#but the gossip is my rapidly increasing rage

[glitter-stained]

Alright, I've been at this workplace for four days now and already gotta restart the counts:

Days since healthcare staff called a female patient "completely hysterical": 2-> 0

Days since healthcare staff mocked a patient during a team meeting: 4 -> 0

God give me strength I am so fucking tired

[strawberrienhi]

I am about to get really personal here so buckle up my readers. This is my graduation speech.

I finally did it. It took me 8 years, but I finally finished with my degree in Health Science and I am so so so proud of myself for how far I have come.  

When I started university, I honestly did not know what I wanted to do. Unlike high school, my grades and attendance were shit. I didn’t care much about studying in any of my courses. And school was a topic that I absolutely avoided talking about. Whenever someone brings it up, I would immediately change the subject or I would mentally and emotionally shut down. Talking about anything related to my academics would remind me of how much of a failure I was.

Fast forward 3 years later, I decided that I wanted to pursue something that sparked my interest. So I transferred school and gave nursing a try. It was absolutely fucking hard. I cried after every exams given to me no matter what grade I got. I watched my mental health deteriorate after finishing each term. I even questioned my ability to become a good health care professional after every little criticism I received from my professors. 2.5 years later, I got kicked out. Getting a C was not good enough at that school.

For the next year, I suffered from severe anxiety and depression. Mental illness was not something my family would openly discuss so I went through it all alone. I worked every single day at either my serving job or internship and endured every rage and resentment from my dad. I also made regular visits to my psychologist to who I still see to this day. School continued to be a topic that I absolutely did not want to discuss simply because it continued to remind me of how much of a failure I was.

It was not until the end of that year that I saw how repetitive my life was becoming. With the help from my psychologist, I finally realized that I needed to change something. Possibly do something different to “re-spark my motivation”. And so I booked a weeklong trip to New York City after watching Gossip Girls on Netflix. That trip was absolutely perfect and something I didn’t even know that I needed. Staying in a completely different environment and away from my home in California helped me better visualize what I needed to do next. What I needed to do to better manage my mental illnesses. What I needed to do to not feel like a failure. And what I needed to do to achieve one of my biggest goals in life.

And when the new year started, I took all necessary classes I needed to transfer back into my home university. I even made multiple visits to the counselors, who were very unhelpful by the way, at my local community college to verify my progress. The week leading up to submitting my application, I had a mental breakdown. What if I didn’t get accepted into my home university? What if I have to live far away just to graduate with my Bachelor’s of Science? Those thoughts haunted me for the next 3 months after I submitted my applications to 6 different universities. And so I worked additional shifts to make extra money in case I had to move far away for school.

A couple months later, I received my first acceptance letter from a university that is 2 hours away from home. Because they gave me a deadline to respond, I had no choice but to accept their offer in case everything else fails. For the next couple of days, I looked up the price of rent around CSU Channel Islands and calculated how much it would be if I were to commute 2 hours. It was expensive. Luckily, more acceptance letters came in and I was beginning to feel some hope.

3 more schools later, CSU Long Beach finally sent me their admissions offer and I was ecstatic! I immediately accepted their offer and ignored the other 2 schools I have yet to hear from (those schools ended up offering me their acceptance so I got in to all the schools I initially applied to). I then planned out my academic road map and registered for my very first semester back at my original university. As the semester went on, I realized how well I was doing and felt the need to push myself even more. I decided that I wanted to expedite my expected graduation date so I registered for summer courses and packed on more classes the following semesters.

However, my financial aid did not cover any of my tuition so when my money ran low, I decided to work a second job to accommodate the other expenses I had. Throughout that semester, I felt my stress level rapidly increasing. I was working 2 part-time jobs, taking 6 full classes, and studying to keep my grades up. After another mental breakdown, I decided to incorporate various physical activities to balance out my emotional and physical wellbeing. Although my schedule got even more complicated, I felt way better than I did before. I was no longer physically exhausted everyday and my motivation to balance everything around me was at its greatest.

Here I am, 8 years later, with my Bachelor’s degree underneath my name. I no longer saw myself as a failure and I also didn’t let my mental illnesses win. It is crazy to think that I was able to finish my undergraduate degree with grades like these and multiple honors. Believe me when I say that I am now the person who is fucking prepared and ready to take on new challenges. This is for everyone else out there who are doing things outside of the “normal timeline”, aka pacing themselves and accomplishing their goals at the level they feel more comfortable with. I want you to know that I am not only rooting for you, but I am also hoping that you never take the bait of rushing just because “that’s what everyone else does”. It is not worth it. Your individual pace is realistic, whether it be super slow or super fast. As long as you are doing it at a rate you are most comfortable with, it does not matter what level that is. However, if you are like me and taking your time, please do not get discouraged and feel like your goal will never happen. IT WILL HAPPEN. Taking priority of your physical and mental health will pay off in the end. I used to get berated by relatives for how long its been taking me to finish my degree, but I ended up proving them wrong. I finally did it and now I am a university graduate!

So please, keep doing you. Keep pushing through at whatever pace you are most comfortable with. Do not burn yourself out, you got this.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 44: Three Stories

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

Takiyo Aoyama Starts to Shine

When he had accepted the offer from Cellophane—the Number Fifty-Two Hero—Takiyo Aoyama hadn’t been certain of what to expect.  He was not close to most of his classmates, though he was probably closer to Akaya Koda than anyone.  And he maintained a—usually—cordial relationship with Kimiko Ojiro, due to a shared love of gossip.  He had even started speaking more with Isamu Haimawari, after seeing how hard he was working to prove himself, something he could understand.  But he could not claim to be close to Takuma Sero, despite sharing a floor with him in the dorms.

He had certainly spent time around the elder Sero; they’d all been around each other enough for that, but not in years.   So he had little basis to form his expectations on, save for the rather copious amounts of interviews and candid moments available on the internet.  These revealed only that he was personable, humble, and seemed to be rather behind the times in terms of slang.

That was… tolerable. Being able to cultivate a media presence was essential to being a Hero.  Many Heroes never rose very high in the rankings simply because, while they were effective in stopping Villains, they were patently unlikable.   There were exceptions, of course, but it was generally a truism.

He had failed to make much of himself at the Sports Festival, but perhaps he could begin to get the exposure he needed now.

Though he was beginning to wonder if exposure was worth… this.

To say Cellophane’s Agency was casual was putting it mildly.  All of the staff that worked there were in polos and khakis.  And as for Cellophane himself…  

“Yeah, I like to keep things casual when I first come in in the morning,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair.  His shirt was fashionable enough, well-tailored to accommodate his rather unique arms.  But as for the rest of him…  Sandals!  With socks!   Cargo shorts!  “Have a little coffee, catch up on e-mails and paperwork, then get set for a little bit of patrolling.”  He cracked his knuckles noisily.

The unfashionableness of this place was going to give him hives.  How could his papa not have warned him against this?

“You did good, kid,” Cellophane said, “but you’ve really got to learn to unclench.  I can see right now you’re about ready to have some kind of attack.  Don’t stress yourself so much.  Really, you’re reminding me of your dad, back before the whole cheese thing with Izuku. Why, I remember…”

The phone on his desk started ringing and he held up a finger.  He picked up the phone, “Hey, hon, what’s up?”

He went slightly flush as he listened to his wife.  “Yeah, sure, I can pick that up on my way home.  Yeah, that too.  And… sure… I can… do that… when I get…    Can we talk about this later?  When I don’t have a teenager in the room, listening?   Yeah, I know we talk about it in front of our kids, but they’re not a good barometer for that…”

Takiyo was rapidly wishing he’d gone anywhere else for this.

***

“Dump me, will she?” the Villain snarled.  He was large, larger than even Shoji or Koda, larger than All Might, and seemingly built out of black rocks, blazing red lines showing between the cracks.   “I’ll show her!  I’ll show that namby-pamby new boyfriend!  I’ll show everybody!”

He drew back his hand, like he was able to throw a ball, and when he launched it forward, he threw a hot blob of lava.  It struck a car, crashing through it, and melting what it did not smash.  People were screaming, people were running everywhere. If the target of his rage was actually in the crowd, Takiyo did not know.   Cellophane’s Sidekicks, whom Takiyo had not bothered to learn the names of (One had some kind of lubrication Quirk and the other did something with friction?  He really wasn’t paying attention.), were coordinating the evacuation of the area.  So far, all the Villain had done was property damage.  But the odds were increasing that someone, intentionally or not, would get hurt.

“…Well, he’s big,” Cellophane said.  “Maybe I should have left you behind.”

He pulled down the faceplate on his costume.  “Actually, think you could come up with a distraction?”

At that, Takiyo smiled and gave his cape a dramatic flourish.  “Getting eyes on me?  A piece of cake.”

“Good,” Cellophane said, firing off a line of tape and pulling himself with it.  “Just give me five minutes!”

Takiyo stepped into the Villain’s field of view.  “Bonjour, Monsieur Villian!” he said, letting loose a dazzling, strobing beam of light across his field of vision.  

The lava-man’s glowing eyes snapped in his direction, one hand up to shield them from further brilliance.  “Some kid?” he growled.  “That’s who they sent to stop me?  What’re you, twelve?!”

“Non!” he shouted, raising both hands.  He focused the stored light within him outward, raising his radiance until it was blinding.   “I am the one who is going to stop you!”  He flashed again, sending out another pulse of light.  “I am the Dazzling Hero: Radiance!”  Another flash.

“Argh!” The lava man took a step back, glowing eyes dimming and brightening in what must have been his version of blinking. “Damn kid!  You’re like some overgrown glowstick!  But I’ll put out your lights!”  He brought up both of his hands, gathering more lava there.

Fear gripped Takiyo’s heart.  He was going to die.  It was as simple as that.  Burned to a crisp, denied leaving even a beautiful corpse for the world to mourn over. He’d never be a Hero.  He’d never get the chance to make amends for what he’d done…

“STICKY STORM!”

Suddenly, the air was filled with long strands of tape, wrapping around the Villain until he was completely cocooned.  The lava he’d been forming fell to the ground it a heap, eating its way through the pavement, but at least it hadn’t come at him.   From above, Cellophane dropped down, then popped up the faceplate on his mask.  “Good job, kid!” he declared, giving a toothy grin and a thumbs up.  “You okay?  That looked pretty scary.  Didn’t think he’d get that angry like that.”

Takiyo had to wait until his heart started beating again before he could speak. “Fine,” he said, trying to project a confidence he did not feel.  “Only scary for a moment.  One more blast of light and he would have been taken care of.”

“Sure,” Cellophane said, though Takiyo was certain his lie was not believed.  Around them, people were starting to gather. Police, reporters, witnesses.  He put one arm around Takiyo and waved to the crowd with the other.  “Hero of the Hour, ladies and gentlemen!  My Intern!”

***

The picture on the front page of the paper the next day was… strange.  There was the wrapped lava Villain on the ground, there was Cellophane.  And where he should have been… was a vaguely person shaped bright blob.

Takiyo stared at it, mouth agape.

“Not bad, huh?” Cellophane asked.  “Not every day an Intern makes the paper on his first day.  

“I did not realize I do not photograph well,” Takiyo said.  “I did as a child.  My Quirk… it must be getting stronger.  Absorbing more light.  Even the camera flash.”

This was going to put a serious cramp in his plans for fame.

“Eh, relax,” Cellophane said, slurping his coffee.  “You’ll have plenty of photo-ops, I’m sure.  And, if you don’t, well, there’s always radio.”

Takiyo’s mouth opened and shut, but no sounds came out.  He really didn’t know what to say to that.

***

Daisuke Shoji Did Not Sign Up For This

“You idiots!”

Daisuke carefully set the weights he was lifting (roughly 1080 kilograms with each set of arms) down, before looking towards the doorway of the Real-Riot Agency’s gym.  Red Riot, Real Steel, and Shiro Monoma (somehow Red Riot’s intern, the way he was Real Steel’s) all paused in their workout to look as well.

“What,” the small woman said, looking like she was ready to kill the first person who said something stupid, “have I told you about agreeing to things without asking me?”

Red Riot looked a bit sheepish at the accusation.  “Kids, meet Shizuka Yamamoto, our Office Manager.”

“And the only reason you two haven’t done a lot more stupid things!” Yamamoto said, putting one hand on her hip and pointing at Red Riot with the other.  “Which one of you did this?  I need to know who to smack.”

“What’re you talking about?” Real Steel asked, squinting with confusion.  “We haven’t agreed to anythi… oh!  That!”

“Yes, that!”  She reached into her pocket and unfolded a flier. “Red Riot and Real Steel Home Exercise Videos: How to Get Hard!”

“Oh, yeah!’ Red Riot said, flashing a toothy grin.  “Isn’t it manly?”

“The video people thought it was a great name!” Real Steel added, giving an oddly similar shark-toothed grin.

Monoma shot Daisuke a glance.  “This might get bad real fast,” he said.  “If that happens, just run.”

He raised an eyebrow. The blond from 1-B had been unusually sullen since they’d both arrived at the Agency, lacking his usual arrogant sneer he had when dealing with members of Daisuke’s class.  Granted, Daisuke had very little to do with him even under the most ideal circumstances, but his limited experience suggested something was off here.  Surprising, really, considering he’d made it to the Tournament Round of the Festival, something Daisuke couldn’t say.  And yet here they both were, interning with the Heroes who shared the Number Ten spot.

“Yamamoto is incredibly frightening when she’s angry,” Monoma elaborated.  “I’ve spent enough time around the Tetsutetsus and Kirishima-Bakugos to know that.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath and Daisuke assumed she was probably counting down from ten.  She pinched the bridge of her nose.   “Do you two idiots remember the charity wrestling match you did?  When you went off script?  “The power of two hard men?”  It’s like you’re trying to make yourself look like idiots!  Do you know how much of a credibility problem it causes?  Every time?”

“But we are two hard men,” Red Riot said.

“The hardest!” Real Steel added.

Daisuke would later swear he hadn’t seen Yamamoto move, but in the blink of his eye, both Red Riot and Real Steel were on the ground, rubbing their cheeks like they’d been slapped. Yamamoto’s hair was slightly messed up, as though she’d been running the mind.  Did she have a speed Quirk?

“Do you know how much work I’m going to have to do to fix this, you idiots?!”

He felt Monoma give his arm a tug.  “We should run.”

Daisuke looked at him, then at the growing argument. While a Hero should always be ready to intervene when needed, he also made it a personal goal to stay out of other people’s drama.  Considering he lived on a floor with Sero, Sato, and Aoyama, that was frequently a challenge.

“Agreed,” he said.

***

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Daisuke said, as he unwrapped the first of the take-out sandwiches he’d ordered (he needed a lot of calories), “but are you all right?”

Monoma barely looked up from the soup he was (barely) eating, as the two of them sat in the Agency’s breakrooms.  “Mhm.”

Earlier, they’d joined Red Riot and Real Steel on a mutual patrol. The patrol itself had been easy enough. No trouble today, but Red Riot and Real Steel had both been experts at navigating rooftops.  With his Extendo-Arms, Daisuke could easily keep up. They didn’t have a lot of advice for him yet, but tomorrow promised some combat training, and both certainly had the muscle to help hone his fighting style.

While Monoma had more than been able to keep up with them (an impressive feat, considering his Quirk offered him no enhanced physicality), he had seem distracted and was quite jumpy every time Red Riot spoke to him.

“Look,” Daisuke said, “we’re not friends.  But we are in this together.  If you’re distracted out there, it doesn’t just put you at risk.”

That, at least, got Monoma to look up.  “I’m fine,” he growled.  “I’ll get my head back in the game.  Don’t worry about it.  Just having a bad day.”

That was fair enough, Daisuke supposed.  Monoma’s personal problems weren’t any of his business.  Maybe that was all there was to it.  He didn’t have the context to form a proper opinion.

Monoma returned to eating his soup, head down and avoiding Daisuke’s gaze. “Like you’d understand anyway,” he said, under his breath.

Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear that.  It was little more than a whisper and Monoma hadn’t been looking at him when he’d said it. While his Quirk did nothing for his hearing, Daisuke had spent a lot of time with his dad learning how to listen. He did it without thinking now, always listening and paying attention to the sounds others might miss.

“Excuse me?” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “Care to repeat that?”  Daisuke considered himself pretty even tempered, but to just say something like that right in front of him was not something he could just let go.

Monoma’s head snapped up and he fixed Daisuke with a glare.   “…You really don’t know, do you?”

He shook his head. “Know what?”

The blond boy’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know.”

Daisuke stood up. “Stop talking in circles.  What don’t I know?”

“That you’ve been voted the hottest guy in 1-A.  Hell, you’ve been voted hottest guy in the entire damn first year Hero Course. Pretty much everyone who likes men is into you.” Monoma pushed his chair back from the table and stood.  “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know about this?”

At this, Daisuke had to sit down, grabbing his water bottle with his upper-right Extendo-Arm and bringing it to his lips.  He took a long drink before he answered, his other arms slumping.  “Really?  They’re all objectifying me?  Just like that?”

He knew, of course, that Mineta found him attractive.  That was hardly a surprise.  Her type was “has a pulse.”  He was even vaguely aware that Sero sometimes stared at him, though that seemed to have tapered off since he had started dating Iida.  And Tokoyami’s familiar Frog-Shadow was always far too happy to see him.

But all of them?  He knew he was in good shape, but he hardly thought he was so good looking at to be more highly regarded than any of the other boys in his year.

“At least according to Fukidashi,” Monoma said.  “Who’s an ardent follower of Ojiro’s webcast.  If anyone would know, it would be the two of them.  Ojiro’s actually got quite the well-developed analytic and observational skills… she just chooses poorly how to apply them.”

Daisuke just shook his head, closed his eyes, and let out a frustrated sigh. So he was being objectified.  By pretty much everyone.  Great.   “Nice job pivoting the conversation away from you, by the way,” he said.

Monoma let out a squeak. “Not my intention.  I wanted to shut it all down.”

He opened his eyes as a few details finished assembling themselves in his mind.  “Would your distraction have anything to do with Kirishima-Bakugo?  Is that why you’re so jumpy around Red Riot?”

“I… don’t have to answer that,” Monoma said.  His mouth slightly agape in surprise.  

Daisuke shrugged, a movement copied by all his arms.  “It’s not my business,” he said.  “It’s yours. But get your drama figured out.”

When Monoma had left the room, Daisuke pulled out his phone.  The lock screen showed himself, two of his three left arms around a girl with bright blue hair and dark glasses, a white cane held loosely in one hand. “Hottest boy in the Hero Course…? Emiko’s going to kill me.”  

***

Takuma Sero Gets the Money Shot

“Hey there viewers,” Takuma whispered into his phone.  The front facing camera view was a little bad, especially in the low light, but sometimes, sacrifices were made for fame.  “I’m out on Internship with Number Twenty-Seven Hero, Tsukuyomi.”

He adjusted the angle of his phone, to capture Tsukuyomi standing on the edge of the rooftop, peering out over the cityscape, his black cape fluttering in the night’s breeze, before returning it to a close-up of his own face.

“And remember, Kimiko Ojiro and Kenta Sato will be uploading their own video diaries of their Internships later!  Which you’ll get notifications of if you’re subscribed!”

He gave the camera his best grin.  “I gotta say, though, I don’t know about this, viewers.  Best offer I got, but he is a broooooder.  Not at all a fabulous ray of sunshine like me.  But if we’re lucky, you’ll get to see yours truly in action, viewers!  Maybe even a little Swing Cam!”

That was his name for when he affixed his phone to his chest, while swinging from spot to spot with his Acid Tape.  Like first-person roller coaster footage.  Very popular, especially with the adrenaline junkies.

“Oh, and if you’re watching this, Tensei,” he said, giving the camera another grin, a real one, not the stage one he used for his show, “miss you, babe.  Hope your Internship’s going good!  Air kiss!”  He punctuated that with some air kisses.

“Okay,” he went on, “so, tonight…”

Suddenly, something dark snatched his phone right out of his hands!  He turned to watch Dark Shadow flowing forth from Tsukuyomi, his phone in its hands.  “Hey!” Takuma cried out.  “That’s mine!”  He’d had just enough time to hit “post” before it had been torn from his fingers.

Tsukuyomi regarded him with a dark gaze, his beak pressed firmly together.  “There will be no phone use while on patrol,” he said.  

“Yeah!” Dark Shadow added, tossing the phone over the edge of the roof.  “No phones!”

Takuma watched it fall, feeling like his heart was falling with it.  True, everything on it was automatically backed up to wireless data storage.  And true, he’d been meaning to upgrade anyway (the newest model had a really great camera).  But it was the principle of the thing!

The bird-headed Hero recalled Dark Shadow back into himself, his gaze never wavering from Takuma. “Undisciplined, easily distracted, showboating.  All these and more are descriptions I could bestow upon you.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Takuma said, rolling his eyes.  Automatic reflex, he couldn’t help it.  He might be flunking English, but Sarcasm was a language he was much more fluent in.  

“Child, there are so many more words I could use.  Be thankful I chose to limit myself to those.  Your mother may have failed to instill proper discipline in you, but I will more than make up for it this week.”

“What are you talking about?” Takuma demanded, a hand to his chest in indignation.  How could he say he was undisciplined?  Didn’t he know how much effort it took to put together a regular web program?  With three different stars?  All while studying boring regular school subjects and learning to be a Hero?

“You and yours are a den of chaos,” Tsukuyomi said.  “I shall tame it.  And to do so, I have severed your material bonds.”

“But what about my followers?!” Takuma demanded.  If he had a week with no new content, he’d lose countless followers!  His hit count would be in the toilet!  He’d have almost no validation from people he’d never met!

And how was he supposed to talk to his boyfriend?  …If he told this story to anyone, he’d probably better put that concern first.

“They will survive without you, I suspect,” Tsukuyomi said.  “Whether or not you do is another matter entirely.”

“And Mom says you’re not funny.”

Tsukuyomi tilted his head to one side.  “Funny?”

“That was a joke, right? …Tell me that was a joke!”

***

Takuma had officially met his new favorite person.  His only regret was that he still hadn’t been able to replace his phone, because this really, really needed to be recorded for posterity.  This was literally the greatest blackmail material he’d ever been handed.

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. She’s introduced herself as Yuka, though her Pro-Hero name was Shadow-Dancer.   She was one of Tsukuyomi’s Sidekicks, though apparently she was just a few months out from starting her own Agency.  Her Quirk let her meld with darkness and then possess and animate inanimate objects in that darkness.  She was supposed to have been giving them an update on recent Villain activity in the prefecture.  But this was so much better.

“I’ve known Mister Bird since I was a little girl.  He actually helped me out when my Quirk first manifested.”

A mischievous grin crossed her face.  “I was a little afraid of him at first, but I got over it pretty quick.  Of course, he was wearing monkey ears at the time.  I think I even developed a little crush on him after that.”

Takuma felt his jaw drop. He pushed it back up with his hand. “Oh.  Oh.  Oh! Tell me there are pictures of this somewhere.”

She laughed.  “Probably in a box in my mom’s house somewhere.”

Tsukuyomi gave her a scowl. “Must you tell this story to everyone you meet?  I am trying to instill some sense of discipline in the boy and here you are, filling his head with nonsense.”

Yuka put a hand to her mouth, laughing behind it.  “So serious, Mister Bird.”

“And I have asked you to stop calling me that,” Tsukuyomi said.  His feathers ruffled in what Takuma knew from watching Tokoyami was a sure sign of embarrassment.  “For years now.”

“Sure, Mister Bird.”

“You do know I am your boss? Perhaps you should continue your actual presentation?”

“Oh, if you insist,” she told him.  But she gave Takuma a wink.  “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots more stories about Mister Bird.”

***

“Hey there, viewers!” he said, adjusting the angle on the camera, “I’m back!”  He was glad he’d been able to pick up a new model so quickly. Thank goodness for good insurance plans. Too bad it had taken until the third day of his Internship.

Mom was probably going to tear Tsukuyomi a new one when she found out he destroyed his old phone. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, he could actually get that on video.  That would generate a hell of a lot of hits.

It might upset Tokoyami though.  Which would be bad.  She was pretty much the Mom Friend of the entire class.

Maybe he wouldn’t then.

Still, he did have to be quiet about this.  He was supposed to be catching some sleep, bunked down in Tsukuyomi’s Agency.  One other Sidekick was “on duty”, sleeping away on the other side of the room, just in case there were any calls.  Not that he was getting much sleep to begin with.  Tsukuyomi preferred to operate at night, which left him trying to get his sleep during the day.

“And now with improved picture quality,” he added, “you can see my fabulous pinkness in higher definition than ever before.  But sorry, ladies, I just want to remind you I don’t swing that way.  And gentlemen… I’m off the market.  Still all yours, Tensei!”

He flashed the camera another winning grin.  “Seriously though, viewers, this Internship has been intense.  Tsukuyomi knows what he’s doing.  I mean, he is dedicated.  Takes down bad guys hard and fast.  And I am learning.  Got a couple cool new tricks I can’t wait to show off.  Guy really does care about people, behind all the brooding and intensity and brooding intensity and intense brooding”

Not the least of his new tricks was a whole new way to use his Acid Tape.  If he flicked his wrist just right, he could actually start wrapping the tape around his arms.  And if he changed the acidity vs. stickiness factor… he either had an Acid Punch or a Sticky Punch.  Both of which had a lot of usefulness.  Not to mention a whole lot of video potential!

The corners of his mouth dipped down.  “If I can get him to stop criticizing me, that is.  Seriously, dude destroyed my last phone.  Who does that?  And he accused me of being more concerned with my social media presence than being a Hero!  Can you believe that?

Anyway, that’s my update! Don’t forget to hit like and surprise, and leave some encouragement in the comments!”

[mirkstrolls]

FANCESTOR INTRODUCTIONS

Late to my own event, but here we go!

1. Eryali Rennis [ancestor to Videle] [alias Pythoness Farsight, Priestess Pythonhair, Portress Seawatch, etc., etc.] [pre-Imperial Era; various locations on the continent]

Deeply paranoid and commitment-shy, Eryali felt unsafe constantly. She tried to present a mysterious and aloof vibe and keep people at arm’s length to hide her anxiety and surprising tendency to emotions; however, she was also incredibly lonely and couldn’t help becoming attached to one person or another. Inevitably, however, she’d decide that she was in too deep and that whoever she’d developed feelings for was going to betray and murder her -- so she’d fake her death in some dramatic and high-profile way, run as far away as she could get, take on a new identity, and begin the cycle again. She passed through many other people’s stories like a ghost, growing increasingly wracked with guilt and loss as she went.

2.  Neirin Orpheo  [ancestor to Widsth] [alias Lyricist Rendheart] [during the Tyrian conquest of Alternia; Kirog Leth]

Neirin was court bard to a pre-Imperial warlord, one Adicia Thengl, who had fought her way to the top of the heap of tiny, warring kingdoms in the mountainous north. When she rode out on hunting parties and raids upon their neighbors, Neirin rode at her side, carrying her banner and singing songs in her honor. As his liege, he considered her far too far above him to propose any quadrant -- so he kept his enormous crush on her a secret, never guessing that she was hiding similar feelings for him. His supposedly unrequited pining increased his melancholic tendencies, which were only matched by his proclivity for vicious gossip. When the Fire Nation Tyrian Empire attacked, Neirin betrayed his kingdom for the promise that Adicia would be spared, but was betrayed in turn: Adicia was nearly the first to die, and most of her warriors followed her within minutes in a brutal ambush. Filled with grief and rage, Neirin gathered his few remaining countrytrolls and led a guerrilla revolt against the Empire. It failed, of course, and both Neirin and his liege have been purged thoroughly from history as a result.

3. Aioane Tasend [ancestor to Taz]  [alias Comtesse Goldhand] [post-Sufferer Rebellion, pre-Summoner Rebellion; Llunegloirs/Unnamed Capital City]

Officially speaking, Aioane Tasend died in a remote prison in the East Alternian sea for crimes against the Empire. Crimes that were never specified, to be sure, but the bright violet of the signature on her warrant ensured no questions were asked, except, perhaps, why she was imprisoned rather than executed. Regardless, there was no reason for anyone to connect an officially-deceased criminal with the glittering indigo heiress who swept into the Empress’s planetside capital some sweeps later, rapidly becoming famous for her eccentricity and her lavish parties. Wild and mysterious, unbelievably open-handed with her friends and viciously ruthless with her enemies, she dazzled the aristocracy for a sweep and a half before vanishing with all her treasure, her employees, and her personal yacht just at the peak of an inexplicable rash of arson that ravaged the city. The victims of these fires appeared to have nothing connecting them, and the entire incident is shrouded in uncertainty even today -- after all, who would have bothered to see if the victims had anything to do with Aioane’s imprisonment?

4. Ssilda Tialye [ancestor to Sgt. Firewall] [alias Redeemer Senmorta] [pre-Imperial era; Malaltaj]

In ancient nights, Ssilda ruled a city. The head of a horrorterror-worshipping cult, she controlled thousands with promises of eternal life, of power beyond their wildest dreams granted by the Elder Gods. In time, war with nearby cities and increasingly dark rituals eroded her people’s faith in her: she was cast out into the wilderness, with only her most slavishly devoted followers remaining to her. But Ssilda’s pact with the horrorterrors ran deep even then; she built a lair in the wilderness and began, slowly, to gather strength and minions and sacrifices while remaining undercover, until she became almost a creature out of nightmare for the surrounding regions. Most importantly, her claims of immortality seem to be at least partially true, because Ssilda and her cult are still very much alive.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 3: Blood and Water and All That Rot

Charles cannot believe what Marjory has done. It's ruinous. Calamitous.

It's really very kind and thoughtful of her.

Because – and here, Charles pauses for a world weary sigh – he really was not looking forward to participating in the sort of political showpiece his wedding was rapidly becoming.

Charles understands familial duty - of course he does. He's a Winchester, of the Back Bay Winchesters. His blood is bluer than the depths of the Atlantic. He has been raised, been bred, with a perfect understanding of what his name and his position in society means. And an understanding of just how tenuous maintaining that position, and that reproachless name, actually is.

He is the third of his family to bear the name Charles Emerson Winchester, a symbol of the enduring alliance between the Emerson and Winchester families. A solemn promise to carry that alliance into the future, to safeguard and to improve upon his family's circumstances.

And as Honoria has made it quite plain that she never intends to make a suitable match – lucky scamp - it falls to Charles to build new such alliances. To shore up the family against those enemies – both without and within (ahem Cousin Alfred ahem) – who would see him brought to ruin that they may rise in his place. So Charles understands his duty, understands that his wedding must be a show of strength and opulence and the superiority of the Emerson-Winchesters over the rest of Boston high society.

But he's been to other such events. Never so grand, of course – the joining of the Emerson-Winchester and the Oakes families is a singularly prosperous alliance – but Charles has decades of being dragged to such balls and weddings and parties. First by his parents and then, as he grew older, by social obligation. And they are all interminably boring.

No one, other than perhaps the maiden aunts, who live on sweet sherry and malicious gossip, actually wants to be there. It's a duty, an obligation. Something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

But Charles actually loves Marjory, as strange an idea as that might sound given how rarely these matches are made for reasons other than the political. His own parents had dutifully produced an heir and a daughter and then retreated to separate bedroom suites – and, Charles is sure, separate lovers – as soon as their duty to the family was done. But Charles loves Marjory and he wants his wedding to be a genuine celebration of his feelings. An event to be enjoyed, a memory to be treasured into his dotage, something he and Marjory can someday look at the photographs and mementos from and reminisce about what a wonderful day it was, embarrassing the captive audience of children and grandchildren - and perhaps great grandchildren, if Charles is truly fortunate – with their pure, disgusting sentimentality. Charles wants his wedding to be something he does not merely have to suffer through in the name of familial duty.

And Marjory – Goddess among women that she is – has clearly realized Charles's sentiments on the matter, and perhaps even reciprocates – the two of them as in-tune with one another in this as they have been throughout the rest of their courtship – because she has done something rather unthinkable. Marjory has invited people Charles actually likes to the wedding.

Namely the lower-class hoodlums Charles had associated with so begrudgingly in Korea. And with whom, Charles is now realizing, he formed a closer bond with than most of his “friends” in the social circles he's meant to navigate as a scion of one of Boston's foremost families. Indeed, as the wedding planning progresses and he is forced to interact with increasing numbers of grasping family members attempting to curry favor – and solicit a wedding invitation – Charles finds himself preferring the company of his friends even above that of his blood family.

Individuals he had always looked up to as paragons of refinement and models of decorum are rather proving themselves wanting in his eyes.

Individuals such as Grandmama – who is, of course, incensed by the inclusion of “vagabonds and wastrels” (as well as some epithets which do not bear repeating) on the guest list. In fact, she is nearly incoherent with rage - her face a blotchy red as she storms through the halls, the guest list clutched in her shaking fist. Finally, her stampede – followed by a cowed but curious parade of Winchesters – terminates in the blue parlor, punctuated by a particularly vicious jab of her gnarled and accusatory finger at Charles.

“You!” Grandmama screeches as she hurls the list towards him. “Explain this!”

It is through these events that Charles discovers his fiance's actions. He makes a note to go and thank her – once the yelling has subsided, of course.

--

“My dear,” Charles says, when he finally encounters Marjory in the study – hiding from the commotion, presumably. “I've been looking for you all over.”

He sits next to her on the divan, hands brushing – propriety be damned, Charles needs to express his gratitude towards her.

He takes her hand and her face turns towards his. “I wanted to thank you for what you did.”

She looks rather forlorn for someone who has just saved Charles from certain boredom. “And here I was, hoping to find you to apologize.”

“Whatever do you want to apologize for?”

Marjory laughs a sarcastic little laugh. “What do you think, Charles? I've caused such a disturbance – your grandmother must be absolutely livid. I could hear her shouting from all the way up here. I wouldn't be surprised if the wedding got called off on account of my deplorable behavior.”

“Marjory! You must know I would never allow that to happen.”

“But you cannot deny that she was angry enough to at least consider it.”

“She was incensed of course. But since the invitations have already been issued, there is no way to rescind them without appearing gauche.”

Though Grandmama had still ordered Charles to do just that – saying that of course the lower classes would have no frame of reference for decorum and therefor wouldn't feel the snub.

“And,” Charles adds reassuringly, “I was able to impress upon her the necessity of my inviting each and every undesirable name on that list.”

Marjory laughs – a much brighter and happier laugh this time. “You silver-tongued rogue! How exactly did you manage that?”

“Well, Hawkeye and Letta are members of the board of trustees for one of my largest charitable contributions.” And therefore, tax write-offs. “It makes sense to... maintain a healthy business relationship with them.”

“Oh certainly,” Marjory says primly. “It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that those two idiots who lost you all that money will be at the wedding and you want to see them sweat.”

Charles laughs. “That may have been mentioned as well. Grandmama appreciates the importance of vengeance.”

Marjory is well aware of this fact – the Emerson-Winchesters didn't rise to such prominence in Boston society by being nice. She's just grateful that Charles appears to have cooled his grandmother's ire and removed the blame for this... incident from her and Honoria's shoulders – because Honoria had been the one to initially suggest the idea and should therefore take some of the blame, even if Charles has no idea of her involvement.

“The rest of the medical personnel,” Charles continues, “are perfectly obvious connections to foster. Among their number are several ivy-league surgeons, one of whom is my co-worker at Boston Mercy – and who is being groomed to take over running Emergency Medicine when the current head finally retires a decade from now – or dies at his post, whichever comes first. And that places the two of us on nearly equal social footing. It would be seen as a snub not to invite him. Another doctor on the guest list holds a research and teaching position at Stanford, a connection well worth strengthening. And the final individual – who trained at Johns Hopkins, need I remind you – is currently under the wing of Hawkeye's father. The same Hawkeye who's invitation has already been well established as necessary.”

“Compelling arguments, indeed,” Marjory says. There's a spark of laughter in her eyes, encouraging Charles to continue.

“Sidney Freedman is, of course, a forerunner in his field and widely published in several psychiatric journals, including those of the American Psychiatric Association. It would be foolish not to maintain that connection. Particularly if I wish to be included in his upcoming paper on Battle Fatigue and cardiac stress.”

“A feather in the Winchester cap, indeed.” Marjory knows that even though Charles has secured the position of head thoracic surgeon at Boston Mercy, hospital politics would see him dethroned should he ever prove less than exceptional. And little accolades like publication in reputable medical journals go a long way in securing his position.

“As for Margaret – from the sounds of it, she's practically running Fort Dix single-handedly. And she's the one responsible for implementing the nurse triage initiative in field hospitals. An initiative that is currently finding great success in Vietnam and other such outposts of benevolent democratic intervention.” Here, Charles rolls his eyes theatrically – all of Hawkeye's anti-war lectures having rather worn off on him over the years. “At any rate, it would be foolishness itself not to invite her to the small medical conference that is sure to break out once the wedding festivities are over. Indeed, I'd be surprised if several papers don't find their beginnings in our wedding reception – certainly a legacy worthy of the Winchester name.”

“And what of the non-medical individuals on the guest list? Surely they were not so easily explained away.” Not least because Charles is rather less charitable towards them than those he is more outwardly of a kind with.

“Hah! I placed the blame for Mr. O'Reily's invitation squarely on Mother and Father. After all, they were the ones who had such a splendid time with Mrs. O'Reily and “Uncle Ed” that they invited young Radar to summer with us on the Cape. As far as Grandmama knows, I am simply keeping that bargain without subjecting us all to an entire week or more of his quaint little Iowa-isms. She looked upon his invitation quite favorably after that.”

“Well played indeed, dear.”

“Max, of course has a myriad of influential political and “business” connections throughout the Middle West. And, while my interests remain largely medical, I am expected to have a larger hand in stewarding the Winchester fortune after we are wed. It makes sense to get the lay of the land – as it were - from one with their ear to the ground.”

Charles pauses.

“The fact that Max saved my life may have also entered into the conversation.”

Marjory squeezes his hand in comfort.

“Not much one can really say in the face of that,” Charles says – obviously trying for equanimity. Trying, but not quite succeeding.

“Not without appearing entirely too heartless, at any rate,” Marjory adds lightly.

And Charles snorts disparagingly but at least he's lost that rather desperate look he gets sometimes when he thinks about the wrong parts of the Korean war.

“Grandmama has never been overly concerned with appearing to have a heart. But she was eventually persuaded to allow Max a place on the guest list when it looked as if everyone else in the room would protest most vehemently if she did not. Indeed, cousin Alfred's wife appeared near tears at the story – tears that could have easily turned to rage given how high-strung she is.”

“Well, she's not one of the upper crust, is she?” Marjory asks rhetorically. “She's not used to callous indifference towards one's relations.”

“It is the cornerstone of gentility,” Charles says snidely. Then he sighs. “At least Honoria turned out a decent human being – one of two isn't bad odds.”

“You're rather decent yourself, dear. When you feel you can let yourself be.” Marjory pats his arm consolingly. “That's – well, that's rather the reason I invited your friends from Korea. You deserve to have people you can behave half-decently towards at your own damn wedding, instead of spending the entire night in political posturing and snide jabs.”

Charles takes her hand and kisses the back of it.

“And I thank you for that. As I thank God everyday that you have agreed to marry me – truly I would be lost without you.”

“Charles, you big sap.” Marjory pushes him gently away, but she's smiling. “You can't just say things like that – people will begin to think we love one another and the wedding will be called off.”

“Then I'd run off and elope with you. Marjory. I cannot fathom living my life without you by my side. Whatever I must do to secure such a thing – know that I will do it.”

Marjory laughs. “That's why I invited a priest. Just in case we needed to hold a ceremony on the lamb.”

 Charles laughs too, and then turns serious. “You know, Father Mulcahy presided over weddings for several of the MASH personnel. Margaret certainly. And Max was married by him twice over. Had Grandmama not raised my ire so, I would have protested his inclusion – we were never close, and he can be rather... cutting in his way. But it  is   rather fitting he be present at our wedding, even if it's not in his official capacity.” Charles looks at her with deep affection. “Once again, you prove yourself several steps ahead of me, my dear.”

Marjory smiles rather smugly. Though in fairness, it was Honoria who had made the suggestion. Apparently she'd been subjected to more than one diatribe on the subject of the Irish Catholic priest who had no time nor appreciation for Charles's wealth or pedigree and felt that he would make a rather welcome addition to the guest list.

Honoria always did appreciate Marjory's disinclination to take Charles too seriously – a trait the Father apparently shares.

Speaking of the devil, Honoria bursts through the door of the study in a flurry of gauzy scarves.

“Th-there you t-t-two are! I was so w-worried when I heard w-what happened. Grandmama had no right t-to speak to you like th-that!”

“It's quite all right, Honoria. She said nothing to me that I take any stock in. And I've managed to persuade Grandmama to accept my rather... unusual wedding guests. At present, I am simply expressing my appreciation to Marjory for her inviting them in the first place.”

“Th-that and canoodling,” Honoria says with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

Marjory blushes at the realization that she and Charles are sitting in a rather compromising position. Thank goodness it was only Honoria who walked in on them. Marjory shifts on the settee so that they are no longer pressed together.

Oblivious to Honoria's shrewd gaze upon Marjory's movements, Charles puffs up in affront.

“I certainly don't canoodle.”

“Hah!” Marjory exclaims in disbelief - she very well knows that Charles has significant experience. And despite the fact that she's wearing white to the wedding, she's no blushing virgin either.

“W-well, canoodling or not, you can't st-stay up here just the t-t-two of you. Grandmama really w-would have a fit.”

“What do you suggest, oh most generous and helpful chaperon?” Marjory inquires, perhaps a little meanly. But Honoria missed out on all the theatrics earlier so the least she can do is spend a bit of time with her and Charles now that she's finally deigned to grace them with her presence.

--

“Charles!” Hawkeye exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

Apparently, Hawkeye's at their little neighborhood haunt tonight. And where one is, the other cannot be far behind.

“Yeah, Charles.” Trapper claps a companionable hand on his shoulder.

And he should bristle at the familiarity – but he's secretly rather glad to find them here.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you,” Trapper continues. “But I'm pretty sure today's Friday – and Friday of the week we don't play poker. Though after the shift I just had, I'm lucky I remember my own name, much less the days of the week.”

“I, for one, am always shocked to see that you have managed to successfully dress yourself – let alone express a mastery over names, dates, or places,” Charles answers deadpan.

But Hawkeye's drawled “Ouch, Trap – he's got you there.” betrays the fact that they both know he's joking.

 As does Trapper's muttered, “Boy, a guy sees you in your trunks  once   and he never lets it go.”

This kind of friendly repartee is so far removed from the icy jabs delivered by Grandmama earlier today – and that are indeed commonplace from the rest of his family as well - that Charles finds himself compelled to tell them the truth of his situation.

“In all seriousness, gentlemen, I myself find the idea of spending tonight at home rather oppressive. There was a bit of a row earlier and I find myself in search of pleasanter company. Not to cut your evening short-”

Trapper waves his halfhearted objections away with a “You ain't cutting nothing short.” He must not be having much luck finding a date, then. Ah, well. His loss is Charles's gain.

And Hawkeye, too, professes that he is more than happy to have the extra company. So they all collect drinks at the bar and Hawkeye even manages to get them a table in a quieter corner of the pub. It probably helps that he and McIntyre appear to know the gentlemen sitting there quite well judging by all the manly back-slapping and promises to join them next time at whatever bar they're heading to now. Some place far less reputable by the sound of things – they won't even mention the name of the establishment.

Which is just as well. Marjory is already looking a bit uncomfortable around all the working-class individuals packing the bar to the rafters. And even Honoria – who had suggested coming here, as she'd heard so much about the place but had never been – looks less than her usual unruffled self. Charles himself has grown used to the... ambiance of the place. But it is quite different from the stark propriety of the better regarded clubs.

 A difference that Charles is positively reveling in at present. He's had rather too much  gentility   today.

But Charles acknowledges that it takes some getting used to. He places a comforting arm around Marjory's shoulders, allowing her to lean into his arm rather than sit stiff-backed and tense.

And Hawkeye is quickly working to break the ice, as it were, by engaging Honoria, and Marjory in a conversation about all the latest debacles in wedding planning.

Charles rather thinks he's not supposed to be privy to the ins and outs of his own wedding – the planning and execution thereof is traditionally left to the bride's family, after all – with the exception of a check for a rehearsal dinner or two. But – and this is a secret he will take to his grave – Charles enjoys salacious gossip nearly as much as Hawkeye does. And there certainly is plenty of that surrounding the wedding, what with the clashes of personality between Grandmama and Marjory's mother, or the bevy of bridesmaids all fighting amongst one another for Marjory's favor. The political machinations of the French court before its fall has nothing on the Winchester-Oakes wedding.

Despite the rather complaint-filled conversation, Charles finds himself filled with a warm contentment as he sits there, surrounded by laughter and camaraderie. In an atmosphere so starkly different from the tense, silent halls of the Winchester home. Charles feels himself relax into his seat – and even dares to remove his arm from about Marjory's shoulder so that he may place his hand over hers. A gesture familiar enough that it that would elicit the ire of his relatives only garners a cheeky grin from Hawkeye and a soft smile from Marjory herself.

There's something rather freeing in the anonymity of their chosen watering hole. Here, no one knows him as him. Here, he does not need to be Charles Emerson Winchester III – he can simply be a man enjoying an evening with friends.

For that is what they've become over the years, Hawkeye and Trapper – who are currently gently ribbing Honoria about something to do with flower arrangements. They are even, dare he say it, something akin to family at this point. And rather better company than Charles's blood relations – who are more given to cruel mockery than friendly teasing.

Yes, this is certainly a far preferable way to spend an evening than remaining at home would have been. And Charles will certainly have to explain his whereabouts tomorrow, along with Marjory. The family has rather given up on making Honoria explain anything about her behavior at this point, but she will likely be required to make a full report on the propriety of Charles and Marjory's behavior.

And they are behaving rather indecorously, it has to be said. What with displaying affection in a public place and all. But Charles cannot bring himself to mind. Anyone who cares about that sort of thing is far, far away from this particular establishment.

Charles never wants to leave.

But then it's last call and they're being gently chivied out by the tired looking barmaid. And Charles still doesn't want to go home.

Trapper and Hawkeye, bless them, do that sort of silent communication that appears to consist largely of direct eye contact and subtle facial expressions and come to the consensus that Charles, Honoria, and Marjory may stay over at their home for the night. And Trapper even goes so far as to reassure Charles that he will not wake up with a makeover as he'd done the last time he'd slept on their sofa. At this point in the evening, Charles is soused enough he really wouldn't have complained if they had decided on a redux of that little incident.

He sobers up a little in the sharp night air but everything is still feels swimming and unreal. And it's nice to walk along the snowy streets of Boston with Trapper's arm around his shoulders – and to hear Honoria's giggling laugh as Marjory nearly topples Hawkeye into a snowbank. Charles may regret this evening tomorrow morning – he's already anticipating a rather egregious hangover - but right now he can't bring himself to regret anything. It's just too nice.

He really ought to tell them how much he appreciates their friendship.

Charles lets his head fall onto Trapper's shoulder, trying to look him in the eye, but it's not working very well for some reason.

“I'm.. I'm really very glad you two will be at the wedding – you will be at the wedding, won't you? You simply must.. must come. It would be so. So unbearably stuffy otherwise.”

“Yes, Charles, we'll be at the wedding,” Hawkeye says from behind them. And then yelps as Honoria makes another attempt on his life. “A decision I'm regretting more and more as the night goes on.”

But he's just teasing, like friends do to other friends.

And Trapper wraps his arm more firmly around Charles and says, “Yeah, Charles. Maybe we ain't RSVP'ed officially yet-”

“We're brushing up on our calligraphy.”

“-but we'll be there.”

And Trapper sounds very certain. But Charles can't help wondering if they really mean it. He knows he's not the easiest person to get along with, sometimes. He finds it difficult to shed that stuffy persona he's worn for so long. He's been that person so long, it's difficult to be someone else - someone his friends enjoy spending time with. So he's worried, still.

“You promise?”

Trapper turns so that he's facing Charles, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, Charles. We promise.”

Then Trapper tugs Charles's arm higher onto his shoulder and they set off for home.

[dudleygertsen80-blog]

Torturing Four-12 months-Olds And Shooting Kids With Sniper Rifles

Until you've got been residing below a rock and avoiding all information, probabilities are you're aware that Syria is a mess appropriate now. And what a property of horrors it is: A recent report developed by a human appropriate group found that considering that the commence of the Syrian war, at the very least eleven,000 children have been deliberately targeted and killed in the conflict. This number involves above one hundred who have been killed by snipers, and at minimum 112 who ended up deliberately tortured to demise by authorities officers. Some of these torture victims had been much less than 5-a long time-old. It really is tough to envision what crucial info these children possessed that would warrant these kinds of steps. What ended up officials seeking for, a hidden stash of juice boxes? Thousands far more have died in agonizing ache from chemical weapon assaults, a quantity of which intentionally qualified elementary schools and other locations where kids gather. Meanwhile, yet another conflict is brewing up atrocities of its own. In the Central African Republic, peacekeepers say that the nation is on the verge of its very own civil war. Human legal rights workers report that some people are likely by way of towns slitting the throats of youngsters, even though other folks are taking pictures toddlers with military rifles. Different continent, eerily similar horrors. Most folks consider their very best to change absent from tales this sort of as this, specifically when it would seem they can do absolutely nothing about it. But we carry information like this to your focus for two motives: Initial, businesses these kinds of as Conserve the Young children are operating in the refugee camps alongside the Syrian border and in Africa, doing their ideal to support all the households fleeing this slaughter. They could certainly use our support, and so there is something you could do. 2nd, but maybe a lot more importantly, turning absent from discomforting truths about our entire world leaves us in the dim about how these atrocities come up. In the very same way that people who neglect background are doomed to repeat it, when societies pick not to confront this kind of disturbing eventualities, they remain ignorant and naive about the leads to. They may possibly fail to recognize just how precariously their very own culture balances compassion and cooperation in opposition to the darker aspect of human mother nature, and how rapidly items can go incorrect and spiral out of manage. If you might be like most men and women, on listening to of this kind of horrors, your intestine response is to curse the "evil monsters" perpetrating such functions. Whilst this is comprehensible, simply labeling the perpetrators as "evil" is yet another way of avoiding the issue. The unhappy simple fact is that these kinds of atrocious violence takes place with regular event - way to often to dismiss it as the deeds of a couple of evil, less-than-human sociopaths. Medieval Europe, Germany, our ancestors in the United States, South The us, Turkey, Ecuador, Iraq, Rwanda, Congo... time and time once more we see illustrations where or else normal people seem to be to shed their marbles and revert to the cruelest of steps with obvious relieve. Why does this take place? The Psychology of Genocide Dispassionate cruelty is not about "pure evil," but fairly a destructive state of psychology that is much way too straightforward to appear by. one.) The Division Section Rifts and divisions that exist in between people are widened. These imagined differences are usually psychological - a way of inventing separations which dismiss the truth that beneath we're all the very same human creatures with equivalent requirements and needs that are just expressed in marginally distinct ways. v sniper battlefield 4 This can be a difference in race, religion, class, ethnic classes, tribe, sexual or cultural methods - something that permits for a specified group of men and women to be labeled and classified as "other people." When put in this mental class of the "other," someone or one thing various and apart from ourselves, the typical guidelines of empathy no lengthier apply and compassion starts off to break down. two.) The Elevation Section These distinctions are then hyped up and exaggerated. Their significance is elevated. Messages are unfold about how terrible these evil "other folks" are. They are assumed to have sinister motives and malicious intentions are ascribed to their deeds. Energy starts off to create powering a damaging idea. The much more the thought is recurring, the far more actual it looks. The far more actual it appears, the a lot more harsh actions seem justifiable in defense of the "greater great." three.) The Rigidity Section Anything takes place to escalate tensions: A perceived insult, an accident, and isolated situation of maliciousness. This fuels the flame and sparks retaliation. That new deed stokes the other facet, who then feels a require for their own counteroffensive. (You killed my child, now I'll eliminate yours.) Each new aggression gets proof of the other side's maliciousness and evil character. Rumor and gossip take maintain, spreading like wildfire with tales of devilish functions both genuine and imagined. Anger and rage just take keep, additional restricting people's capacity to believe rationally. 4. sniper 4 pc The Justification Phase When we make the distinction between "Us" and "Them," separating ourselves into imaginary categories of excellent and evil whilst labeling these outdoors our group as "evil other individuals," the route toward monstrous actions is comprehensive. The despised are no for a longer time people, but relatively animals to be slaughtered at will. Now no atrocity is past the scope of human cruelty (even slitting the throats of defenseless youngsters), given that attacking these evil "other individuals" gets an act in protection of the increased "good." Cruelty is relabeled "justice" and deemed sensible punishment in opposition to these who ought to have it. Sturdy emotions connected with group loyalty further allow the aggressors. Avoiding This Sample of Cruelty In Our Very own Lives So why this lesson in the social dynamics of genocide? Simply because it truly is a system inherent to human nature that exists in us all, and awareness of this tendency is the 1st step in guarding in opposition to such evil deeds. Even right now in occasions of peace, search around. You can probably find hundreds of distinct variants in this identical formulation, all producing hurtful actions and lesser levels of cruelty in daily existence. You can see folks labeling and compartmentalizing people they never realize, relegating them to one thing "significantly less than human." On an each day foundation folks will ascribe destructive motives to the deeds of other people while at the same time dismissing their own hurtful steps as one thing perfectly understandable or justified (1 of the most damaging double standards of all time). his explanation You may find all kinds of cruelty celebrated and justified... so extended as it is directed at people "evil other folks" who "are worthy of it." You can arrive throughout all types of examples of folks scapegoating other teams and blaming them for their issues. Tranquil certainly, the same psychology that allows the horrors of genocide exists inside our very own tradition and resides right underneath the area. We need to have to be aware of these tendencies and preserve them in verify. Not only so we will not wake up 1 day and discover ourselves in a comparable mess, but to guard in opposition to all the lesser atrocities that are an every day incidence in the here and now.