You can view the full PDF of this post to see what else he said here, but please be warned that his descriptions are NSFW and absolutely disgusting. 

Warm Fuzzies Post (PDF)

No adult should talk about a kid like that. In the statements, several staff members admit that they knew that the two were dating when she was 16, and that it grossed them out. But none of them did anything. To amnesia.’s credit, they claim they tried to pursue legal action but found no viable routes. 

From the discussions and statements, we can discern five things:

1. Jill was 13 when she started dating Ren. 2. She did not lie about her age. 3. Ren did not lie about her age. 4. Ren knew how old she was. 5. Staff knew how old she was.

Jill’s feelings and her opinions on staff and their behavior are separate from my own. She does not share my beliefs here, and I need to make it very clear that what I’m saying next is entirely my own opinion.

To everyone who was staff at that time: shame on you. It’s one thing to be a victim yourself and to not understand how or when to stand up for what’s right, especially when you’re young; it’s another to become an adult and to have let something like this permeate your legacy and your community for all this time. From what I understand, none of you are completely innocent in this. Ren wasn’t secret, he was loud and proud and he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Everyone who was an adult then and is an adult now shares some responsibility for that. Those of you who mean your apologies, thank you, but those of you who are using this event as a stepping stone to make that website into your own personal playground know who you are. Stop. There’s an entire generation of kids between AS and CS who have lost years of their childhoods to this shit and the only right thing at this point would be to turn the site over to the police so that Ren can answer for his crimes the right way.

To everyone else: protect the people around you. People like Ren don’t think about how other people think or feel. They don’t care who gets hurt or who they trample under their feet. Look around at your community, and ask yourself if those who interact with you know that you are safe. Inevitably, someone is going to get hurt. Are you the kind of person that they can come to when it happens, or are you the kind of person who will turn your head away? 

Be the person that everyone knows they can come to, because, eventually, someone’s going to need you.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Teen-ish, some references of sexual activity, but nothing explicit.

Trigger Warnings: None

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 10/16 (all chapters)

The last time you were in UA this late, you had given Shouta a faceful of pepper spray.

You shuddered as you swiped your ID and headed inside with Hizashi, still not sure you believed that any of this was real.

Only a matter of hours ago, you had been soaking in his bathtub, enveloped in far, far too many bubbles. You could still smell them against your skin, still feel the telltale ache between your thighs from your earlier activities.

Even as you strode through the corridors, Hizashi’s touches ghosted your body. You could still feel the tickles from where he had gotten down on his knees to fasten your shoes for you, the way he had stroked your hair and lulled you into sleep.

In many respects, you felt guilty. Hosu had burned while you paid for doughnuts. People had been grievously wounded while you cried out in pleasure. You had fallen asleep with your head on Hizashi’s chest while children came face to face with a serial killer.

Rationally speaking, you knew that there was nothing you could have done. You might have worked at UA but that didn’t change the fact that you were a civilian. Even if you had been on the scene, you would only have gotten in the way, but that knowledge did nothing to ease the pangs of guilt.

Several of the other teachers had already gathered in the conference room generally reserved for staff meetings. Several of them, including Shouta, had plainly come straight from patrolling the streets. Others, such as Cementoss, had been disturbed from sleep and still not quite woken up. Nezu sat at the head of the table, resting his head on his hands with a grave expression, while All Might paced the room, no doubt concerned for Midoriya.

You heard Shouta long before you saw him.

“This is bullshit and you know it.”

He was leaning against the wall, arms folded and looking furious, though where exactly that anger was directed you couldn’t be sure.

“Yo, yo, yo!” Hizashi called out as you entered the room. “Did someone call for a party?!”

Everyone turned to look in your direction, several rubbing their temples at the sudden noise. Shouta‘s eyes darted from you to Hizashi, plainly joining the dots.

You took in the stern faces and heavy atmosphere, before clapping your hands together.

“I’m going to make some coffee.”

~~~~

It took around half an hour for the rest of the faculty to arrive, by which time everyone had either taken a seat at the table or positioned themselves somewhere in the room. You sat down a few chairs down from Nezu, between Vlad and Hizashi. Shouta stayed on his feet, visibly agitated.

“I’ve called you all here to discuss the events in Hosu city,” said Nezu at last. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the news by now… but for those of you who haven’t…”

He pressed a button on the desk, switching on the enormous television screen behind him. You winced at the footage of Hosu shining like an inferno.

“Earlier this evening, the Hero Killer Stain was taken into police custody,” he said. “I’m sure you are all aware of his troubling history.”

Just about everyone had heard of the Hero Killer. He was responsible for the deaths of multiple heroes, as well as the critical injuries of many more. For most, he was a boogeyman.

“Recently, the hero killer struck in Hosu city, permanently disabling the hero Ingenium, also known as Iida Tensei,” said Nezu, “or, perhaps more importantly, the older brother of 1-A student Iida Tenya.”

You folded your arms and glanced at Shouta out of the corner of your eye, remembering a conversation you had had a week before.

You hadn’t talked much after he told you everything Hizashi liked, though that in itself wasn’t too far out of the ordinary. Shouta wasn’t a talkative person even when his schedule was forgiving.

He had knocked on your office door a little after lunch and sank down into the chair opposite your desk, arms folded and with a stony expression.

“Iida,” he had said, dropping a file on your desk. “I want you to speak to him.”

Earlier that day he had received a phone call from Iida’s mother, who was distressed to say the least about what had happened to the older of her sons. She had wanted UA to be aware of his situation and forgiving of any strange behaviour over the next few weeks. The worst case scenario would result in time off school.

Tenya would have needed counselling even without the grave circumstances of Tensei’s injuries and you met with him twice after the sports festival, though he had little interest in opening up. He thanked you for your concerns in the respectful manner you had come to expect from him, though shut down any attempt to discuss how he truly felt.

You and Shouta had both been concerned for him, though limited in exactly how far you could intervene. Never had it been more apparent than when he submitted his internship application. Shouta arrived in your office again, suspicious of the reasoning behind Tenya’s agency of choice, though Tenya himself denied any ulterior motives. Neither you nor Shouta had the power to deny him his agency of choice after both sides had agreed and so he had gone to work with Manual, now confirming all of your worst fears.

“Tonight, three of our students faced off against the hero killer, acting independently without the authority of their supervisors,” said Nezu. “Currently, we have only limited information available, but I do know that these students are Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya and Todoroki Shoto.”

As the daughter of a prosecutor, you knew without having to ask that this was a serious situation.

Even before you knew how to read and write, you understood the basics of hero law. Your father had decided all of his children would be lawyers and every family meal swiftly turned into a game of rapid fire questions.

“Could it be,” you said, “you’re going to expel them?”

Nezu sighed, resting his head on his hands.

“The incident is currently under investigation,” he said, “but that is a likely outcome.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s bullshit,” said Shouta. “What’s the point in training heroes if we punish them for acts of heroism?”

“The laws on this matter are quite clear,” said Nezu, “albeit short sighted. If three of our best students are expelled, not only will our reputation suffer greatly but it will quickly feed into the rhetoric of villains. For heroes to be punished for saving lives...well...doesn’t that only add fuel to the argument that modern hero society encourages grandstanding more than it does justice?”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Hizashi piped up. “Character references, that sort of thing?”

“Unfortunately, our hands are tied. At present the case is in the hands of the authorities,” said Nezu, “and heroes in general cannot interfere with the law. We can only hope that they reach a favourable conclusion.”

“We do need a plan of action, though,” said Nemuri. “If the students are formally charged, there’ll be reporters halfway around the block by sunrise.”

“We’re currently lacking critical information,” sighed Nezu. “Any action we take now would be based on pure hypotheticals.”

You chewed your thumbnail and watched the television, watching as the hero killer took several steps towards Midoriya.

“For a case this severe,” you said, “it’ll go all of the way to the top, likely overseen by the Chief of Police...”

“I imagine so.”

“In that case,” you said, “I think it’ll be okay.”

All eyes fell on you and heat rose in your cheeks.

“Uh, a-a-a-a-at least that’s my opinion!”

“No,” said Nezu, “go on.”

“Well,” you said, thinking back to your father’s dinner table quizzes, “I’m not too sure how to put this...hmm...but for a case like this, there’s a burden of proof. It’s not enough that they happened to be there at the time. You need proof that they each broke the law; that they each individually ignored orders and attacked Stain without permission. This would mean verifying wound patterns, collecting eyewitness reports, taking testimonies from all involved...”

You turned to look at the television, a grim expression across your face.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that of all of the footage of this incident, we’ve only ever seen that one looping video of Stain right before he collapsed? Considering everything happening in Hosu at the time, doesn’t it seem just a little bit likely that that is the only footage? Why haven’t they mentioned eyewitnesses?”

“Stain is known for keeping to the shadows,” said Nemuri. “It’d make sense for him to choose a place away from the public eye, with very few security cameras and minimal chances of being disturbed...which in this instance would work in our favour…”

“And if we consider the students’ quirks,” said Shouta, “Midoriya’s quirk is strength based, Iida’s is speed based, Todoroki’s consists of fire and ice…”

“...and we already know the city was burning,” said Hizashi, “there’s footage of Endeavour at the scene…”

“And Gran Torino,” said All Might. “His quirk is speed based. If we take into account Endeavour’s physical strength and fire, as well as Gran Torino’s speed...then all we have to account for is Todoroki’s ice...”

“...and it’d be difficult to prove either way that it was used to attack as opposed to defend. It’s likely at least one of them has injuries from Stain’s blade,” said Vlad.

“In the chaos of the overall incident, only the students and their supervisors can definitively say they ignored instructions,” said Cementoss. “So we just need to rely on Todoroki, Midoriya and Iida to play it smart.”

All eyes fell on Shouta.

He sighed.

“We’re screwed.”

~~~

You stayed on site for a few hours after that, going over contingency plans until Hizashi offered to walk you home. If tonight had taught you nothing else, it was how dangerous the streets could be and so you were only too happy to take him up on it. Not to mention, you wanted to have a frank discussion about how you were going to proceed now that you’d slept together.

“Is it always like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

You gazed up at the sky and stifled a yawn, taking note of the sunrise. To say tonight hadn’t gone as planned was an understatement.

“Ever since I came here,” you said. “It feels like there’s been one drama after another.”

“I think,” said Hizashi, booping your nose, “the universe saved it all just for you.”

You laughed at that, for he had no idea just how right he actually was. You had already slept with a coworker by your second day.

“Hey, hey you guys!”

Heels clattered against the tarmac and Nemuri threw her arms around you both. She was as dressed up as you were and you remembered grimly what Hizashi had said to you outside of Les Papilles , which was only a few hours ago, but felt like decades.

You kinda put us in the mood for French food.

Hizashi hadn’t gone to Les Papilles alone and, given he and Nemuri already had plans to hang out that evening, it made sense that they would have gone together.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said Hizashi with a smirk, “where’ve you been?”

“Asking all of the wrong questions, Mic,” she said, letting go of both of you. “Where haven’t I been?”

She reached up to cup your face and squeeze your cheeks.

“I have something for you,” she said.

“Iv it a glath of wine?”

“No, something way better!”

Nemuri took a step back and rummaged in her bra, leaving you a heady mix of intrigued and nervous. She pulled out a slip of paper and handed it over, eyes bright with excitement. You unfolded it, trying not to think about how warm it was.

It was a receipt from a pricey jewellery store for an equally pricey engagement ring. You reached into your purse, feeling around until your fingers landed on smooth metal. You dragged out the ring and read the receipt, matching up the item to the description.

“This...this is,” you said, eyes wide. “How did you get this?”

“I have my ways.”

You couldn’t look away from the price at the bottom; Akira must have chosen the most expensive one in the store. With that sort of money, you could pay your rent several times over and still have enough left to buy several ordinary engagement rings.

“This…I...”

You were more than a little bit overwhelmed. You had known Nemuri and Hizashi only a few months and yet they’d done so much for you.

How would the night have gone without them?

Would you have spent another 45 minutes in the shower like you did the day he dumped you?

Your eyes welled with tears and threw your arms around both of them, murmuring your thanks over and over. Nemuri stroked your back, Hizashi stroked your hair and for a moment all was right in the world, the Hosu incident and Akira’s cruel words at the back of your mind.

Only one thing could have made it better, you considered, heart skipping a beat at the sound of Shouta’s voice only a moment later.

“The hell did you two do?”

You supposed from an outsider’s perspective, it wasn’t immediately obvious that your tears were happy ones and you took a step back, meaning to reassure him that everything was okay. Hizashi got there before you, though, reaching an arm towards him.

“Ahh, Sho,” called out Hizashi, “come on, we’re having a moment. Group hug!”

“No.”

“Come into my arms, Eraser,” purred Nemuri.

“Never gonna happen.”

“Aw c’monnnnnnn.”

“No. I’m leaving.”

He turned to go and you untangled yourself from the hug, still rubbing the tears from your eyes as you picked up your pace and followed him, looping your arms around his middle and pressing your face into his back. He peered over his shoulder, visibly bewildered, though didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “thank you.”

“What for?”

You considered it, struggling to settle on one singular thing.

You remembered standing in front of your bathroom mirror with a pair of kitchen scissors and drugstore hair dye; remembered the emergency salon trip that swiftly followed. You remembered the expressions of shock as you handed in your resignation at your previous job; the excitement and hope you had felt on your first day at UA.

You remembered Akira’s words outside of Les Papilles .

Who else is going to want you?

You knew he had only said that to hurt you and in another life it would have knocked you for six. Now, though, it was clear to you that he was only repeating the same words you had told yourself every day since your first date.

Shouta was supposed to have been a one night stand and could so easily have been a costly mistake, but had instead been a turning point. He wanted you when it mattered, even if your encounter had only been sex. Until then you hadn’t known how it felt to be desired, didn’t know what it was like to be wanted without putting on some sort of mask. All of your life you had twisted and turned to become the person others needed. Shouta, though, had wanted you when all he knew was your name.

You didn’t know how to thank him for that.

Instead you said something else; something that gave him goosebumps and sent the tension from his body; something that brought crooked smiles to Hizashi and Nemuri’s face when they overheard it.

Something that, though none of you knew it then, Shouta would replay in his mind in the weeks to come.

~~~~~

As you embraced Shouta, everything falling into place, Masayama Akira woke up in cold sweats. His head pounded, his feet were numb and he realised, as he rubbed his temples, that he had no idea where he was.

He stumbled to his feet and glanced at his surroundings: the sky overhead and cold breeze. His heart skipped a beat when he realised he was at the top of a skyscraper with no shoes or jacket.

“What the f-,” he mumbled, hobbling towards the door.

He remembered only vague details of the night before, of getting down on one knee and eating dinner with another woman; a woman he had gotten drunk with and spent the night ranting to over beers.

“She’s nothing,” he remembered saying, holding up his beer for a toast. “I’m better without her.”

“Akira,” the woman had cooed, “you’re so right. You need to rid yourself of her...and I know exactly where to start.”

She stroked a hand to his arm, so gently that it made him shiver.

“Did you, by any chance, keep the receipt for the ring?”

Akira sighed in despair as he reached for the door handle, remembering nothing after that. Perhaps he’d call her once he’d had coffee.

Unfortunately, Akira realised very quickly that he wouldn’t be getting coffee any time soon. The door to the building was sealed shut and wouldn’t give no matter how hard he yanked at it.

He cursed and reached into his pocket for his phone, only to curse louder at the realisation that he was too high up to receive any sort of signal.

This was, perhaps, the worst thing to ever happen to him, overshadowed only by the knowledge that even now, after everything, his instinct was to call you.

[anyu-blue]

Busy as a bee

~

*sigh*

I had this big long thing typed up.. it's all gone now. That's twice it's happened. Let's see if third time's the charm.

It was about my trying to figure out how to talk about the shit I've been going through without just dumping it all on someone and having it be totally unjustified too...

I'm mad at my dad. I'm mad at Tevs... I'm mad at myself.

Basically...I'm frustrated that I'm seen as so much lesser than everyone else.

I know it's like 'no you're not!! You only think you are!! They love you!!' ... I've been smacked both literally and figuratively for saying 'you guys treat me different/unfairly compared to x'... But.. gods at this point I. Just. CAN'T keep believing them or telling myself that when the evidence is right in front of me. I feel like I must have done something REALLY BAD and BIG for everyone to pull away so hard... But at the same time... I... Can't figure what it is or how. I've asked too, but the closet I've gotten to an answer is 'You're too much, Meek.'

I know I sorta... Became a worse recluse than I was (kinda I'm response to that. Trying so hard NOT to be too much)... But I kept telling and telling and telling I was available and offering what I could and more... I kept trying to deal- if I need something I would provide in return, just name the price... Did I forget or fail to follow through with something? Or something? No one can think of anything to tell me that didn't have a legitimate reason if ever I did (as good as or better than they have given me) that I shared up front and sometimes in advance with them. I even went into detail about what might happen if I am asked for help on a bad day- I tend to be a bit grumpy if woken up, but will still be there to help and will apologize for any harshness as I am going about it. I do that- but... Nothing.. and every single person has offered and practically forced (in W0lfie's case) all of the stuff I've asked for onto anyone but me. Need help finding/getting a good word in for work! Sure!! *Gives me links to indeed and Job service sites I'm already on/refuses to say my application is in the mix for positions at their workplaces or downright says they don't know if I'm a good worker even though I gave them my sick day and late count and all that fun stuff to pass off or downright doesn't tell me there's a good opening they know about*

Oh such-and-such is happy where they're at? So-and-so Can't hold a job because they keep quitting? *Gives information about good jobs and puts in a good word for them and sticks their neck out to get them hired.. is surprised when the offer is rejected by the family that says they're already okay with their current work or the unreliable friend they got hired quits*... Oh woe is me, I need help and there's no one to turn to!! *Refuses to call me knowing I have the day off, have my phone on, and have said I'm free that day... Asks literally every other person even the ones that demand payment for the job or can only do a part of it.. or just ends up doing it themselves by dropping another important obligation instead of calling me*

:(

The most common excuse for that last one is. 'oh I didn't want to make you more stressed.'

Um... I offered? I was here the whole time? What...?

*sigh*

I suppose I wouldn't be thinking of that stuff or be so upset by it all except for the fact I'm told these things and then I'm shown (and told) this last week people think I'm EXTREMELY lazy...

My dad and everyone else wants me to/thinks I should work more than 3 days a week... Or should get on disability if it's 'that hard.' Obviously they've never tried and seen THAT shit show... I have looked into it. Not only have I gotten treated like something to be disgusted by friends, family, medical professionals, and jobs alike (because it's oh so despicable to be on social security while young and spry- even though I have medically frail on my damn chart I'm apparently 'young and spry'- fuck you) when I've tried to pursue it, also being on it ISN'T a cake walk.. the restrictions. The WORK you have to do (and the work you can't do!! I'm right in the middle and technically can work too much for disability, but not enough for getting by on my own). The shit you have to go through... My own therapist told me some programs I could pursue would put me further behind where I am and I could possibly never get out... And she was the one that pushed me to get foodstamps, so it's not like she thinks they're hooey...

My dad thinks me working 3 days a week and refusing to do more lest I break down all the time is just.. lazy.. unfortunate... Stupid. He wants me to take all these homeowners and car buying and loan classes... Like I'm EVER going to be able to afford a single one of those things.. or think it's a good idea to throw down $25-$150 a pop for a class, let alone spend 8 hours taking one (I'd love to and think they're amazing things, but uh...)... Like somehow it'll 'convince' me to 'work harder'.

DUDE.

What.

The.

FUCK.

Is WRONG with you?!

I get it... I seriously can't work more days a week. If I do, I completely spiral out of control from the pressure as well as the guilt from spiraling and and.. you get the idea. I just do. I know I do. And I found my balance in 3 days on.

It's pretty easy to think 4 days off are, well.. 4 days off. 4 days to play. 4 days of freedom. But... I make things... I've made two blankets already. One more I'm working on.. usually AT work because I'm so busy. Birthday gifts. Christmas gifts. Holiday gifts. Trying to do commissions too to get more money in. Also.. em... I'm usually awake during the day to.. make appointments because my health is just a mess.. helping the friends that HAVE asked for help... Running errands because I can't at night (partly due to Covid changing everything's hours)... Or if I HAPPEN to get to.. I'm sleeping because I'm on a night schedule.. at night if anyone had need of me I'd be right there!! But guess what, THEY are sleeping. If I actually have a night off (which I haven't in nearly a month now because I CAN go over to my friend who needs help's house at 5 in the morning.. after I drop W0lfie off at work or I'd be there sooner.) I'm DOING things. Wednesday itself happens to be dedicated to FIXING my sleep schedule that I screwed doing everything my sisters need or want me to do during the day... It's up to ME to screw MY sleep so THEY can get or have what they need/want... Never mind they refuse (with legitimate reasons) to do the same for me (though I have legitimate reasons I could say no as well, but ooooh I'm the 'bad guy').

*rubs face* I'm so busy my mind and body is screaming at me in pain. Sooo lazy 🙄

But yet I'm shit because I refuse to work more.

Idk what it is, okay? I. Don't. Know. Maybe it's the fact that I'm Autistic and something overloads that hasn't been address like ever and so has only gotten worse (this is my guess), or the PTSD is doing something (my therapist's guess--- which not to derail but WHO ELSE IS IN THERAPY IN MY FAMILY?! you want to guess? That's right, NO ONE... No one is even TRYING to deal with theirs, and I don't just mean the pandemic. Big sister had it as bad, if not worse than I did. Refuses. Dad and step mom knows they do. Little sister scared. Little bro disinterested. 'There's no time' or 'costs too much' despite several having free sessions available to them via their job and Heath insurance- with multiple options- and everyone but little sister making more than they ever have in their lives on top of relying on others to pay any bills they can't keep up on... GRR).. or something else that just makes me become such a wreck. I hate it more than anyone else, you know.. because I have to live with it AND everyone telling me how lazy and lucky and entitled and how 'much' I am.

...

And you want to know what sparked all of this?

Tevs worked a 12+ hour day that ended up having me woken up by the cats that hadn't been fed.

Let me explain... Tevs and I got into it badly after I was continually deprived of sleep because she was working so much and blaming me for 'making' her deal with stuff at home I didn't even know were problems. She continued to explode and explode and treat W0lfie and I TERRIBLY after work as well AND continually told our other friends and family she so desperately needed a vacation and LESS work, and just kept pulling 10, 11, 13 hour days she didn't have to... All while not eating or drinking or having bathroom breaks... and I was DONE with it. I have and had offered to do more, just need to be directed on what needs to be done that I can do while they're asleep (duh) so she had no leg to stand on there... With the rest... She promised to not work more than 10 hour shifts (agreed upon because I have a 10hr shift at work with no breaks too) AND to either let us know in advance if she was going to be late so I could feed the cats, or have someone do SOMETHING to get the cats fed so they weren't deliberately jumping on me to wake me up... You know.. communicate a little more. Do a little better so she wasn't killing herself working. She promised.

Well..

Apparently (new information to me) a promise and Tevs giving her word.. are two different things. Promises don't matter. Giving her word had weight.

What. The. Fuck.

So MY getting upset this last week that not only was she working more than 10 hours... Not only did she not tell anyone about it.. not only did the cats come to wake me up (after I had FINALLY fallen asleep a short while before due to just how BUSY I was that day, and it was Wednesday 😭)... But she also REFUSED to speak to ANYONE and tell her where she was/that she was safe- completely and deliberately ghosting everyone... Until she showed up at my dad's house 12+ hours after the start of her shift in which she didn't eat, didn't drink, and didn't use the bathroom for the entirely duration..

...

I was told to back off. That my upset was unfounded. That I was just like our horrible mother and I was just trying to control her life.

Does that sound right to you?

It does to my dad. I would wager my step mom. All of their friends. And of course Tevs.

Nevermind that W0lfie was just as freaked out and upset... That she actually has a front row seat as to what I go through now/how hard I try to be kind and careful and respectful and relaxed and NOT controlling and finally gets it... And that she's now directly effected by all of it too... And agrees this is MESSED UP as hell...

No.

I'm shit. I need to work more. I need to move out and be on my own. I need to not rely on anyone. I am 'too much'.

Where did it all go wrong?

I now understand exactly why I felt and still do feel unloved. It's because of this stuff... I got smacked and told I was never alone or on my own.. that I had so much support and help... but.. well.. yes I was. My mind and abilities and more belittled or looked over in favor of others to bring up. Everyone is guilty of doing this to me in my family. I won't go into details because it's a lot. Many times.. many bad ones... Often I was told my reality wasn't the truth too. How is that supportive? I appreciate every bit they have ever done for me, but trying to point out where they fell (just like all people do).. I'm suddenly the most ungrateful thing ever.

My own parents rely on each other AND a third party (their son) to pay the bills... My dad's siblings both live with his parents... My step mom's family members live with each other and rely on one another to get bills paid.... Not a single one is forced or really suggested to go room with randos if they can't do it on their own. It was brought up to W0lfie that it's an option for her this last week... But guess fucking what she got that I didn't AS WELL as that.. "We'll always have a place for you here."

I did get that when I was younger and nearly kicked out for refusing to tell my mother I was Trans. I eventually caved, but, HA they didn't believe me. That mess was sorted out.. messily and I got to stay... Lucky me... Not to mention the fact that only NOW I might finally be able to just accept it and not closet myself for the sake of everyone else because I'm THAT done.. yay therapy. I'll accept being non-binary because I can never actually be a man the way anyone around me will ever accept or believe.. but I'm not accepting 'being a woman'. Screw you peeps XP

...

I don't get that kind of support because I'm their eyes.. I'm too much. Should be able to do it on my own. Too lazy. Too awful as Tevs has managed to paint by completely omitting important details.. I can't say things in a few words. I just can't. Because this is exactly what happens... But regardless.. that's all she ever shares. Just enough I'm a monster. I'm sick and tired of it.

Reminds me...

My dad and mom and the rest of our family would never get birthday gifts or holiday cards or anything if I wasn't around. Same with our siblings. I remember. I make. I remind. I push. But... They don't even know about that. About what I try to do for them that gets twisted to look like it's all Tev's doing because I often can't make it to deliver it myself... And when I do idk.. I guess I do it wrong or something because it's so... Blah of a response.. like they think I'm NOT responsible for it and just taking credit... That hurts. A LOT.

...

I'm going to try. One more time. Once more. With Tevs. Give her one more chance to make and keep her word. To not bulldoze and make excuses and talk me up like some sort of unreasonable monster if/when she doesn't... And one more chance for my parents to hear me out. Get the full story. Get my feelings and experiences in return. On Monday I might have a chance to lay it all out. Maybe. I want to try. And if I get the same treatment.. well.. I think they might just be cut out of my life if I finally make it out on my own like they want. (Hopefully something income based will open up for me.. hopefully... I'm considering looking into a different city altogether to well and truly get away from them.. but that would depend on getting a job too.. bluh)

Ah that's a another thing too though.. the thing is.. I CAN work. I CAN pull 7 days a week, 16 hour days without spiraling!!! Making. I am a crafter. If making dresses or cosplays or embroidering or making blankets or trinkets or... If I was able to do THAT.. I could work and work and work no problem... Maybe even drawing..

But with the stress of this job and my other obligations, I can barely touch those things to even get started... Stick in the rut.. and materials are so expensive if I need anything extra I hit a roadblock... Totally locked in... And it breaks my heart...

I'm not lazy... I'm in the wrong job 😞

[crackinglamb]

001 for dragon age?

Did you really want an essay?  Cuz you’re gonna get one.  I’ll stick with DA:I, since that’s the only one I’ve actually played.  I have passing familiarity with the other two games, but not enough for details.  And as always, it got really long while I was writing it out, so under a cut it goes.

Favorite character: Probably obvious.  But it’s Solas.  Love him or hate him, no one can deny that he’s a complex, intricately written character with lots of facets we have yet to see all of.  Plus, he has a delicious voice and I’ll own that kink, no one can shame me.

Least Favorite character: *sigh*  Vivienne.  I wanted to like her, I really did.  She’s a powerful, ambitious woman in her own right, a successful mage, an adept at the Game.  She has strong motivations of her own, even if they’re written with a bit of a cliche.  But that’s also part of her problem.  She’s willfully blind to the suffering of her peers.  She’s bought into the propaganda of the Circle and the Chantry.  She’s like a political centrist and I find that distasteful.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Solas/Lavellan; Dorian/Iron Bull; Varric/Hawke; Krem/Maryden; and finally a headcannon one: Solas/Ghilan’nain.  There are a wealth of layers to a relationship between them, and a bucketful of explanatory suppositions for why he is the way he is now.

Character I find most attractive: Do we really need to revisit the voice kink?  Are you gonna make me spell it out?  *snort*  Of course it’s that damned Egg.  No, I don’t sound too happy about it, do I?

Character I would marry: None of them.  They are, every single one of them, a hot mess disaster that I would never tie my life to, even if marriage wasn’t a convenient religious construct.

Character I would be best friends with: Varric Tethras.  That dwarf is bloody loyal to a fault and he deserves nice things and people who care about him just as much as he cares about everyone else.

 A random thought: How did I get here?  I wasn’t supposed to be here.  I just wanted to write the aforementioned happy ever after for Varric.  How did this happen?

An unpopular opinion: *nervous laugh*  My bestie is gonna kill me, but...Cullen isn’t as changed as people tend to think he is.  The overall arc of his ‘redemption’ falls flat imo.  I mean, all we really get from him is recognition that he has an addiction, has seen some shit and his attempts to deal with those.  He falls under ‘forgiveness doesn’t equal another chance’.  For a man who has been through as much as he has, his worldview is still pretty narrow.  Having been on the receiving end of someone like that irl, it simply doesn’t appeal in my fiction.

My Canon OTP: Hah!  Solas/Lavellan.  And not just because I’m writing about it to the exclusion of everything else right now.  I think it’s also the most in-depth view of Solas as a character.  His romance gets the most information about him by sheer numbers.

My Non-canon OTP: Varric/Hawke.  Hands down.  You cannot tell me that a man like Varric, over protective and loyal, would not lay down his life for Hawke and tap that ass while he was at it.

Most Badass Character: Leliana.  That woman is terrifying and yet all I want to do is give her a hug and a mug of hot cocoa.  She has the strengths of her convictions, the agility of her mind, she will fuck you up before you know what hit you and yet...she’s vulnerable under the surface.  But she doesn’t allow that vulnerability to break her.  Aside from a single instance, she never even lets anyone see it.  She’s remade herself over and over.  She probably could use a nap and a snuggle from her nugs.

Most Epic Villain: IMHO, DA:I doesn’t have a strong villain.  It has a series of boss fights.  The story isn’t finished, and the game is basically a placeholder in a franchise.  It’s too soon to know whether or not Solas counts (I don’t think he does, though, and if he does, I will be extremely disappointed in the writing team).

Pairing I am not a fan of: Cassandra/Varric.  I’ve yet to see it portrayed with proper application of enemies to lovers.  The start of their relationship is frankly abusive.  She holds him prisoner and repeatedly threatens his life in close quarters and she never makes amends for it in canon.  Bad tempers that lead to interpersonal violence are not cute or romantic.  I love Cass, I sincerely do.  But I do not ever see that ship as doing anything more than sinking to the bottom of the Waking Sea.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Bianca Davri.  There was so much hype.  So much.  And she was astoundingly underwhelming when we met her.  Love is truly blind, because given the portrayal we got, I have no idea what the ever loving fuck Varric sees in her.

Favourite Friendship: Solas and Iron Bull.  Now, this is assuming one saves the Chargers and Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth.  They go from butting heads on every single blessed thing to playing mental chess to pass the time and prove several points to themselves and to us, the players.  They learn so much from each other.  I get the warm fuzzies.  Runner up to this is Solas and Dorian.  Two men who are frighteningly similar but can’t see it.  Or won’t admit it, anyway.  And again, they learn so much from each other.

Character I most identify with: Okay, it might be a cheap cop out, but the Inquisitor.  I too am not getting paid enough to deal with the shit life throws at me while simultaneously being responsible for the well being of both myself and a person dependent on me.  Granted, my little person isn’t all of Thedas, but I wouldn’t say that makes it any less important.  And I too am canonically disabled by the end.  It’s rough being a spoonie.

Character I wish I could be: Ack, I don’t think I’d want to be any of them.  They all need therapy.  Possible exception is Cole.  I like to help, just as much as I like to be left to my own devices if no one needs me.  Speaking in riddles?  Unleashing a torrent of compassionate wrath and disappearing before anyone makes me bleed?  Having a deeper connection to the world around me?  Sure, I can get behind those.  I’m a Gemini.

Thanks for the ask.  You know I love it when you make me think.

[writerice]

Honestly, South Park is a really good show. Anyone who calls it racist today, fundamentally misunderstood why it makes of fun of busybodies, as well as why remaining chilled, calm and cool is actually a good thing. People complain a lot that South Park is a show where uncaring is cool, and where people who care too much are the butts of jokes. Now, I never want to do this- I don’t want to deny someone else their perspective- But these opinions are built on shaky premises, and misses the mark.   First lets start with Eric Cartman, who is recognized as the source of a lot of the bigotted comedy in the show. Eric Cartman, ever since the first season, had almost always been put in the role of an antagonist/ that one drama queen who no one wants to get involved with. He finds ways to manipulate situations if it’ll mean he’ll receive something out of it, and is a self-centered person to the extreme. When he says bigotted things, we’re supposed to find him disagreeable and hateful, and his being funny will never make what he says to be okay. We’re also supposed to feel refreshened whenever Stan and Kyle immediately admonish him for being a dick, which is also funny, because holy shit, not only do we have a child spouting antisemitic bullshit, but we have children who will actively tell their peer to fuck off! Its wonderous. This is WHY South Park was so fascinating to begin with; Before South Park, there was never a seriously funny depiction of kids using realistic adult profanity while having childlike discussions on topics that were considered political.  Now lets move onto Stan and Kyle: These two are clearly shown to be awesome and cool kids who just want to have fun and enjoy their lives. They don’t want to be roped into things that adults tell them that they’re supposed to be worried about. They’re kids, they live in the present. They live uncomplicated lives, as any 8-year old should, unless its something they’re interested in, like an adventure involving other kids from their class (anyone remember them capturing a paper fortune teller from the girls?). They don’t force themselves to care about things. They understand from a young age that ungenuine about causes can be harmful, and a waste of time and energy. 

When they DO genuinely care about things, we have cool and rich plots emerge that are related to our understanding of them as characters- Stan has successfully helped save the lives of veal up for slaughter, as well as whales. Kyle navigates his Jewish faith and identity while being one of the most compassionate human beings on television. Even better than that, these boys arent’ even particularily strongly identified. Stan isn’t that “animal rights activist”, and Kyle isn’t that “humanitarian child”, they’re flexible and dimensional characters. They have their moments where they’re just being kids and are relaxing and having fun like normal, as opposed to brooding over shit that they can’t control. It seemed like South Park had an accurate depiction of what a healthy attachment to identity/cause actually looked like, WAY beyond this era of neuroticism where people are encouraged box themselves.

It says a lot of sad things about children nowadays, too. Children in the current generation are pushed harder than in prior generations in being perfect students, with mandatory volunteer work pushed onto them and being told that they need to develop their life’s passion in time for college plans. Some of them get pushed into becoming esports stars or child Youtubers by their parents. When do they even have the chance to be children anymore? 

Now, onto the adults of the show: The adults are always screwing things up. They want to ride on causes that they aren’t truly aware of. 

They are their own society’s disruptors; They often neglect to critically examine whether their call for action and change are justified. They don’t check to see whether their actions are necessary, or if their methods are reasonable. Sometimes, their actions create more damage than if they didn’t do anything at all! And this is why we mock them- Not “for caring”, but because they’re busy bodies; Their motivation to act or call for change comes less from wanting to affect meaningful change within their society, and comes more out of a vague desire to want to “better themselves”. 

Its the type of selfishness that we don’t really speak enough about in our current society as we should be- How people get intertwined into causes they aren’t truly thoughtful enough about, because they’re just encouraged to get passionate about “anything” that moves them, or “anything that seems worthwhile”.

And this is both stupid, as well as dangerous, because you want people to be mindful about what the real affect of their “help” is. Some things that people do in the name of “help” either don’t help the people it’s intended to help (the only poor family in South Park, the Mc Cormicks, get a single can of vegetables on Thanksgiving via a gameshow-like contraption, and they don’t even get a can-opener for it), or make matters worse for those it claims to help (Like Bono claiming that Timmy playing in a band was akin to mocking his disability).  People can, and should be encouraged to help make a difference, but you don’t want a culture where you keep pushing people to change things for the vague reasoning of “being a good person”. You want people who are informed, aware, are capable of critical thinking, and who can tell when and where their efforts are actually needed. 

Also, this is extremely important: But South Park is, like literally everything ever, a product of it’s time. This show was made during the 1990′s to early or late 2000′s, when things like media activist groups existed to police and censor stuff for people because of those things being deemed “insensitive”. This was before the internet was fully used on the scale it is today, so people were being limited from being able to watch/read/play or otherwise access media based purely on stupid, petty shitty reasons.

Like not allowing children to enjoy Canadian television because farting or using cusswords is “too offensive”, where you were dealing with Karens who had way too much power and time to spend. It meant telling Karens/Boomers relax and not to deprive other people of their ability to express themselves just because they didn’t think their interests were “appropriate”. Totally a different thing than when we talk about the generalized concept of sensitivity today, when we’re refering to how human beings are made to feel as based on their identity. 

Kyle’s lectures at the end of an episode are meaningful- It doesn’t exist to “undo” any offensiveness in an episode. He’s a voice of reason who brings together the social commentary. I don’t see why anyone would ever have a problem with it. Is it obvious and easy? Yes. Does it put a nice cap on the end of an episode to return everything to status quo in time for the next one? Yes. I loved it. I thought it made for a comfortable, easy viewing experience. It may be considered formulaic, but thats how they made the end of an otherwise edgy episode feel wholesome, or depart a message of value.

Its easy to see this as an “attack on caring”, if you’re applying it directly to today’s movements and stuff, but that requires a lot of willful ignorance, and an even greater lack of understanding the context the show was made in. We all have access to wikipedia, no one has an excuse. 

TL;DR, it didn’t “age badly”. It was extremely relevant for its time. Context matters, and this show was perfect for the context of it’s time. The creators are doing their best to address current modern day topics with new story-telling, so maybe look to the present and be amazed by how much they’ve decided to change in those regards instead of repeatedly making everyone who grew up with the show feel old. Sincerely, a nonbinary pansexual liberal woman of color who just wants to enjoy South Park as the greatest still-running animated satire ever, thank you

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Birthday prompt #6

Read on Ao3 Birthday prompts masterlist

@phenixy-dunnhart​

[Sinon, j'adore l'amitié juste excellent entre Rios et Raffi, si tu veux une variation (Cris qui se sacrifie pour protéger Raffi) -> Cris getting hurt protecting Raffi] 

Some time after leaving Coppelius to gallivant around the cosmos with their motley crew, Raffi collapsed in the ops seat next to Seven and Cris and loudly announced that they had to go out for drinks, and not replicated ones. They had to find a suitably shady Space Station, go out, find a bar, and get absolutely smashed.

“We’re tired, we have time on our hands, and your replicators can’t get Romulan ale right for some reason,” she told Cris as an explanation.

(It was true, he’d messed that up the one time he had drunkenly tried to disable the Hospitality Hologram’s ability to talk.)

The dark circles under her eyes alone would have convinced him anyway. The last week had been tiring. They had spent it avoiding uncharted asteroid belts that really had no business being so large (seriously, what the hell), fixing navigation issues that Enoch swore had nothing to do with the corrupted 23rd century holos he’d helped Soji illegally download for Elnor, and chasing around the four neutered tribble-rabbit hybrids the kids had smuggled aboard.

“Why just the three of us?” Seven asked with a raised eyebrow, legs propped up on the console and disinclined to move, even for drinks.

Raffi snorted.

“Well I wasn’t going to invite JL, obviously.”

That got Seven and Cris to roll their eyes in concert. Yeah, obviously. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, retired, was too posh and too old to have any concept of fun – or, more specifically, to be able to understand the appeal of marinating your liver in real alcohol and crawl your way back to your quarters to pass out for a day straight.

“But what about Agnes and the kids?” Cris inquired, gracelessly sprawled on the Captain’s seat with a cigar in one hand and a book in another, feeling just as lazy as Seven.

“I asked, she offered to babysit,” Raffi replied. “I don’t want to be responsible for Elnor and Soji’s first hangover.”

“Not to mention that we’d have to keep an eye out for them,” Seven agreed with a nod. “Fair enough. Let’s go to DS 11.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whoever had deemed synthehol an adequate substitute to good old ethanol was a complete fool with appalling taste. That was Raffi’s professional opinion, and she told Cris and Seven just that as she finished her third glass of that vibrant blue liquor that made green sparks when you shook it.

(What was it again? A Bajoran jungle beer?)

Cris snorted in his own glass, full of plain Earth liquor. Seven smirked as she gulped her cocktail down, an unholy mix that was part Klingon mead, part Romulan ale and part cranberry juice. The stuff of nightmares, honestly.

“I get drunk faster on synthehol,” Seven commented idly. “Don’t produce enough of the enzyme that breaks it down into smaller molecules. Hate the taste, though.”

“Yeah, because taste is clearly of capital importance to you,” Cris snorted again. “What’s in your glass right now? That’s toxic waste, that’s not a beverage.”

“Pssht,” she slurred. “First time I got drunk, it was after one flute of champagne. Forgive me for having learned to handle my drink.”

Raffi hazily smiled at her and got herself another drink, letting her head fall on Cris’ shoulder as she leaned against him for balance. She didn’t think she could sit up straight on her own anymore. Seven studied her intently, blinking in surprise when Cris showed no sign of discomfort and even shifted his posture so she’d be more comfortable. Noticing Seven’s stare, he gave her a wry look but made no complaint about his demotion to human pillow.

Seven was getting a bit intoxicated, so she watched them for a few more seconds and returned to her drink.

“You guys are cute,” she chuckled.

“Hmm,” Raffi mumbled in turn. “Cris is very sweet. Very very sweet. He’s the best.”

Rios was silently laughing, still nursing his aguardiente. “She gets sentimental,” he mouthed without making any actual sound, a smile in his normally dark eyes. Seven smiled too, because she was getting quite intoxicated. And also, they were very cute.

“Hey, how’d you two meet?”

The question had been on her mind for a while now, but aboard la Sirena, you didn’t ask about anyone’s past. They volunteered finite amounts of information, and you had to be content with that. But Cristóbal and Raffi had always felt like kindred spirits, despite knowing them for such a short time, far more than any of the others. Picard was an xB like her, sure, and he was also a damn idealist with a Messiah complex who understood very little about her. Soji had trouble with her humanity, yes, but she was also a kid and a synth, and she had siblings, and she was ultimately nothing like Seven. Agnes was tiny and mousy and probably no good in a fistfight, with just enough teeth to not get eaten, and eyes full of stars and a bleeding heart that hadn’t learned to put on a shell. Elnor was young and innocent and very dangerous, reminding her of the ‘Annika of old,’ someone long dead and buried.

But Raffi and Rios…

They were older, they were more jaded, they were disillusioned with a fleet, a Federation and a galaxy that had completely screwed them over – and they coped with it by helping, by drinking like idiots and smoking nasty stuff, and helping some more. They were both broken and aware of it, not like the shiny kids, and they never offered empty words of comfort or grand and hollow speeches about hope and love.

(And they were badass.)

(Like her.)

(Seven was getting very intoxicated.)

So she watched Raffi drunkenly lean on Rios and she asked, because while their friendship seemed self-evident, she wanted to know how they’d found each other. How it was that they each made the other a better person instead of dragging each other down. It tugged at her own soul, brought about some memories of Icheb, and Voyager, and of the Rangers before Bjayzl.

It made her smile.

Rios and Raffi exchanged puzzled glances. They were both too drunk to delve into her reasons for asking the question, and Raffi just pursed her lips, assuming that it came from finding their interactions cute.

“Don’t think I remember,” she told Seven blearily, still nestled against Cris. “It was a while ago. S- six? Seven? Six or seven years?”

“Eight,” Cris corrected. “I don’t really remember either. We must have met in a bar.”

Seven frowned, dimly disappointed. The feeling was too fuzzy to dwell on, but she still sniffed sadly.

“You don’t remember?” She asked mournfully. “I’d remember meeting my best friend.”

“We don’t,” Cris said, carefully shrugging the one shoulder that wasn’t supporting half of Raffi’s weight. “She hired me for a job or two, I think. Then we were mostly drinking buddies. It wasn’t spectacular or anything.”

“But something must have happened,” Seven pressed.

People didn’t just casually adopt each other. (Didn’t they? She wasn’t sure. She’d kind of casually adopted them, when she thought about it. Were giant galactic conspiracies, reclaimed broken Borg cubes and synthetic apocalypses casual? Seven was completely intoxicated.)

“Oh yeah,” Raffi mumbled. “Saved my life one time.”

“We were already friends though,” Cris elaborated, adding to Seven’s ever growing list of questions. “Got upgraded to honey and babe after that.”

“An’ you called me hermana,” Raffi sighed contently.

Seven looked back and forth between them.

“Okay, you have to tell me that story.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Raf,” Cris complained as she ordered her eighth drink of the night, “slow down on the drinks. You said you wouldn’t need to spend the night on my ship.”

“Piss off,” Raffi grumbled. “Don’t need your stupid ship. Don’t need your stupid hovering.”

Cris, because he was wise, never argued with Raffi. He didn’t try this time either. Muttering Spanish profanities under his breath, he got up and paced a bit, before throwing a credit chip at the bartender.

“If she spends it all, the rest is on her,” he told the Andorian.

The guy gave a noncommittal grunt, and Cris made his way to the exit. He was two steps from the door when he head a crash, the sound of a glass being smashed to the ground. He whirled around out of instinct, his hand going for his phaser. His eyes widened as he realized where the sound had come from.

Raffi was staring down at a Nausicaan twice her size (how?), the guy who’d been sprawled on of one of the corner sofas with his buddies up until a few moments ago. She was snapping at him – about what, Cris didn’t know, didn’t care – and the man looked ready to turn her into Raffi juice.

Cris ran to them without a second’s hesitation, heart seizing painfully as frozen sludge trudged through his veins instead of blood. There were ice spikes in his throat too.

“Hey,” he yelled, getting the Nausicaan’s attention, but not Raf’s, “hey! What’s going on here?”

“Get lost,” the man growled.

“No no no,” Cris refused, words tumbling out without him even knowing whether he was speaking Standard or Spanish. “Not doing that.”

“She you friend?” The Nausicaan asked as two of his own buddies slowly got up and walked to them, ready for a fight.

Raffi finally registered that Cris had come back and blinked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Cris gritted out, looking straight into the man’s eyes. “Yeah, she’s my friend. What’s the problem?”

“She needs to learn some manners.”

“Old news,” Cris muttered under his breath, but his gaze hardened and his hand went for his phaser again. “It’s fine, we’re leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” the second Nausicaan snorted, and the third one crossed his arms and smiled with that messed-up mouth of his.

“Your friend here should apologize to ours,” he leered. “And considering how rude she was, it’d better be a nice apology.”

“I’m not kissing his freak face,” Raffi spluttered. “I already told him!”

Cris would have facepalmed, except there really wasn’t time. Grabbing Raffi by the arm, he threw her behind him and pointed his phaser at the first Nausicaan.

“It’s not on stun,” he warned.

The man snorted derisively.

“I don’t much care,” he said, tapping a finger to his thick skin and metal plated clothing. And then he cracked his knuckles. “If you want to leave, you’ll have to make me allow it.”

Cris considered the mountain of muscles, the two goons behind it and the drunk Raffi behind him.

“Yeah, fuck that,” he muttered.

Whipping around, he snatched Raffi, threw her bony frame on his shoulder despite her vehement protests, and dashed for the exit. The Nausicaans were slower to react, but Cris’ superior speed wasn’t much of an advantage in a crowded bar where nobody cared enough to pay attention to the fight or help in any way. They had almost caught up with his by the time he reached the entrance.

So naturally, Cris did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He tossed Raffi out of the bar – the bar that was shielded against transporters for security reasons, like most of the buildings in the planet’s capital city – and barked an order into his communicator for Ian. The holo had been online dealing with an issue in the antimatter ignition chamber. As luck would have it, he hadn’t powered off yet, and Cris was gratified to see Raffi dissolve away.

And then he was pulled back and forced to turned around, and he was met with three very angry Nausicaans and the naked blades of their sword-sized daggers.

“Mierda,” Cris sighed.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” one of the men growled, and Cris had no idea if he was the first, the second or the third Nausicaan, because they all looked so damn alike. “You’re toast.”

Two of them had his arm in a duranium grip, making any escape attempt impossible.

“I told you, she’s my friend,” he said with defiant glare. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t care. They could drag it out, make it painful, make it frightening, but at the end of the day death was just the one comfort he’d been desperately awaiting for over a year now. He wouldn’t dream anymore if they pummeled him to death, and that was quite a reward for saving the life of his only friend.

(Maybe she’s miss him though. He didn’t think so. He hoped not. Raffi was too messed up on her own to add him to it.)

(Would she care? Please, let her not care.)

(He’d cared.)

(He’d cared that he had P— that he had somebody’s death on his head.)

(Please let Raffi not care.)

(She would care.)

Mierda, I can’t die.

The first kick slammed the air out of his lungs, snapping two of his ribs like twigs under a standard issue boot. It felt like he’d blacked out, but he couldn’t have – he hadn’t seen any bloody bulkheads.

The second kick caught him in the stomach and made him retch.

The third kick never came, because the transporter beam got him first. It took just long enough spiriting him away for one of the Nausicaan to throw one of his daggers though, leaving a bloody slash across Cris’ shoulder.

Cris materialized on la Sirena’s transporter pad, hurt and very confused, and was greeted by Raffi’s panicked face.

“Cris!” She yelped, falling to her knees next to him. “Are you alright?”

He groaned and tried to sit up, but his ribs wouldn’t allow so much moving around.

“Activate EMH,” he sighed.

It really fucking hurt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You didn’t say when you called her hermana,” Seven pointed out as Cris finished his slightly slurred tale. “Or when she called you honey.”

Raffi was half-asleep by that point, but she still somehow managed to retain enough coherence to mumble an answer. Cris heard it, and smiled at Seven.

“It was after. She was so upset over the whole thing that we both slept in her quarters. She got very fussy. Didn’t ever stop fussing after that.”

“And you called her hermana,” Seven insisted, because it was the best part.

“I was too tired to remember other words,” Cris said, sounding amused. “I think I was trying to say friend, or something like that. Y’know, to explain why I’d done it. But my Standard was all messed up.”

“You ever found out if she was the one who started the fight or if it was the horny Nausicaan?” Seven asked.

“Never,” he replied, finishing his last drink. “She couldn’t remember. I did bump into the same guy once after that. Used three phasers to stun his ass into a nice nap and dumped him at the local authorities’ doorstep for weapon trafficking.”

Seven smirked and raised her glass to that, the smirk turning into a fond look when Cris turned around to gather Raffi in his arms and gently lift her up her seat. As he carried her like that, Raffi’s head resting against his chest trustingly, Seven noticed how alike they looked.

“Space siblings,” she giggled.

(Seven was smashed.)

[eldritchsurveys]

641.

Would you convert to a different religion if your fiancé/fiancée was of a different faith? >> Fortunately, this was never an issue. Even if she did have a religion, there’s no obligation for me to share it. I tend to be the one interested in religions (although the jury’s still out on whether I’d ever actually feel comfortable adopting one).

The world is ending, and you can save one group of five people: who would be the five people that you save? >> First of all, if the “world is ending”, then I do not want to be stuck as one of the six humans left to deal with the aftermath and trying to survive in an inhospitable landscape. Also, this is just way too implausible a situation for me to take seriously.

Is happiness a delusion? Is happiness only real when shared? Why or why not? >>The idealisation of happiness is a bit delusional, I guess, but it’s a shared, social delusion -- just look at all the “wellness” “self-help” “self-care [the “buy this thing” kind, not the real, practical kind]” nonsense being peddled to us on a daily basis. Any feeling that is not happy-cheery forced positivity is aberrant and pathological and has to be “fixed”. That’s not a healthy way to think, and I hate that we’re all made to feel that way about perfectly normal ass emotions. I don’t know if happiness is only real when shared. I’ve always had someone(s) Inworld to share my happinesses (and everything else) with, so I can’t speak as to what it’d be like if I didn’t.

What would the cover of your biography (presumably written by somebody else who never knew you, postmortem) look like? >> I... really have no idea.

Write about a really good or creative Tumblr URL that you see frequently on your dashboard. >> inflagrante-delicatessen is a funny one.

If swear words were not things like “shit” and “fuck” what would they be otherwise? >> That’s, like, impossible for me to predict.

Write a very vivid description of what is/would have been your most perfect way to lose your virginity. What is your exact definition of ‘losing your virginity’? Also: will you/would you have liked to save your virginity for marriage? Why or why not? >> I don’t really care about this, you know? It’s not like if my first experience was earth-shattering, it would have somehow made up for all the horrible experiences I had later. I don’t have a definition for “losing one’s virginity” because that’s not a phrase I like to use. I don’t like making a point of dividing people’s experiences into “before sex” and “after sex” to begin with, but also, just focusing on a certain kind of sexual act as a “goal” to reach or whatever is... kind of weird to me. The whole shit is just weird the more I think about it.

Write a six-word fortune cookie. >> I’d rather not.

Why do you think eyebrows exist? >> I don’t have a hypothesis about this, but I’m sure there’s some educated theories out there if I was ever curious (right now, I am not).

If you could only have one contact on your phone, who would it be? >> Sparrow is the only person whose phone number I actually use on a regular basis, so, her.

Your bucket list is limited to three items. >> I don’t have a bucket list, period.

Do you wake up first or do you open your eyes first? >> I assume that I wake up first, and then open my eyes? But maybe it’s the other way around, what do I know.

Write a love/thank you/appreciation letter to someone you take for granted. >> No.

What makes you feel infinitely sexy? >> Can Calah makes me feel sexy. King Crimson makes me feel sexy. Sexiness isn’t something I feel outworld.

Make a video and talk about something for two minutes. Anything. And don’t edit out any parts of it. >> Uh, no.

Write a poem you’d stick on a refrigerator. >> Also no.

Are you afraid of aging? Why? >> I’m not afraid of ageing. I actually look forward to seeing what the rest of my life will bring, especially internally. What I am afraid of is infirmity, degenerative illness, that sort of thing. I’m afraid of losing my personal quality of life. (I know there’s a lot to unpack in regarding one’s quality of life as diminished if one develops a physical disability or something, because people live full lives with those things all the time. But I cannot predict how a change of that magnitude would affect me, personally, and I worry that I will not be able to adapt.)

Describe one time you basically thought you were the shit, when your self-confidence was soaring through the roof. This is meant to be a positive thing. >> Hm. I can’t remember a time like that right now.

If there was one person you could get drunk with and kiss and then later blame it on alcohol, who would it be? >> I would not do that.

Does perfection exist? If the word perfection did not exist, what word would be in its place? What would perfection mean instead? >> I guess the concept exists, at least. I don’t know if it’s something I can measure and perceive.

The next book you see that has over 300 pages, open up to page 136. Find a sentence you like, copy it down, and then write about it. >> I don’t feel like getting up to grab a book.

Who makes you laugh the most? >> ---

What is one thing that you are proud of, that you think lacks praise/lacks appreciation from the people around you? It could be a simple thing; it could be a secret thing. >> I don’t really seek appreciation from the people around me, so I don’t know.

If you could accuse somebody of being fake/a bitch and not suffer any repercussions, who would you accuse, and how would you do it? >> I’d really rather not. What even would be the point?

What is the funniest one-liner Tumblr text post you’ve ever read? >> Dude, there are so many funny ass posts on this website. I collect them at @officialaynrand.

Rewrite a verse of lyrics from your favorite song. They have to sound good when you sing it out loud along to tune of the song. >> Nope. But I will say that my brain insists on hearing the “heavy metal broke my [heart]” line in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and even though I know the lyrics I still sing it like that because it just kills me every time.

If the SATs/grades did not exist, in what way should colleges/teachers evaluate applicants? >> I have no suggestions.

Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be? >> I feel at home in Xibalba. I feel at home in my room here in the apartment, too. But I guess I’d feel equally at home in any place as long as I have a room of my own, a controlled environment that belongs solely to me.

Write your own eulogy. >> “Mordred Shadow Lastname wishes to inform us, the gathered, that it is just as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Except it actually isn’t surprised, or anything else, because It’s too busy being dead. Surprisingly. The unbelievably-deceased would like to request that if someone asks how it died, it will haunt whoever dares to say something stupid like ‘natural causes’. Make up a good story or pass the mic to someone who will.” Dunno what else I’d put in a eulogy about myself. That’s not really for me to write, anyway. Funerals are for the living, they can write the damn thing.

What is something you felt like you deserved or should have belonged to you, but you never got? >> There is nothing I feel that way about.

Do you feel ‘connected to nature’? Do you frequent outside? Do you believe that a connection with the earth we live on is necessary in the first place? >> I mean... I love to be outdoors, but I also love to be in a server room. I feel the same sense of awe and connection in both settings. For me, there is no real difference between the organic states and the transmuted states of matter. It’s all matter, innit? I don’t believe that feeling connected to Earth is necessary. I believe it’s healthy, sure, and common, but I don’t believe it’s unhealthy to not have that connection, or to feel connected to something else instead. It’s possible that some future generation of Homo sapiens will be born on another planet. What happens to that supposedly-innate “connection to the Earth” then? (Will they feel connected to their home planet instead? Or, something else? Or, nothing?)

Your opinion on oral sex? >> I don’t have an opinion on it, exactly. Just a preference: I prefer not to give or receive it. That’s all.

If one TV show could be real, which one would you want it to be? Which one would screw our world over? >> That is a complex question with a lot of variables and I don’t think I feel like devoting mental energy on it right now.

How many kinds of love are there? >> I… don’t know? As many kinds as people can conceive, I imagine. Or maybe it’s all just one kind, with different expressions. *shrug*???

Which word needs to exist (or be used again)? >> I mean, if I thought a word should be used again, I’d just use it. That’s literally how it works. If it’s been phased out completely enough that no one remembers it and it’s not recorded anywhere, then I can’t want it back, because I’d have to know a thing used to exist in the first place in order to want it to exist again.

What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive? >> This pesky nag called “death” that keeps asking, “are we there yet?!” from the backseat.

What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why? >> Oh, I don’t know. The only time I ever read “Literature(tm)” was in high school, so I don’t know how I’d feel about any of it now. I'm just not really interested in it.

What is one change that you would make/have made to your life that will make/has made it better? >> *shrug*

Is everything you do for yourself? Can you truly be selfless? >> No, not everything I do is solely for myself. I do things for others as well. But I don’t like doing things for others if doing so threatens my quality of life, survival, or mental health. I don’t think it’s possible for a human being to act without a single note of self-interest. I mean... isn’t the survival instinct an instinct of self-interest?

Are you the same person you were two and a half years ago? >> I’m not the same person I was a second ago. (I also am not the same person I was about... 5 or so years ago, but that’s a... different thing.)

Can you possibly conquer the labyrinth? >> What labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King’s? I’d try my best to conquer it if only to get to dance in the ballroom scene with him.

As a hyper intelligent pan-dimensional being, what is the answer to the ultimate question, the life, the universe and everything? What is the ultimate question? >> The ultimate question is obviously “how the fuck does CatDog poop?”

[dork-empress]

Social Work

part of my ‘modern tdp aus’ oneshot collection 

Read on Ao3

Amaya is a social worker at Breach the Barrier, a disability foundation. Her interpreter Gren, however, is more worried about her social life.

“Senator, Senator,” Gren interpreted, “Senator, if you’d let me speak.”

Gren kept signing as well, indicating the senator on the other line had in fact NOT stopped speaking. “We’re in an election year,” the senator said, “And Virginia is a swing state. I can’t go giving government funds to every bleeding heart organization or I’ll lose the republican base. And if that happens, you’ll be lucky if the next guy doesn’t shut you down.”

“We’re a political organization as well, Senator,” Amaya signed, as Gren interpreted into the phone, “Let us help you spin this, we can make it appeal to everyone.”

“Then tell me,” The senator said, “How would you spin this?”

Amaya clicked her tongue in irritation. “There are two groups of people that everyone, regardless of political affiliation, cares about,” she said, “Children and Veterans. We here at Breach the Barriers are dedicated to helping all disabled members of our community--including the groups people care most about--get back to work, get back to being able to care for themselves. It’s not just a hand out, it’s a hand up.”

Amaya waited silently, staring at Gren, who was silent waiting for the answer. Amaya frowned at the long silence. “Did he hang up?” she signed at Gren. Gren signed no.

Finally Gren started signing again, “I might be able to sell that. Let me talk to my people and have them call you back.”

“Wait, Senator,” Amaya signed quickly. She knew a brush off when she heard it, “Let me sell it to them. We can come down to your office Friday, and schedule a presentation right there with you, answer any questions your team could possibly have.”

Silence again. Ironically, Amaya hated silence. Not literal, obviously, she just hated waiting for a response. “Alright,” Gren signed, “My assistant will send you our information. Make sure you have your identification and everything up to date, so we can get you through security.”

“Thank you, Senator,” She sighed as Gren hung up the phone, but not as deeply as Gren did. Amaya was lucky, interpreting over the phone like this would be difficult for some of the best interpreters. But in her opinion, she had the VERY best, so he managed. It didn’t hurt that she was fond of the kid.

He slumped forward a moment, allowing himself his moment of rest. He lifted his head back up with Herculaen effort. “A presentation Friday is going to throw off our whole schedule.”

“Let me worry about that,” Amaya said, pulling up her keyboard to send out e-mails to people who were willing to actually communicate with her via e-mail, unlike the Senator. She’d be working through the weekend, it looked like. She had promised to take Callum and Ezran for ice cream and ASL lessons, but maybe they’d be ok with going late on Saturday. “You don’t have to come in Saturday and Sunday,” she said, “but if you’d do a quick call for me Saturday afternoon, I’d really appreciate it. We can do it over skype, you don’t even have to wear pants.”

Gren snickered. “Don’t you ever want a social life?” He asked.

She smirked, “I’m a social WORKER,” she said, “That is my life.” Gren rolled his eyes, “I have family I care for and work I enjoy, that’s more than most people,” She said, “Besides, I can’t go having this place falling apart.”

Her eyes drifted to the portrait of Sarai that hung on the wall. Breach the Barrier had been the both of their babies that they’d worked on TOGETHER. With her gone….it was the best way she had to stay close to her sister.

Gren tapped her on the shoulder, getting her attention. “She’d want you to be happy, you know that.”

Amaya sighed, ruffling his hair the way she knew irritated him, “I am happy, Strawberry.” Gren sighed. He half hated, half loved the name sign she’d given him, making a ‘G’ with her dominant hand and turning it around her index finger like the sign for Strawberry, for his strawberry blonde hair. His name was short enough, he usually just spelled it.

Movement out the side of her eye caught her attention. There was a beautiful black woman with long dreads standing there, and what looked like a golden tattoo sleeve. She looked...familiar. “Excuse me,” Amaya read her lips as best she could, “I’m here for an interview? But there was no one at the front desk.”

Amaya gulped and signed, “That’s because the front desk is the position you’re interviewing for.” The woman’s eyes flickered to Gren, who was interpreting for her, but she tried to keep her eyes on Amaya. Amaya appreciated that, “We’re very short staffed at the moment.”

The woman smiled, keeping eye contact with Amaya before signing, “Well, I hope to help with that. I’m Janai.”

Amaya clenched her teeth. Oh, she was screwed. What was worse, she knew Gren knew she was screwed, she could feel the contained laughter emanating off him. “Please, have a seat, Janai” She signed, and indicated a free rolling chair beside her.

[cosmosbv]

Cosmos Market

Hi All

It has been a little over a month since I started this project. 

The first Kickstarter was unsuccessful. I will be setting up a new one next week after I sit down to talk with the investor and after my meeting with the realtor. It took a while, mostly because phones and I are not friends, along with my dyslexia screwing things up, but I got through. 

I am leaving the GoFundMe up and running, because I am going to open a bookstore. I feel one step closer now then last week. 

Goal

I am going to crowdfund to open a small store. It will be a combination of a second hand and indie bookstore, farm market, and artisan crafts store. I already have seven farm market and artisans ready to work out contracts for spacing to sell their wares, more then a thousand used books boxed up and ready to go, plus several boxes of crafts.

Why a bookstore?

Prior to the car accident I wanted to open a bookstore. Then the accident occurred, and that was not an option at the time because of health problems. I didn’t stop collecting books for that purpose, with the thought that someday I would return to that goal in order to open that second hand bookstore like I wanted.

Now I write books to publish and thought: wait, what if instead of just a second hand bookstore, I make it an indie bookstore and secondhand store? Perfect idea! I can sell mine, and other indie authors books.

Why a farm and artisan market?

The idea of the market has two different sources.

The first is when I studied our community and realized there is nowhere besides the farm market to sell handmade crafts that are not paintings. That gave me the idea to combined my bookstore with an artisan craft store.

The second is when I was speaking to a vendor at the farm market, one who makes both artisan crafts and farm market foods. She made a comment about wishing to have somewhere she could rent a space for a reasonable price. that gave me the idea to work with the farm market vendors.

Thus far all but two have committed. Those two stated that they would consider it if I successfully acquire the building. There are still more to be spoken with.

Why both GoFundMe and Kickstarter?

GoFundMe - I am familiar with it, there is no time limit, and goals can be adjusted as needed. Beyond that, the GoFundMe is for individuals who would like to give to the project now, because they don’t know that they will have the money later. All money from it will go towards the goal of opening the store in some form, whether in advertising, product, or bills.

Kickstarter - it is an all or nothing funding. If I hit the goal, I have to open the store. Which if I hit the goal, I will definitely open the store because I will buy my building to do so. Yes, the time is getting close for the first one, perhaps I will change programs or goals.

There was some confusion with an individual earlier about how I would give the money back if the store failed. They didn’t seem to comprehend that is not how Kickstarter works. With Kickstarter, if I hit the goal, and I open the store, I have done as promised, no refund needed. If I hit the goal but don’t open the store, that’s when I have to issue a refund.

What if you are unable to get the building in the image?

That’s when I move on to plans B or C. In other words, that’s when I buy one of the other buildings I have picked out, those that might not be as great for the goal but would work over all.

What makes building one better then two or three?

Location! It’s in a great spot for my needs.

Size, it is three times bigger then building two and four times bigger then building three.

Apartments in the upstairs. That means I can update them sooner then later with any extra money after stocking the store and rent them out. Renting just one of them out would make the buildings monthly mortgage with the amount of money I have planned to put down, renting out both would also pay the electric, gas, and trash removal.

Extra rooms beyond the store that can be rented to artisans who might wish to have a new space or bigger space to work in.

Some of the extra rooms can also be used to host various classes, either by artisans, tutors, or even myself for creative writing.

Three to Five are part of Six: renting out the spaces and offering classes will make it so all the stores profits go into further stock and employees. Insuring that there is plenty to sell and that it continue on.

Then why have plans B and C if A is so good?

Someone else might buy A. In that case it’s a good idea to have a plan B and C. There aren’t a lot of buildings for sale in the area, and I would rather not rent or lease, as I want control over the building, that only happens if I own it.

Plans B and C are also for if the first doesn’t work out for a different reason. For instance, perhaps I have a investor who is willing to back purchasing a smaller building.

Investors

I am reaching out to various angel investors as well. Yet another way to try and fund this. There is a long list of individuals for me to contact who help small businesses get off the ground.

Depending on investors, I may change building plans if one is willing to work with of the smaller ones. Would it be as profitable as the larger building? No. However, I would be able to build up the smaller store, then either try again to get my plan A building if it is still on the market, or find a different bigger building. After all, the real estate market is always changing.

If you would like to be an investor, even a small one such as fifty dollars, please use my Contact Me form. It’s primary purpose is for commissions, but it also covers other questions and communications off this website.

Loans

Why don’t I try getting a business loan? That requires a decent credit score, which I would need a job to get. It is the lack of job due to my disabilities that has caused me to take this route.

Do you have a business plan?

Yes, though it’s hand written because that’s how I roll. Actually, I have several, because I kept redrafting it as I considered new details and points. It evolved!

I keep each to make sure details that are needed are not lost in the rewrites.

Do you have a budget?

Why yes I do! Checked multiple times, to make sure the math isn’t off. It is based on building costs, bills (gas, electric, trash, accounting), employee pay, advertising prices, permits, equipment, and stock.

A basic form of it can be found at the bottom of my first Kickstarter. If you’d like to discuss it, I am open to doing so. I have a projected finances excel, I will be creating a google sheets version as well, and will be updating it as I receive new information.

You have several disabilities, how are you going to do this?

With help. That’s why there is employee pay as part of the costs. I know I physically can’t do it alone, so I will pay someone to help me. I’ve already spoken to that person, we have an agreement set out and a pay schedule.

Why should we back you?

At the end of the day, I can’t tell you what to do, nor would I. What I can tell you is this:

I managed to get my family from 50k in debt to 10k in debt in 4 years (love the parents, they’re not the best at finances, plus there was that entire stroke that just added to the mess of bills) - so I know how to balance a book and raise money.

That does not count the times I asked for help for myself, only the family as whole’s situation. After all, hard to balance my own books with no money coming in during those months I did not have any commissions or ghost writing.

I was trained as a store manager

I have a bachelor’s degree in business administration

I’m a fast study

If you are an indie author, I’ll sell your books. That means I buy several copies to sell, so you automatically get paid, and then if they do well, I buy more copies to sell. 

You’ll be helping a small business get started You get a personalized signed copies of my book, yes they are digital copies but I will still be making the signing for each personal, scanning them in, adding them to the file and sending them off. 

You help a disabled writer stop living with the constant worry of how to pay the bills and when will the next need to ask for help happen. Thus I stop needing to ask for donations every time life goes sideways because I barely have enough to live before that happens.

I am also a firm believer in paying it forward, so once I am no longer stuck in the cycle of I have no money, I am barely paying the bills, and I have to ask for help, I will be able to help others who may need it. 

You’ll get updates on the business, what the current specials are, and even coupons for online purchases from time to time. 

For those who do more then the twenty five dollar pledge, they will get signed copies of more then just my first two books. Every five past twenty-five will get one more book, unless told to stop. Example: If you do fifty dollars, you get the initial two plus five more personalized signature books. 

I have done a lot of research, this isn’t just a whim, it’s not a lark, while most my notes are hand written, they are repeatedly checked as I wish to make sure that I am successful. Once it is open I do not want to have to ask a second time for help with it. 

It’s a New Year, if you are feeling generous, consider helping someone start it differently then years past.

All I can ask is you take a chance. Money is important, as it funds everything. Sharing the GoFundMe is just important as it shows it to new people. All I ask is you take a few moments to share this, or the GoFundMe. I understand however, if you are not willing or able to.

Thank you all for reading this,

Jaimi

1/5/19

[writing-in-the-impala]

Hey Darling: Part 6

Pairing: Rob Benedict x Reader Misha Collins x reader

Series Summary: You’re new to conventions but it’s okay because you meet some pretty amazing people, including Rob Benedict.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1733

A/N: A short filler chapter but I’m posting it because I’ve had a lot of ideas and well I’m currently writing part 12 so yeah I’m far ahead so might as well get these parts out fast.

Part 5 | Hey Darling Masterlist

  You woke up on Sunday with a headache from the alcohol and crying, you felt miserable all night so you cried most of the night and got very little sleep. the first thing you did was order coffee in hopes when room service comes with your coffee you can get woken up a bit ready for the last day of the con. You decided to check your phone as you waited for room service and noticed you had texts from Rich who was in the room next to Rob's.

Rich: are you okay? I heard the shouting what happened Y/N?

Rich: I know it seemed like I want information from you but I don't I just heard you trying to defend yourself but Rob told you to leave I just want to make sure you're okay

Rich: Good Morning how you doing after last night?

You decided you should reply to Rich.

You: Well I don't know if you heard or Rob told you but he accused me of cheating and broke up with me , it's all my fault I did something dumb and  I'm single I guess oh and Rob said he never wanted to go out with me after I told him I loved him so not the best night I guess but I'm fine, just kind of bummed out because I genuinely love Rob and I royally fucked it up :/

Rich: what did you do? maybe I should talk to him for you

You: No Rich, just please don't get involved.

At the con you successfully avoided Rob until lunch time, probably thanks to him trying to avoid you too, people could see something was up and Misha tried to get you to talk but you just asked him to leave you alone so he did. After lunch it was your panel and if course Rob and Rich were introducing you.

"And now please welcome to the stage  the wonderful, the magnificent Y/N L/N!" Rich shouted and the band began to play.

"Thank you Rich." You said with wide, fake, smile. They left the stage you avoided any eye contact with Rob.  Half way through the panel you got a question you didn't want to get.

"So I asked Rob this yesterday..." She started and you began thinking oh no but instead offered a gentle smile. "And his answer was quite special but what is one thing you love about him? Because you guys seem like amazing friends." The girl said.

"I'd love to know his answer but my answer is I love that Rob is forgiving, like if I fuck up because I'm stupid and drunk he'd understand." You said with a smile yes it was a spiteful answer but you were mad at him and more at yourself.

"Aw, his answer was that you're just special, you even work with disabled kids in your spare time  which just makes you amazing and that we should all love you."

"Cute." You said rolling your eyes involuntarily. 

The panel lasted with a few questions about the cast and then of course someone had to bring up Rob again.

"I know you're sick of us asking every con but supposedly people saw you holding hands with Rob and I was wondering are you guys together yet?" That was it you couldn't take it anymore.

"You know I'll answer honestly, no, and we won't be. Sorry everyone but you're never going to see me date Rob because we aren't even good friends anymore he told me it was all a act and he was faking it, don't believe everything you see kids, some people just fake it.." You said anger erupting, you felt like you're about to cry. "And I don't want to sound rude but please I beg of you stop bringing up Rob I'm sick of talking about him." You said feeling like you we're stabbed in the chest, at least now you were sure that you love him. You took one more question before Rich and Rob appeared on stage. When you saw Rich you were thankful it was over. "Oh thank god." You said under your breath but the mic caught it and so did Rob. "That's my qui to leave thank you and have a nice rest of the convention." You said with a fake smile before turning around and sprinting off stage, you didn't notice it but Rob's eyes were fixed on you he watched you run off stage and wished he could follow you and hug you and say everything is okay but he was hurting, he heard what you said on stage about him and it pissed him off because you were the one who ruined everything for him.

You ran to the greenroom which luckily was empty you sat down at the table and began to cry uncomfortably. Misha, Rob and Rich walked in at the same time and they all saw you making their conversation die down suddenly. "Y/N, sweetie? Are you okay?" Misha said sitting down next to you and putting a hand on your back rubbing it in circles as Rob watched the interaction anger in his eyes.

"No, can you stop fucking getting near me, I hate you." You chocked out through the tears standing up and leaving Misha followed you towards the door.

"Y/N." He said softly but you ignored him. "Y/N." He said sternly, he didn't shout but it was loud enough to startle you and make you stop.

"Look you've been acting weird and now you hate me while all I try to do is comfort you? Please tell me why you're acting like this." He didn't shout but he was mad.

"Can we not have this conversation in front of everyone?" You said quietly.

"We're having this conversation because all of a sudden you hate me you hate /Rob/? Rob? Honestly Y/N what's up with that one minute you say tell me you're in love with him the next you two aren't speaking? Are you two even still dating?"   Misha said and you shut you're eyes trying to make yourself stop crying.

"Uh... I can answer that, we're not, we're done." Rob said answered from the couch.

"Why?" Misha questioned.

"Why do you think Misha?" You said causing Misha to realise why and you walked out the room even though you weren't meant to without your handler. When you finally complete everything you had to that day you went back to the hotel and to your room. You successfully avoided everyone and the best part was that you were the only one flying to Vancouver as Misha was flying to see his wife and family. When you got to Vancouver you decided you're moving out from Misha's apartment so you just took your stuff and went to the set and decided you're gonna live in your small trailer until you finish filming, next week.

The week  of filming was excruciating. The hours were long and all you wanted to do was to go to LA, home, lie down in bed and cry. Honestly all it took was just a sad thought and you were in tears, Jared and Jensen were amazing to you, Misha told them about the fight and they agreed to be quite about it, and they didn't tease you at all they actually tried to comfort you and invited you round a lot but you kept refusing until the last night. "Come on Y/N it's your last day up here with us on set please join us for drinks in my trailer." Jared said and you agreed. You had a nice night, some drinks got you speaking and it was nice to finally explain to someone everything that happened and how shitty you've been feeling over the last week. "You know I've always been the most fucking careful human, I've always been just a ball of pure anxiety, I mean even going to order something at Starbucks I practice the order fifty times in my head but Rob made me calm and fearless, I felt safe and then I had to screw it up by getting drunk and sleeping with Misha." You said for the thousandth time, you were beating yourself up for it you wanted nothing more than to call Rob and apologies but you knew you can't, he wouldn't forgive you.

When you got back to LA it was Thursday and you realised you had some of Rob's stuff lying around your house from the times he casually left stuff at yours, you boxed it all up and decided you have to call Rob.

"Hello?" He answered making you happy to hear his voice.

"Hi, I know probably the last thing you want to do is see me but I have some of your stuff at my house that you left and I was thinking when would you like to pick it up?" You asked careful not to say anything to anger him.

"Oh what stuff?" Rob asked.

"Um, I've got your jacket, your iPhone charger um, one of your t-shirts, a shirt, uh, oh and the book you gave me to read."

"Oh okay, um I'm about to go on the plane for tomorrow's con,  so maybe after the con I'll pick that up? Minus the book I told you I've read it, and it's a good book, you should read it." He said with small gaps for thinking  between sentences.

"Okay yeah and I've read it, it's amazing." You explained.

"Oh? Really? It's like over a thousand pages." Rob said surprised.

"Yeah I know." You giggled. "I'm a book nerd, I read fast plus I hate planes it's relaxing to read on them you know go into a fictional world forget real life, I like that." You said you felt so happy you and Rob were talking as if nothing happened maybe he was starting to forgive you.

"Yeah I like that about books too, anyway I need to go my flight is boarding, I'll speak to you soon."

"Bye Rob." You said slightly saddened.

"Bye." He said ending the call. You spent the rest of the day just thinking, why was Rob so nice now, did he forgive you? Was he just pretending? Did he miss you like you missed him? Or was it simply because he didn't want to make a scene?

Part 7

More Rob

Rob lovers:  @waywardswain @supernatural-everyday @winchestergirl-13 @perksofbeingafangirl26 @natasha-cole @girl-next-door-writes @itsfunnierin-enochian

[storytimejustice]

Avery Wolters

1.How do they present themselves to others?

Cutsie little girl

2.Do they like animals?

Yes and her favorite animals are pegasi

3.How do they dress?

Like a typical little girl

4.How many languages do they know?

Just one

5.How big is their family?

Her family is just the rebellion as her parents were members of a branch that was taken down and got taken in my the core after her parents were killed by Rixheia

6.What is their purpose in the story?

She is a supportive character but has possession magic so she can leave her body and go into another for awhile and get information

7.Do they know how to fight?

Yes she uses a collapsible spear and can use whomever she possesses magic for a little bit after returning to her body

8.What is their back story?

Grew up with rebel parents who were children that were in the Chimera Blade school for young mages ran by the Starlights but when they were killed Nova took her into the core rebel base and taught her how to fight and use enchantments

9.Why is their name, their name?

Honestly I don’t remember lol it just came to me

10.Do they have any nicknames?

Sometimes she goes by A or Angel when on missions and trying to remain hidden

11.Do they have a romantic interest?

Nope

12.How do they cope with struggles?

With how young she was when her parents died that’s really the only struggle she’s dealt with but is too young to remember them

13.Do they have anyone they can lean on?

Nova and her housemates whom all act like older siblings towards her

14.How do they react to someone dying?

She’s only really dealt with seeing enemies die and then she doesn’t really feel anything. Especially since sometimes she casts an enchantment and makes them kill themselves

15.Can you name 5 personality traits they have?

Nope just 3

Sweet

Brave

Sneaky

16.How did they become a character?

I don’t remember I just remember I wanted new characters that were born with new natural abilities (like her possession)

17.Do they get along with others?

Of course

18.What flaws do they have?

The only role model she’s had are other kids and a time traveler so she’s kinda got a bipolar personality trait from not knowing how to control herself sometimes

19.How do they influence the story?

Her possession magic is used to get information

20.What do they look like?

She’s tan and has freckles. She is fairly tall for her age as well with long brown hair and golden eyes.

21.What are their hobbies?

She actually loves to use her enchantment magic because it gives her a rush of adrenaline every time.

22.Do they like children?

Well she is a child. So. No.

23.How do they react to being around wild animals?

She normally uses enchantments to calm them so she can get near.

24.If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work?

She’s not really into doing pranks

25.Do they have any survival skills?

I mean if she’s killed she can switch into the body of who killed her a split second prior to where they wind up dying in her body and then she stays in the new body until her body is healed.

26.Are they more book smart or street smart?

A good mix but more street smart

27.How do they get out of a difficult situation?

When in doubt enchant your way out.

28.Do they use their body, mind, personality, or force to get what they want?

She usually just uses those little kid sad eyes to get her way

29.What music do they enjoy?

She loves classical and heavy metal music

30.How do they overcome obstacles?

She usually will ask for help from her housemates

31.When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break?

She gets stronger

32.Do they have any special powers?

POSSESSION (Any ghost can do it in less than one lesson)

33.How do they change throughout the story?

She doesn’t change too much but she does become slightly scared of her possession ability towards the end after learning that when she takes over a body it kills the soul in that body.

34. Do they have any friends? If so, are they close knit?

Yes her and her household act just like siblings.

35.How is their family life?

No parents but her replacement family is loving

36.Are they likable?

Of course

37.Are they the hero, or anti-hero?

Hero

38.Do they make questionable choices?

Definitely

39.How do they become who they are?

When a mission goes wrong she makes everyone hide and sacrifices herself before learning about her possession ability which kicked in when she got scared

40.How was their childhood?

Grew up in danger most of her life but she is still a kid

41.Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over?

Nope

42.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

Every new body she enters she has to adapt to their height, weight, senses, and magic abilities along with their magical energy levels.

43.How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot headed, vulgar

Pretty softly and fast paced

44.Are they opposed to violence?

No but tries to avoid it as much as possible

45.When is their birthday?

April 20th

46.Are they quick to judge?

Not at all

47.Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

She’s very open to the rebel group

48.Do they act different around different people?

Nope she’s very open

49.Do they enjoy the arts?

She loves to doodle even though she isn’t very good at it

50.Do they like science?

Not at all

51.Are they more emotional or logical?

As she is still a kid she is more emotional

52.How do they deal with their emotions?

Depending on how strong the emotions are

53.How do they cope with sadness?

She isn’t really infected with sadness often

54.What is something they care about?

She would die for her rebel family

55.Would they die for anyone/anything?

To save her family

56.What do they do when they are happy?

She does love to explore around the rebel base because the environment seems to shift strangely every once in awhile since they’re close to the northern section of the world turning right on the world's axis. (They’re on the thin center section that goes left and the southern section also goes right) 

57.How would they come across to other characters? Examples - Messy, lazy, childish, caring, etc

Caring and soft

.

58.Do they have a phrase they use over and over?

Nope but she does have a favorite enchantment she uses that slows time

59.In a crowded room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle?

Sides

60. Are they comfortable being in a crowded room?

Not really since she’s shorter and not able to be seen easily

61.How do they relax?

She enjoys helping make weapons and tools and charming them

62.Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically?

No

63.Do they like to dance?

Not really

64.How do they get around their environment? Examples - Horses, bike, vehicles

Riding horses and arctic wolves

65.What is their pet peeve(s)?

Doesn’t really have any

66.Do they have a disability?

No

67.How do they react to getting flowers?

She’s never received flowers before

68.Would they ever wear a flower crown?

Unlikely but is a possibility

69.Do they like themselves?

Yes although she does wind up fearing her possession ability

70.Who do they dislike?

She doesn’t really dislike anything

71.What is their motto?

Doesn’t have one

72.Do they have any markings on their body?

She gets a scar from her spear being jutted through her

73.Have they ever been abused?

Absolutely not

74.What is their biggest fear?

Losing Nova as he has become a father figure to her

75.What are their goals?

She has a goal to take back Primwall and reclaim her parents honor

76.How do they go about achieving their goals?

She doesn’t really see any goals that she needs

77.Do they have a fight or flight response?

Flight

78.Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves?

Anyone that comes into it really

79.How would they fair in the zombie apocalypse?

She’d probably become a zombie fairly quick

80.Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant?

Nope

81.Are they good at mental math?

A little bit but not too great. More of an English girl

82.Do they get along with others?

Yes

83.Are they lazy?

Absolutely not

84.Are they self motivated?

About 98% of the time

85.How do they cope with anger?

Doesn’t feel anger enough to really need to cope with it

86.Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless?

No

87.Are they organized or messy?

She’s pretty messy

88.Can they remember a lot of information at once?

Not really

89.What is their occupation?

She’s a rebel child and an enchanter

90.Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

She’s not well known but the characters that do know her enjoy her

91.If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

Say goodbye and thank you to Nova for bringing her in

92.How do they deal with stress?

Doesn’t really have much stress

93.Do they have a more submissive or dominant personality type?

Submissive

94.Do they have a pet?

No

95.Do they have a stash of weapons?

No

96.Where do they live? Who do they live with?

Near Elkmire Castle in the village of Emera

97.How do they calm themselves down?

Counting backwards

98.Are they dependent?

Very

99.How do they react to people telling them they’re wrong?

She actually enjoys it because it gives her a chance to learn.

100.Are they a day, or a night person?

Night

[velartrill]

fighting back 101

you too can help organize a local paramilitary.

because this is going to come to violence, and right now the people with all the guns and training are on the side of fascism. instead of fighting to be allowed to join them, help defend your own community. if you don't have a community worth defending, find one. if you're willing to uproot your life for the USM, you should be willing to uproot it in service of fascism's targets

and for the record? if you're not willing to stand with ALL marginalized people, if you're not willing to fight with & for black folks, immigrants, american muslims, women, queer people, people with disabilities, everyone this regime wants to destroy, your willingness to resist fascism is utterly hollow.

let's talk about some of the things you can do if you're not willing to participate in actual bloodshed, or like me are physically disabled to the point that you'd be no use in combat. because we don't talk about these things enough. and that's fucked as hell because they're so much more important than shooting people. only a minority of personnel ever see front-line duty; the majority are needed to keep the whole ugly machinery of war and survival running.

this is actually an advantage we have over right-wing paramilitaries. if the actual USM comes after us we don't stand a chance of winning in outright conflict, but as the people we mainly have to worry about at this stage are the lone wolf nazis and fascist paramilitaries. and the cool thing about fascists is that they're idiots. they're obsessed with blood and guns and glory. they're all about waving their dicks around and making a show of how powerful and masculine they are. they don't operate on sound military strategy; they operate on what will make them personally feel good.

i can't say that this tendency never arises on the left, but i think there's still hope for us to get over it and exclude our egos from the military planning process.

so, without further ado, here are some absolutely vital non-combatant roles we need people for:

be a medic. people are going to get hurt and we need personnel capable of stitching them up when they do. take first aid classes, stockpile medical supplies. bandages, painkillers, antiseptics, antibiotics. the prescription-only shit you can find on the dark net and it's not even illegal to possess most of the important ones; controlled substances are the only thing you need to worry about getting caught with. (just don't fucking use antibiotics cavalierly, for the love of god.) even if you can't learn battlefield medicine yourself, stockpiling resources for those who can is still valuable. which brings me to my next point:

run a safehouse. violent resistance movements need places to regroup. if nothing else, you can offer up your home and keep it well stocked for combatants who need to take refuge there. keep rations (MREs are good) and clean water stocked, as well as medical supplies and weapons, if possible. resistances need networks of safehouses to be able to operate effectively. note that operating a safehouse means getting good at opsec. the entire point of a safehouse is that the enemy doesn't know it exists, and that can easily be compromised by spreading need-to-know info too widely. don't advertise online. work with local cells, and only give out your address in person to personnel you know to be reliable and to have the same respect for operational security you do. also, be realistic about what information you need to know. make sure people who trust you don't share intel with you that you don't need to know. you don't generally need to know where other safehouses are you. you sure as hell don't need to know about troops movements that don't affect how you're running your safehouse. understand that as the person whose name is on the contract or property deed, you're the first person the cops will grab if they find out people are operating out of your home. make sure you have covert signals in place to indicate whether it's safe to crash at your place or if you've been compromised and allies need to stay away. this can be as simple as lighting a candle in a window every night that your home is safe to approach, but it needs to be something self-limiting, so you don't need to personally intervene to shut off the signal. if you've been compromised, you won't have the opportunity to.

be a mole. this is one of the hardest jobs in any resistance, arguably more than front-line combat, and extremely dangerous, and you genuinely should not even *try* if you're not already in a position where you have access to government intel and materiel. being a mole means being extremely careful with the information you provide. don't give out anything that could identify you - you don't want to wind up like Reality Winner. even if you're willing to take a bullet for the cause, remember that you'll be able to do much more good alive than dead or in federal prison or a CIA black site. being a mole also means carefully respecting the need-to-know status of all intel. you should know as little about the people you're helping as you need to know they're trustworthy. remember that this is a fight, not a social club, and that knowing your place could mean the difference between life and death for the people you want to help.

and if you're working with a mole, understand that they're in the cold. you have a close network of fellow travelers to keep you steady and on course. they don't, out of necessity. respect the enormous dedication it takes to work behind enemy lines, but don't lose sight of the fact that they might turn, or just not be steady allies. lots of moles, very understandably, are conflicted about their allegiances. consider the provenance of all intel with care before you act on it. make sure you have covert signals in place by which your contact can indicate they're compromised, because they can and will be used to feed you false intel if that happens.

do social engineering. like i said, our main enemies in this war are total dumbasses. this means a good bit of con artistry can go a long way if you're good at manipulating people, consider using that to squeeze intel out of the enemy or lead them into traps. hell, you might even be able to get two different factions of fash (because the militia freaks aren't quite as buddy-buddy as you might think) into a shooting war with each other, neutralizing two nests of vipers without firing a single shot. good conmen are crazy vital to any resistance.

run comms. the internet is great but it's damn near impossible to use anonymously, and it'll be the first thing to go in any urban warfare. get good at radio. establish encrypted radio links with other members of your cell. teach people voice procedure, because trying to run shit by radio is a mess without that. have backup codes and frequencies in place in case one is compromised. like i'm not gonna lie, being a radio operator is probably going to be like the most vital job when we start fighting back. coordinating operations citywide will give your cell the ability to respond rapidly and effectively to new intel. and speaking of intel:

just straight up fucking be a spy. this is not some extremely glamorous and dangerous position, and it's actually one of the safest and easiest jobs for anyone to do. you don't even need to do it full-time. all it involves is reporting intel (even *publicly available* intel like when you see a cop car heading down the street) to people who might find that intel actionable.

provide transportation. lots of the people who might be willing to fight on the front lines are not going to be able to mobilize easily. if you have a car, or better yet a van, then helping transport personnel is one of the most valuable things you can do. vehicles are also great places to set up comm centers because they're harder to identify, cut off, and secure than buildings just by virtue of being able to move from place to place.

work as a specialist. the revolution is going to need tech support. they're going to need counseling. they're going to need lawyers. they're going to have a million different civilian needs. but you can't just hire a civilian plumber when you've got a couple of revolutionaries hiding out in your spare bedroom. you can't just call geeksquad when your hard drive is full of sensitive compartmentalized intel. having trustworthy professionals to call on when disaster strikes can be the difference between success and capture.

support morale. fighting back is going to suck, and the people in the most stressful positions need to be reminded why they’re putting themselves on the line. art, songwriting, speeches, all the traditional propaganda forms are invaluable here. so are reporters, people who will follow up after actions your organization participates in and tell your people exactly how much they accomplished, present the stories of the lives you’ve altered for the better - and remind you to do better when you screw up. don’t let anybody forget what you’re fighting for - especially your leadership.

on a more personal note, something we all need to understand is that the psychology of war is ugly. you need to be prepared for depression, despair, breakdowns. it's so important for people to feel like they're making a difference, and to be able to retreat to civilian comforts when necessary.

and there is going to be drug use.

this is something you need to be prepared for. you can't expect people to stay clean and sober when they're sacrificing their comfort and potentially their lives for the cause. so a culture of harm reduction when it comes to drug use by the troops is absolutely vital. don't kick people out of your safehouse for shooting up heroin. but also make sure you're not letting people head into combat or other situations that require alertness and steady reflexes while high or drunk or otherwise chemically impaired, whether that’s infiltrating a precinct or just driving to the grocery store. and your medics need to be prepared to handle overdoses. and withdrawal.

the better you support the morale of your personnel, the less you’ll have to worry about this.

finally: if you yourself have military experience, particularly within the US military, your skills and knowledge are absolutely invaluable, even if you aren't personally fighting on the front lines. we need people like you we can trust to be dedicated to the cause to train and lead others. we need people who have experienced the psychology of combat, people who know what they are and aren't capable of, so we're not just throwing a bunch of civilians into the meat grinder and hoping a few capable soldiers emerge.

please feel free to spread this document in any format you see fit. i'm also happy to add people's suggestions or answer sincere questions.

[mosylufanfic]

The Permission Slip

Because @anghraine mentioned PTA AU, and her brain went one place and mine went another.

The Permission Slip

Jyn opened the door as quietly as possible and slid into the school library. Not that she really should have bothered with stealth. The big room echoed with chatter and laughter and suddenly, happy shrieking as something went pop!

She leaned her back against the wall, looking around. She vaguely remembered coming here on a long-ago Parent Night. At the time, the posters had been dusty and faded, the shelves looming, and the tables dirty. Not to mention a sour librarian who'd been quick to tell her that Lyra refused to stick to books at her grade level, and hadn't taken it well when Jyn had snapped back that maybe the librarian shouldn't be giving her kid boring-ass shit she didn't want to read.

Now it looked bright and warm, the tables all pushed together at one end, sunlight streaming in through the windows. The new librarian had been making changes. Impressive considering he split his time between here and the high school.

The top half of the shelves were empty, all the books moved down. She wondered where the rest of them had gone. Still, there were enough books to make her itchy. She'd kicked the dust of school off her Doc Martens ten years ago, and while she'd gotten her GED, she still wasn't a fan of scholastic environments in general.

Lyra, she reminded herself. She was here for Lyra. For Lyra, she’d walk over hot coals and swallow live scorpions and -

And take the afternoon off work to tell her kid’s school librarian a thing or two.

She examined one poster that said, "Join the Rebellion - Read!" with a picture of some cheesy sci-fi movie. Then she drifted over to study the certificates and photos mounted above the desk. The photos showed the same man, different ages, but always dressed in a cap and gown. The first one was the cheap plasticky gown that she remembered seeing in people's high-school graduation pictures. But they got progressively fancier until the last picture showed him in the heavy black gown and colorful hood of movie academics. She glanced at the diploma next to it. University of Arizona, Masters' of Library Science, it read.

She snorted.

He was pretty good-looking, though. When he smiled.

A couple of sharp claps brought her head around. At the tables, the older version of the man in the photos called out, "It's ten to five, ladies and gentleman, time to clean up!" He had a faint accent, an angle to the vowels and pressure on unexpected consonants. It was nice. "I want your wrappers in the trash, your crumbs swept up, and all your materials put away. Let's go, vamanos!"

Most of the teachers at Yavin K-8 were pretty casual, but he wore a button-down shirt with a tie. Who wore a tie anymore? And those shiny shoes. Jesus.

He looked around and his eyes met hers. His brows pulled together. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Mom!"  A tiny rocket in a blue t-shirt burst out of the crowd of kids, sprinted across the library, and slammed square into Jyn's side.

Jyn wrapped her arms around her nine-year-old daughter. "Heya, stardust."

"Where's Bodhi?" Lyra Erso's face scrunched. "Is he having one of his bad days?" she said wisely.

After two tours in Afghanistan, their neighbor and his PTSD had a hard time holding down a steady job, but he could usually manage to look after Lyra until Jyn got home from work. Jyn thought they probably traded off looking after each other, but she still paid Bodhi Rook a little money every week. It was cheaper than daycare, it supplemented his disability checks, and it kept CPS off her back. Wins all around as far as she was concerned.

Jyn brushed her daughter's hair out of her eyes. "No, he's just fine. He had some appointments at the VA today. Remember? I told you I was going to come pick you up."

"Ohhhh yeahhhhhh," Lyra said.

"Ohhhhh yeahhhhh," Jyn mocked her gently.

Lyra twisted around, then peeled herself away from Jyn's side to jump up and down, as if to catch the attention of the man already walking over. "Mr. Andor, Mr. Andor! This is my mom."

She suddenly wanted to tug at the frayed cuffs of her flannel shirt and check her worn cargo pants for dirt. She stiffened her spine. If a woman in honest work clothes wasn't fancy enough for him, screw him and his shiny shoes.

"Yes, I see that, Lyra." He held out his hand. "Cassian Andor."

"Jyn Erso," she said, shaking it. His hand was warm, and more callused than she would have expected from someone who read books for a living.

"Have you come to see what we do in Science Club?"

"Actually, I came to speak to you about this." She rooted in her back pocket and pulled a many-folded piece of paper out, unfolding it so he could see what it was.

Of course, he knew what it was; he'd sent it home two weeks ago.

His eyes dropped to the paper. She thought he might have sighed, but it also might have been her imagination.

"Of course," he said. "I have to supervise cleanup and walk the kids out to the late bus. But after that, I'd be happy to hear your concerns, if you don't mind waiting."

"I got nothing but time," she said.

His brow quirked, as if he could hear the sarcasm she thought she'd buried.

He turned to her daughter. "Lyra, go clean up your spot, please," he said. Without protest she dashed off. "No running!" he called out and shook his head.

"Lost cause," Jyn said. "She came out running and hasn't stopped since."

He looked over his shoulder with something that might have been a smile or might just have been a grimace, and turned back to the kids. Wading back into the fray, he called out, "Poe Dameron, this is not the soccer pitch. You go walk and put that trash in the trash can."

A curly-headed boy looked up with a giant, face-splitting grin. "Aaaaahhh, Señor - "

The librarian said something stern-sounding in Spanish. Poe sighed deeply, but didn't seem abashed in the least. When he dropped a ball of trash into the can, Andor paused in the middle of pulling a tiny pink jacket right-side-out to nod to him.

Jyn noticed that the small acknowledgement made the boy beam as if he'd just been handed the World Cup. Apparently her kid wasn't the only one who thought Mr. Andor had hung the moon.

Feeling extraneous, she looked around and found a chair behind the desk. She settled herself into it, watching him herd children toward the door. Lyra came dashing over again. "Mom, you're in Mr. Andor's chair."

"It's all right, Lyra," Mr. Andor said. "You can stay here with your mom while I take the others out, okay?"

"Okay!"

"I'll see you in a bit." He nodded at Jyn, then reached out and tapped Poe Dameron's shoulder. The boy, who'd been half-draped on the desk staring at the graduation pictures, blinked and grinned again, then rushed to follow Mr. Andor to the front of the line.

Jyn watched the other kids pile out after the librarian, all chattering and giggling and shoving and wiggling and generally being kids. He moved along at the front of the line as calm and cool as a shark with a school of guppies on his tail.

She turned to her daughter. "So, kid, tell me, how was school today?"

Jyn listened to Lyra telling her all about Science Club's latest experiment, and the math test she'd aced, and the deadly dull Social Studies lesson, so dull she'd wanted to fall out of her chair and diiiiiiiiiie. "Oh, and Kyle was being a total jerk to Poe on the playground so I tripped him."

"Did anybody see you?"

"Nope! And Kyle will never admit that a girl took him down, so it was the perfect crime."

"Good work." Jyn held up her hand for a high-five.

Mr. Andor came back in, sans guppies. "Thank you for waiting, ladies," he said. He went behind the desk and pulled out a giant, heavy book with a shiny foil cover that read Guinness World Records. "Lyra, this just came in. Would you like to sit over there and review it for me?"

Her eyes widened, and she took it like she was handling the Ark of the Covenant. Without a glance at Jyn, she took it to the set of tables across the library.

Mr. Andor pulled over another chair and sat down. "Now. How can I help you?"

Jyn tapped the permission slip. It was a list of book titles and a short block of text at the bottom, telling her that she could choose to allow or deny her daughter the privilege of checking some or all of them out from the library. "Like I said. It's this. I'd like to know where you get off, sending something like this home."

He said smoothly, "Mrs. Erso - "

"Ms," she snapped. "Never married, don't care to be."

"Ms Erso," he said. "The books on this list are recent additions to the library." He waved his hand at a shelf behind them, lined with shiny-new volumes. "They are here for your review, if you choose. If you would rather Lyra not have access to them, all you have to do is sign the second line - "

"Lyra is getting access to every book on this list, and every book in this goddamn library. The ones you haven't managed to throw away." She glared narrow-eyed around her, the empty shelves suddenly sinister. "What is this bullshit?"

"We're in a school, Ms. Erso, please don't curse." He studied her. "You want her to read these? You know the topics?"

"Do I know the topic of this book?" She poked at one of the titles, which was It's Perfectly Normal: Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex, and Sexual Health. "Uh, yeah, I think I can sound out all the words."

"It's just that all the parents who have already spoken to me would rather - "

"Listen, bub, attitudes like that are how Lyra got here. My foster parents told me all the contraception I needed was abstinence, and you see how that worked out for the two of us." She crossed her arms. "I wouldn't trade my kid in for all the gold in Fort Knox, but I also don't want her knocked up before she's legal to vote, like I was. Now maybe that's how you get your jollies, but locking information about her own damn body and how it works into a vault is the opposite of helpful. I don't know the stats - "

"I do," he said.

"Okay, so you know this stuff is basic as hell - "

"Ms. Erso, please - "

"My kid's heard worse and she's the only one here. This stuff is basic as hell. What happens when she wants to know about things you can't even bring yourself to buy a book for? Sex isn't a dirty word, Mr. Andor. In fact, done right it's a whole hell of a lot of fun. But I wouldn't expect you to know that."

He didn't rise to the challenge, at least not with words. But he shot her a single, sizzling glance that made every nerve in her body leap to attention.

Holy shit. A librarian should not be able to look at a woman like that.

While she was still trying to battle back her blush, he said, "As it happens, Ms. Erso, I agree. Every child in this school should have access to these books, to information about their body and their health." He tapped the paper. "This is bullshit."

She blinked at him.

"But this is the bullshit compromise I've managed to drag out of my principal after six months of fighting to be able to buy these books in the first place."

All she could think to say was, "You shouldn't have settled."

"Six months ago, I would have agreed. But would you like to hear some of the other things I'm fighting for?" Without waiting for her answer, he ticked them off on his fingers. "A budget that's not a wad of singles and a coupon to Borders. Permission for a special ESL collection at both schools. Weeding and updating two libraries that still had books about East and West Germany. Computers that aren't from the 20th century. And did I mention the budget? Of course I care about access to information. It's one of the things I care about the most. But right now, I've got to fight the battles I can win." His eyes dropped to the paper again. "Unfortunately, this, I have to count as a win."

She screwed up her mouth. "So your principal is the one I need to be raking over the coals."

"Principal Draven's not a bad man. He's fighting his own battles, is all. It was quite a concession he made, considering this whole thing might be a moot point next month."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know if you've seen the agenda for the next school board meeting - "

"Hey, buddy, I'm a little busy working my ass off trying to keep food on the table and a roof over my kid's head. I don't have time to read every flyer and email that gets sent home."

"Even if you did, you might have missed it. They've been very quiet about the whole thing."

"What whole thing?"

"At the next meeting in three weeks, the school board is going to vote on an abstinence-only sex education policy for all the schools in Scarif County."

Her mouth fell open. "Fuck that noise!"

Across the library, Lyra looked up, her brows crinkled warily. She'd heard Jyn swear before, of course. Pretty much since birth. But she knew her mom's mad voice.

"It's okay, baby," Jyn called to her. "Just talking. Go back to your book."

Lyra, not actually stupid, looked at Cassian, who gave her a little nod. She went back to her book, shaking her head at the mysterious ways of grown-ups.

Jyn said, "How long have you known about this?"

"Since a faculty meeting at the high school last week."

"And? What are you doing about it?"

"There are some teachers besides me who object. There's one, Leia Organa - she teaches government and history, and oversees the debate team. She's working with her kids to speak at the meeting. But the parents are a harder sell. A lot of them think abstinence-only is the way to go. More so at this age." He waved a hand around the library. "And the ones that don't, well, they don't think they can win the fight."

She pressed her hand to her stomach. "So it's just going to happen."

"It's certainly not going to be brought down by a few teachers." He gave her a long, considering look. "What this really needs is a parent to speak up, and a whole lot of parents behind her."

"Oh," she said. "Wait. Uh-uh. You're not volunteering me for this."

"Why not? You had no problem getting in my face. You were even looking forward to spitting in the principal's eye. What's the problem staring down a school board?"

"It's different," she mumbled. "And it's not just that. You're talking about me going out and, like, inspiring people - I'm not inspirational, okay? I don't have a herd of Facebook mommy friends to whip into a frenzy. I go to work, I hang with my kid, sometimes I drink with my neighbor, and I go to sleep. That's my exciting life. I'm not a hero."

"Don't you know anybody who might be slightly concerned?"

She fiddled with a button on her shirt. "The whole school district is going to adopt this policy?"

"The whole school district. K through twelve."

"My bosses," she said slowly. "They have a foster son up at the high school. You might know him - Finn? Shit, I can never remember his last name. Good-looking black kid?"

"Junior? Transferred in at Christmas? Attached by the hand to Rey Skywalker?" When she nodded, he nodded too. "He's a good kid."

"Considering everything, he's a great kid. Anyway, his foster dads, Chirrut and Baze, they lived in San Francisco during the AIDS epidemic. You wanna talk some war stories. Not to mention, the way they're going, their son and Rey aren't going to stop at hands. They'd probably have something to say about sex ed."

"Okay," he said. "It's a start."

She rubbed her hand over her mouth. Oh, Christ. She was going to do this. How had he talked her into this?

"Do you think this can be done?" she asked him. "You think we can actually yell loud enough to keep this backwards, Puritanical garbage out?"

"I don't know," he admitted frankly. "There's a lot of support on the other side. Plenty of parents, and the big church in town - but I'll tell you what." He leaned forward a little. His hair fell over his forehead and he suddenly looked five years younger. "I like our chances better than I did half an hour ago."

She found herself smiling. He smiled back.

"I have to warn you," he said. "I don't have a lot of personal clout with the school board. Half of them think I'm overpaid and overqualified, and my contract is only for this year. I'm going to do my best work behind the scenes."

"I'll take that," she said. "I'll take whatever you got."

"You're welcome to it."

She found herself asking, "Would you like to come home with me?"

His eyes went wide. "I - uh - I don't think that - "

She squinted at him, then played back her own words and gulped. "Oh my god! I meant for a strategy session over mac and cheese, not - " She stole a glance at Lyra. She was still nose-deep in the book. Still, Jyn lowered her voice. "Not to play the beast with two backs while my kid is in the next room. What the hell do you think of me?"

"I have no idea what to think of you," he said. He'd gone red, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Join the club," she said. "They have t-shirts."

He snorted, very softly, in a way that was almost a laugh.

She rubbed her palms over the knees of her cargo pants. She suspected that she wouldn't have been half so embarrassed if the idea hadn't sounded quite so amazing. She wondered if that was why he'd reacted the way he had

"Look," she said. "You said you know the stats. You sound like you know the players, too. I don't know any of that. And I don't know where to start."

"And we only have three weeks."

"Exactly. So? Mac and cheese and plotting the downfall of the school board?"

"That sounds . . ." He nodded a couple of times, then met her eyes. "Yes. I would like that."

"Good," she said, scrawling her address on a scrap of paper and handing it to him. "Because that's all that's on offer." She looked at him through her lashes. "At the moment."

His eyebrows went up, and just when she thought he was going to poker up on her again, he grinned. It wasn't the triumphant smile of his graduation pictures, or the supportive smile of a few minutes ago, but something sly and sexy and - oh. Oh wow. She might be in over her head.

Her favorite place to be.

She went across the room to tug at her daughter's ponytail. "Hey, kid," she said. "Turn your book back in and grab your stuff. We're bugging out."

"Awww," Lyra said, but she shut the book and carried it to the desk. Cassian - when had she started thinking of him as Cassian? - waved at her from his office, where he was shutting down his computer and packing books and folders into a satchel.

Jyn felt heat touch her cheeks again as their eyes met, and she looked away first, glancing down at her daughter as she wrestled with her backpack.

"Hey, so, um. Mr. Andor's coming over for dinner. Is that going to be weird?"

"Wait, what? Really?" Lyra bounced with excitement, then stopped and peered up at her. "Why?"

"He's going to help me with - uh - with a project. Boring, grownup stuff."

"Do I have to help?"

Jyn ruffled her hair. "Not tonight. You focus on your homework."

Lyra flicked her bangs out of her eyes. "Are you going to start making trouble, Mom?"

"Probably."

She grinned. "Awesome."

"Seriously?"

"Bodhi says you've been cruising too long. He says everyone needs to cause trouble now and then."

She thought of the fight ahead of her, and found herself smiling. "Bodhi may not be wrong."

It took many, many strategy meetings, about a billion emails and phone calls, enough stats and studies to choke a horse, and even a few Saturdays going door to door. But the vote on abstinence-only in Scarif County was deferred twice and finally, definitively struck down in favor of a more comprehensive sex-ed program. Not perfect - what was? - but not as bad as simply telling kids not to do something they were going to do anyway.

After the third, victorious meeting, some said that they'd spotted the school librarian and the fiery parent that had led the charge against the proposal, making out against his car like a couple of horny teenagers.

Even if they were, Leia Organa said, so what? They were adults.

FINIS

[cfthestars-blog]

Character: Viarra ( secondary ) Ship: F!Trooper/Aric? Sort of. Slowly. Chapter: Literally the very beginning. This isn’t done, it’s just a rambling tidbit of Viarra and Aric meeting. Viarra is a character that might actually become a main, or would’ve but there’s a character in her story that isn’t around anymore so I don’t know how I’m going to do it, because I don’t want to co-opt someone else’s character just because they play such a huge part in her story. I’ll just have to rework her. 

All he can think, looking down at her from across the room, is that she's too damn young to be rotting away on a rock like Ord Mantell. It's not even just that she looks young; despite being Havoc’s new recruit, everything about her looks soft -- from the ruddy blush in her cheeks, to the warm pink tone  of her skin that was only broken by the scars that decorated one side of her face, to the way she shifted from foot to foot while meeting the rest of her squad...hell, even her waistline was soft, belying the muscle she must've had to get through training with a record like hers. She'd barely come up to his nose, if he'd calculated correctly. Short red curls did nothing to hide the cybernetics that curled around her ear and eye; they protected her from her own disability. She wasn't ready for Ord Mantell, whatever her record said.

He can't help but sneer, when he approaches her. When he'd read her record, he imagined someone-- harder. She met him with a smile, hand clasped behind her back in a casual parade rest, and the word is out before he can catch it Rookie. He almost regrets it, when her smile fades, and those blue(so bright..) eyes harden. Suddenly, it's obvious that there's a chip on her shoulder, and it’s all he can do not to snort when she draws herself up to her full height, like it made a difference - the top of her head could brush his nose now, rather than his top lip.

“I can handle myself, sir.” Her voice is harsher than Aric expected, lower, the letters less rounded -- it's nothing of the breathy voice the cantina’s bartender has. His sneer only grows at her protest, though he can see Tavus watching them with a curious, and not altogether happy expression.

Maybe he's hard on her. The issue with Bellis, the way she got distracted, helping out around the fort -- while, admirable, it only slowed down their mission. There's a bomb out there, and she was fetching medicine and helping reporters. Admirable. Sloppy. He keeps an eye on everything from her armor cam, choosing to focus on her, rather than the rest of Havoc -- they know what they're doing, and he doesn't trust the rookie not to screw up, or disobey orders.

It's why he's pleasantly surprised, when he watches her work with the two poisoned civilians. She'd expressed distaste when Needles had gotten near gleeful about torture, and though he himself had pointed out that they're at war, he's pleased to see her take a softer route -- he'd read in her file that she had expressed interest in medicine, but to watch her go out of way to help the man and his separatist wife -- and earn their trust and favour.

He makes his thoughts known. The praise tastes foreign in his mouth, but her lips split in a shy smile reminiscent of the one she greeted him with, and suddenly there's an inane need to keep that smile on her face, constantly. It's inappropriate, and he orders her back to base in a clipped tone, shaking his head as he hangs up the call like he's got water in his ears.

Tavus’s orders surprise him, and he raises an eyebrow, but doesn't argue -- he might have been keeping an eye on the Sergeant, but Tavus is still her commanding officer, and he has the right to decide where she goes. Whether he agrees is neither here nor there. Still, the hurt that flickers over her expression when she realizes that they've benched her has him offering his opinion. It doesn't help -- hell, he doesn't think she even believes him. She's leveling him with a look of betrayal and he's almost grateful when the Ensign interrupts, though the news is hardly good.

In the end, he can see why Tavus benched her -- if you've been planning a betrayal for months, you don't bring in a new player who's so outspokenly for the side you're betraying. Furthermore, watching her blast through the seps’ base -- she's a one woman army, and when she takes down the imps and yells threats up at Havoc’s exiting shuttle, there's nothing soft about her.

He wonders; does Tavus have any idea what he's just done?

He's seething. How could he not be seething? Brass shows up, strips him of his position, and then has the gall to apologise? He doesn't mean to round on the rookie, really, but he's seeing red, and as soon as she asks what's going on, he snaps.

She isn't to blame for this, and her expression hardens towards him once more -- at this rate, they'll never make any progress. He knows that. But it's Havoc Squad -- her squad, that caused this, and he's so damn bitter, especially as she gets command of the unit.

He's placed under her command, but she doesn't make any smart comments -- not about his punishment, not about him having to follow her orders; after his treatment of her, he'd expected something, but she's almost professional, marked only by the soft smile she levels towards him when she makes it clear that she'd be happy to have him.

He needed to apologise.

“I'll take the position and havoc stripes if it means I can be there when we take those cowards down.”

It's not an apology. He really needs to work on that. Still, her smile widens, though her focus is off of him. She's almost over confident when she declares the defectors as good as dead, but it makes him smile, all sharp teeth and bitter, angry intentions. They're going to take Tavus down for this, or they're going to die trying.

The shuttle ride to the fleet is awkward, quiet, both of them thinking on the events of the day. For all his anger, he never stopped to think how she must feel -- this is her first real assignment, her first squad, and they betrayed her. They tried to kill her.

At least she knows he won't defect.

He pulls her aside, a large hand on her shoulder, before they board the shuttle to Coruscant. The touch visibly startles her, and he drops his hand awkwardly, before launching into an apology that is just as awkward, if not more. Still, it brings a smile to her face, and it's worth it, for the most part.

Coruscant is beautiful; it never fails to cause him to pause, and he finds himself talking to her, as she checks them in at the arrivals console. She listens closely, looking curious as she turns towards him. He trained here, during the rebuilding, and he can't help but express the disbelief he felt at the Empire’s win. She agrees, brow furrowing.

It might be the first easy, non-aggravated conversation they'd had.

He hears her shaky inhalation as they step out from the taxi port and get a good look at the Senate tower for the first time. She'd clearly never been here before, and he can't help but shoot a small grin in her direction from his position at her side.

Every time he throws out any little bit of information, she looks at him like he's made her day, like she's soaking it all up -- admiration in her gaze makes him feel warm, and he gets gruff again as they're stop in to speak with a senator. For the most part, he's silent, as she expresses concerns for the refugees.

She's obviously loyal to the republic, but it's more than that. It's not just the ideals, it's the people that she cares about. It's refreshing, after working on Ord Mantell, but it's also -- well, be can't help but be concerned. Being a soldier isn't easy, and she's soft. Naive, even. He can't protect her from the bloodshed she's certain to see.

With Garza, she's respectful, professional, but eager to get moving. The disgust she expresses at the mass defection eases his worries a bit, although it seems to stem from the idea that they'd give up on helping people, not that they'd give up on the Republic. Still, he's comfortable enough to voice his concerns about the new position, and she levels him with an almost hurt expression.

Maybe he should've kept his mouth shut.

He can practically smell her anger as they stalk towards Senate tower; the migrant merchant guild had been a rough situation, and she's seething about how everything turned out. First, the senator buying slave collars(and he can understand why that bothers her, all things considered), then Garza's orders -- the cherry on top seemed to be finding out about the deal struck by the gangsters and the senator.

In reality, the sector had reminded him of Ord Mantell, so maybe that's why he wasn't surprised by the sheer amount of corruption. Still, he feels bad; she's clearly been hopefully -- naive, but hopeful. The world just didn't have the same morals and motivations that she did.

At least she'd argued, when Garza delivered the kill order. He himself had thought it was pointless, to shoot people that might not even be the enemy, but hadn't said anything -- not to Garza, at least. She had, and even after she hung up the call, she was honest about her intentions. The supposed cyborgs would live on.

Garza was pissed.

Then again, so was Viarra. Every now and then her hands would twitch, and she practically snarled when he tried to speak to her, so he let her do her thing, which involved stalking directly up to Senator Kayl and letting her know exactly how she felt.

The woman had guts, at least.

The senator called her naive, and he couldn't help but bare his teeth, though neither woman were paying attention. Despite him thinking the same thing, the senator has no right to call her that, not after they'd cleaned up her mess. Seeha insists that the truth must come out, and for a moment, he's proud.

He says so, as they turn their back on the woman and head for Garza's office. It's nothing more than a good job, but he can see surprise and warmth in the startled look she shoots him. Painted lips twitch upward, and her stance relaxes, her movements becoming less jumpy, more smooth.

He's beginning to see how much his opinion means to her. This could be dangerous. It is dangerous.

[juliangbc-blog]

GBC Blog 1 - Week 1.

Having initially been born in Zambia, I grew up on my parent’s dairy farm in a small village called Upper Minety in Wiltshire, a stone’s throw from Stonehenge and the heart of the Cotswolds.

In Africa, my father had been a financial comptroller working with Meridian BIAO Bank who were helping to finance the transition of the country from Northern Rhodesia into its present day Zambia.  My mother, was in essence, a hostess and a mother.  However,  this was in no way disparaging of her culinary achievements.  She had studied with Le Cordon Bleu and had also worked for several years as an au-pair in France when younger.

From an early age, she instilled a love of cooking in me as she felt it was important that, yes even men, should be able to cook. Much to the horror and disgust of my Grandfather - a rather staunch Georgian patriarch.  My Grandfather actually walked out when visiting one Sunday for our roast beef dinner upon discovering that I had helped make some of the dishes - as he left, he muttered none too quietly - “that’s a woman’s job, cooking is not for a man to do!”

As I was rather a precocious child, this merely instilled in me the interest in the culinary field - as long as it did not interfere with my rather large collection of snakes, lizards, insects and other creepy-crawlies that I kept housed in various crates and jars in my “zoo”. 

Upon moving to Canada in 1982, I became more interested in food and would often help with making items from cakes to meringues as well as a variety of savoury items.  I even tried my hand at cheese making and could turn out a respectable unpasterised Cheddar.

Later in life, now aged 17, I attended Carleton University in Ottawa to complete my degree in Microbiology - I only lasted until year two as my heart was not in it.  My Father told me that if I was not in school, then I had to find a job to support myself.  I moved to Toronto and became a flight attendant. That showed him...

For me it was great, I got to travel around the world for free and had the rare opportunity to sample all these new and interesting cuisines. From the amazing and redolent curries of India later in my own travels later in life, to the spicy concoctions in Sri Lanka, I loved it all.  France was an eye opener and I fell in love with bread and cheese and Normandy butter.  It was a good thing I was young as being a fat flight attendant was frowned up.

Whilst working at the airline, I met the boyfriend of someone who would become a very good friend to me, Charles P. MacPherson - author of “the Butler Speaks” & “the Pocket Butler”.  Two books he published after opening his own Butlering School in Toronto and later in New York City.  Charles had worked as the Major Domo to the Eaton Family for years, until its dissolution, he then went his own way.

At around summer of1995, my parents had moved back to the UK and lived in central UK, Leicestershire.  One Sunday afternoon, my Mother called me asked me when I was going to get a real job?  As she rather bluntly put it, you are not 20 any longer… She then, proceeded to tell me that she thought I should follow a career in food.  She said that I had always liked cooking and it had far better prospects in her opinion than layovers in Spain or Portugal.

After having mulled the idea over for a while, I contacted the owner of this Chef School in Glasgow that my Mother had told me about.  The owner was a very young ex Merchant Navy Navigation Officer, who said very early on that his attempts at cooking initially were disastrous… how soon things changed for him.  He trained with the likes of Marco Pierre White and Alastair Little. Shortly after opening his restaurant in the Trossachs Mountains just north of Glasgow, he became the youngest Scottish Chef to win 1 Michelin Star.  On the tails of this success, he had decided to open a Chef School and now has two of them, both in Scotland and remains my mentor, as well as a culinary hero of mine. http://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/news/scottish-news/tv-chef-nick-nairn-how-7364539 I called Mr Nairn and said that I was interested in coming and taking his classes.  After his initial sort of amazement as to the logistics as to how I would do so, I informed him I would simply move back in with my parents and commute. 

A few weeks later and it was chocks away and I was on my way to my new career, as well as having the opportunity to train in a Michel Starred Restaurant.

Upon completion, and whilst gaining industry experience in the now flourishing food world of the UK, I moved back to Toronto and soon found a position working as the Executive Sous Chef at Movenpick Palavrion on Front Street. I kept in touch with Charles and he was over for dinner on several occasions.  After working for Movenpick for a while, I was appointed to the position of Private Chef for Hilary Weston when she was our 26th Lieutenant Governor, at Weston’s Family home on Dunvegan in Forest Hill. It was interesting, to say the least, however, I did get the opportunity to work with Galen Weston Sr’s Corporate Chef at the Weston Centre on St Clair and attended several new product development session with Ted Reader who was heading up President’s Choice at that time.

Upon leaving the Weston job, I ended up in large scale Corporate Catering.  We mainly did Corporate Luncheons, Lawyer’s Office parties and dinners as well as weddings and the usual slew of Bar and Bat Mitzvahs as well as catering on most of the Harbourfront booze-cruises - some were elegant and some were just an outright nightmare. The start of one’s Honeymoon is never going well when the groom has to be fished out of Lake Ontario after passing out drunk and toppling over the rail.

The 90′s were good to me professionally. However, I became a bit burnt out from the excessive long working hours - at one point I was up to 90 hours per week.  This really does not allow much of a life or the chance of getting to the cottage etc… So in 1999-2000 I switched careers and went back to school, this time taking a film and television digital graphic design diploma as well as a diploma in web programming and design.  The internet was in full swing and business seemed to be booming.  Upon graduation, I was offered a position teaching at Ryerson University in their Internet Technology Studies division.  I taught there for 8 years, however, even a few years in - if I needed some more hours, I would always pick them up working in a restaurant.  Something about the smell that a professional kitchen has always felt almost like a home away from home to me.

Leaving Ryerson, I went on to teach at U of T in their Business & Professional Studies Department, teaching Web Marketing and Visual Design. 

In 2008, following the death of my Father, I took a sabbatical for a year and you guessed, returned to the world of food. This time I worked for a year at Whole Foods Market in Vancouver assisting the Manager of the Cheese Counter.  Have I mentioned how much I love cheese?  It was actually extremely interesting learning about cheeses from around the globe, as well as being able to sample them all and attend cheese training courses.

In 2010 I returned to Ottawa to assist with Estate matters and took a job as Sous-Chef at Big Easy’s Seafood and Steakhouse - primarily a Cajun/Creole restaurant- with some more French style specials thrown in - the Chef at the time was a recent graduate of Le Cordon Bleu in Ottawa. He would later become my nemesis - ah the dramas one can find in kitchens all over the world.   My friend, Dot Janz, who was overseeing the day-to-day operations, whilst still  continuing to run her own restaurant, the Black Dog Bistro in Manotick - recently named “Best Restaurant in Ottawa”-  and I decided that one of us would have to go as there was no apparent way to resolve the animosity he felt towards me - either that or she smelled a potential lawsuit.  I ultimately returned to Toronto to pick up again at U of T.  I did, however, get the opportunity to assist in executing a dinner for Chef Michael Smith - who was in town for his new book launch.  What a lovely individual - and so tall, I am 6′2″ and he towered over me, much like Julia Child would have at one of Charles’s book launches at the Cookery Book Store in Yorkville - but alas it was not meant to be, Ms Child had to cancel due to illness and shortly after passed on.

In 2014 I was hospitalised with a variant of Multiple Sclerosis, a  hereditary neuromuscular disorder which left me bed-ridden for nearly 3 months and with a permanent disability.  Not one to be discouraged, I did not go the dark route that quite often people do go down - seeing no hope at having any semblance of normal life again, but not one to be discouraged, I worked my physiotherapy and hundreds of visits to Drs and specialists and neurologists - it’s really fun spending 50% of your time in hospitals and Dr’s offices for nearly 2 years. 

In 2016 I decided I was well enough to return to work - however U of T had summarily dismissed me - they are not as inclusive as they make out to be.  Never one to back down from a challenge, I enrolled for my accelerated paralegal diploma and am graduating May 17th, 2017. After I earned my diploma, I thought long and hard if that was a route that I wished to go down. - did I have the passion and drive to a field, that to be truthful, is more often than not filled with rather less than desirable people.  Don’t get me wrong, the hospitality industry has it’s fair share of prize individuals as well - the drunk sous-chefs, the pastry chef who steals all your mise-en-place and feels that she can get away with it because she is screwing the chef! 

After deliberating for a few days, I decided that the answer was a very resounding no - I like having the legal knowledge and did most of my specialisation work in the field of disability law and human rights.  My heart wanted to go back to cooking and food.  

George Brown was the logical fit as I wished to take the H119 Program Nutrition, however, this does not start until September, and as you might realise by now - patience is not really one of my virtues when it comes to getting things done in the present. I am not a fan of waiting for opportunity - I feel one has to ultimately do what is best for you - having overcome some not so insignificant hurdles in the past, I met with Chef Alvares and we discussed starting in May, since most of the core classes are the same in H100 and H119, he assured me that come September it will be easy to simply to a transfer into the H119 program. My intent is to focus on the nutrition for the lower income/disabled communities as well as product development and marketing.

So that, in a nutshell, is my first blog for Chef Centeno at George Brown College who is teaching us our Theory of Food I class. Whilst, not a novel - maybe let us call it a novella!

Life, lemons… I think there might be something to the time old adage about lemonade!!!  Until next time… 

Oh and in conclusion - I am not a fan of blogs - I rarely find other people’s experiences are as interesting as they think they are -  mine included,  nor are they usually particularly well written.  If I were to associate whom I feel might have actually been worth following as a blogger - then that would have to be the great man himself.  The man who told the world to  “tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are!”  That of course was the brilliant gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin.

http://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/18327/the-physiology-of-taste-by-jean-anthelme-brillat-savarin/9780307390370/

Respectfully submitted May, 9th 2017 for Professor Centeno George Brown College.