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yandere-daydreams · 14 days ago

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Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

#yandere #yandere x readery #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere twilight #twlight #twlight x reader #yandere carlisle cullen #carlisle x reader #they can't stop me from sexualizing that old man #no matter how mormon coded he might be

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trans-axolotl2 · 2 years ago

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I've been reading Cripping Intersex by Celeste Orr and one concept that I think is absolutely crucial and one of the best resources I've found for understanding my own experiences as an intersex person is the term Compulsory Dyadism.

Dr. Orr coins the term: "I propose the expression 'compulsory dyadism' to describe the instituted cultural mandate that people cannot violate the sex dyad, have intersex traits, or 'house the spectre of intersex' (Sparrow 2013, 29). Said spectre must be, according to the mandate, exorcised. However, trying to definitively cast out the spectre via curative violence always fails. The spectre always returns: a new intersex baby is born; one learns that they have intersex traits in adulthood; and/or medical procedures cannot cast out the spectre fully, as evidenced by life-long medical interventions, routines, or patienthood status. And the effects of compulsory dyadism haunt in the form of disabilities, scars, memories, trauma, and medical regimens (e.g., HRT routines). Compulsory dyadism, therefore, is not simply an event or a set of instituted policies but is an ongoing exorcising process and structure of pathologization, curative violence, erasure, trauma, and oppression." (Orr 19-20).

They continue on in their book to explore compulsory dyadism as it shows up in medical interventions, racializing intersex + sports sex testing, and eugenic and prenatal interventions on intersex fetuses. This term makes so much sense to me and puts words to an experience I've been struggling to comprehend--how can it be that so many endosex* people express such revulsion and fear of intersex bodies and traits, yet at the same time don't even know that intersex people exist? Why is it that people understand when I refer to my body in the terms used by freak shows, call myself a hermaphrodite, remember bearded ladies and laugh at interphobic jokes--yet do not even know that intersex people are as common as redheads? Understanding the term compulsory dyadism elucidates this for me. Endosex people might not comprehend what intersex actually is or know anything about our advocacy, but they do grow up in a cultural environment that indoctrinates them into false ideas about the sex binary and cultivates a fear of anything that lies outside of it.

From birth, compulsory dyadism affects every one of us, whether you're intersex or not. Intersex people carry the heaviest burden and often the most visible wounds that compulsory dyadism inflicts, as shown through often the very literal scars of violent, "curative" surgery, but the whole process of sex assignment at birth is a manifestation of compulsory dyadism. Ideas entrenched in the medical system that assign gender to the hormones testosterone and estrogen although neither of those hormones have anything to do with gender, a society that starts selling hair removal products to girls at puberty, and the historical legacy of things like sexual inversion theory are all manifestations of compulsory dyadism. For intersex people, facing compulsory dyadism often means that we are subjected to curative violence, institutionalized medical malpractice that sometimes includes aspects of ritualized sexual abuse, and means that we are left "haunted by, for instance, traumatic memories, acquires body-mind disabilities, an ability that was taken, or a 'paradoxical nostalgia....for all the futures that were lost' (Fisher 2013,45)." (Orr 26).

Compulsory dyadism works in tandem with concepts like compulsory able-bodiedness and compulsory heterosexuality to create mindsets and systems that tie together ideas to suggest that the only "normal" body is a cisgender one that meets capitalist standards of function, is capable of heterosexual sex and reproduction, and has chromosomes, hormones, genitalia, reproductive system, and sex traits that all line up. Part of compulsory dyadism is convincing the public that this is the only way for a body to function, erasing intersex people both by excluding us from public perception and by actively utilizing curative violence as a way to actively erasure intersex traits from our body. Compulsory dyadism works by getting both the endosex and intersex public to buy into the idea that intersex doesn't exist, and if it does exist then it needs to be treated as a freakshow, either exploiting us to put us on display as an aberration or by delegating us to the medical freakshow of experimentation and violence.

Until we all start to fully understand the many, many ways that compulsory dyadism is showing up in our lives, I don't think we're going to be able to achieve true intersex liberation. And in fact, I think many causes are tied into intersex liberation and affected by compulsory dyadism in ways that endosex people don't understand. Take the intense revulsion that some trans people express about the thought of medical transition, for example. Although transitioning does not make people intersex and never will, and the only way to be intersex is to have an intersex variation, I think that compulsory dyadism affects a lot more of that rhetoric than is expressed. The disgust I see some people talking about when they think about medical transition causing them to live in a body that has XX chromosomes, a vagina, but also more hair, a larger clitoris--I think a lot of this rhetoric is born in compulsory dyadism that teaches us to view anything that steps outside the sex dyad with intense fear and violence. I'm thinking about transphobic legislation blocking medical transition and how there's intersex exceptions in almost every one of those bills, and how having an understanding of compulsory dyadism would actually help us understand the ways in which our struggles overlap and choose to build meaningful solidarity, instead of just sitting together by default.

I have so much more to say about this topic, and will probably continue to write about it for a while, but I want to end by just saying: I think this is going to be one of the most important concepts for intersex advocacy going into the next decade. With all due respect and much love to intersex activists both current and present,I think that it's time for a new strategy, not one where we medicalize ourselves and distance ourselves from queer liberation, not one where we sort of just end up as an add on to LGBTQ community by default, not even one where we use a human rights framework, nonprofits, and try to negotiate with the government. I agree with so much of what Dr. Orr says in Cripping Intersex and I think the intersex and/as/is/with disability framework, along with these foundational ideas for understanding our own oppression with the language of compulsory dyadism and curative violence, are providing us with the tools to start laying a foundation for a truly liberatory mode of intersex community building and liberation.

*Endosex means not intersex

Endosex people, please feel free to reblog!

#personal #actuallyintersex #intersex #curative violence #compulsory dyadism #intersexism #interphobia #medical abuse tw #h slur #igm tw #disability studies #actually disabled

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i-wanna-write · 1 month ago

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If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Chapter Warnings: Angst, cussing, brief discussion medical malpractice

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: Lots angst. Moving this plot along

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You searched for Logan after you escaped the facility. All Canadian territories then all the rural states of America. You searched for months, for years. Soon, it was five years since your capture and every day you had some hope that you’d find him again.

It eventually felt like forever since you saw him and had slowly come to accept that he was going to be like everyone who came into your life. A fleeting moment for a few years that turned into just a memory. As that’s how it went when you’re a mutant with a long life span.

So you tried to forget about him and his soft lips and muscular build. His smoky scent and dark brown eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. The way he entered you and made you feel almost loved, normal. You tried to forget.

But it was hard.

Especially when you were sleeping. You used to love it, how you’d dream of him when he was at war and wake up remembering your time together. But now your dreams taunt you and your nightmares are worse. Your dreams are memories and made up scenarios of moments with Logan.

The two of you are hunting together. The two of you are cooking dinner. The two of you in bed. Sometimes there’s a child in there, those ones wake you up in tears.

Others are memories of your month in the facility. Strapped to the table, needles poking you, and someone prying in your most intimate part. Those ones wake you up in bouts of anger, claws grown and sheets shredded.

You went about the next ten years of your life as you did before meeting the two brothers. It was almost easy to fall back into your old routine. Never expecting to run into someone you know or another mutant. You continued traveling across the United States and Canada. Finding secluded cabins and routinely buying supplies then simply living off the land and animals around you as you did once before.

You decided perhaps this was how your life was supposed to be. That you were meant to move around and be alone forever.

Your personal library continued to grow in size, having over 200 books now. Their genres ranged from science fiction, to romance, to poetry, to historical nonfiction. But you still had your favorite. Only it became your favorite for perhaps a totally different reason.

So, you easily fell back into your old ways, trying to keep James in a locked part of your mind. Your days were back to reading, occasionally stealing, sometimes killing another mutant who was dangerous and looking for a fight. You accepted a life alone was truly meant for you.

You are currently living outside Montreal, enjoying the sunlight as it shined down on your skin. You were renting a small cabin on a campground for the month. It was a little closer to civilization then you liked but nature for some reason always called to you. You weren’t able to hunt as you would’ve liked, in fear of being seen, but were still able to be alone and read, occasionally taking a dip in the lake if you wanted.

The food in the local restaurants were also really good. A rare burger or steak always called to you and for some reason, people in the town knew the perfect way to cook it.

So that’s where you were now, face buried in a burger with a side of fries and of course whiskey your drink of choice. Not that you were an alcoholic as it took almost triple the amount of a non mutant to get your drunk.

You were currently reading 1984 by George Orwell. It was surprisingly your first time reading it and you were enjoying it thus far - it’s themes similar to Brave New World. For some reason your favorite book choices tend to reflect the same world you lived in.

“Ah. 1984. ‘Where there is equality, there is sanity’. A great read in my opinion.” A man’s voice sounded suddenly.

Only the words weren’t said aloud. No, they were said from inside your head. Tensing, you put your book down and immediately glanced around your area. You didn’t see anyone in sight but did pick up three scents that you didn’t recall smelling when you moved in. You assumed they were intruders and couldn’t be your neighbors.

You stood, lunch and book now forgotten. Your claws grew to reveal themselves and you scanned the area again, trying to see through the foliage for who you assumed were three mutants.

And with your history, you didn’t want to bet that they were friendly.

“You can put them away. We mean you no harm.” The voice sounded in your head again.

“Yeah, how ‘bout you show yourselves and I be the judge of that ,asshole.” You thought back at it, itching for a fight.

Ever since your capture, you were more paranoid, more inclined to trust your instincts. You got too complacent, too happy the years you lived with James. You realize your instincts are the only thing you can truly trust.

Suddenly, the sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping sound from your right and you turned to see three adults make their way through the woods.

One was a women. She was dressed in black pants and a jean jacket. Her hair was gray, though she looked to be the same age your body appeared. Another was a man, who for some reason looked familiar. Then it clicked. It was the same man that was there the day you escaped the facility. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel. He was wearing sunglasses again that had red tints rather than the black, his hands stuffed into his front pockets. He too looked to be around your age.

The final man was older, perhaps pushing 70. He was bald and dressed odd for an outing in the woods as he was wearing a suit. He had no hair and appeared kind with a smile on his face, as if he held all the secrets in the world. He was also in a wheelchair, using a power control on his right to push forward.

“Hello Y/N.” The old man said as the three came to a stop about ten feet in front of you.

“The fuck are you?” You questioned, noting that this was the same voice from inside your head.

You did a quick scan of the area, always having an escape plan and an attack plan ready if needed.

“You do not need to escape or attack. We merely would like to talk.” The old man added.

“Stay the fuck out of my head old man.” You growled menacingly, not liking how he could read your thoughts one bit.

“Understood.” He began. “I’m sorry to have intruded. But I did not want us to startle you.”

“Who are you? Why are you here,” you asked, nodding at the three.

Why are three mutants, and by their scents, with completely different mutations, together?

“Ah, yes. Introductions. My name is Charles Xavier and this is Ororo Monroe and I believe you may have recognized Scott Summers.” The man gestured with his hand to his respective companions.

“Well, thank you for getting me out of that shit hole but it doesn't explain why you’re here.” You state, wanting him to get to the point.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain but I know you’re aware we three are like you. We -“

“I’ll stop you right there old man.” You interrupt, holding up a clawed hand. “Only met two others who are like me, and no offense, you guys aren’t.”

Charles nods. “My apologies. You are correct, our mutation is not like yours. However, we do have our own unique set of abilities. As you’ve already been exposed to, I acquire the ability of telepathy and can speak inside another’s mind.”

“Congratulations.” You say sarcastically. “You can go now.” You point to the way they came.

“This is a waste of time Charles.” The man to his left speaks up. “She didn’t wannna come ten years ago and she sure as hell won’t come now.”

You turn your attention to him and you notice how he smells a little of fear. As if he knows who you are and what your capable of. You smile at that thought. It seems he’s done some research on you since your last meeting.

Charles ignored the man, Scott, and continues. “With telepathy, I can also reach out and find other mutants. After Scott informed me of you, I’ve been searching for you. Although, I can only pick up those within a few hundred miles radius. A few days ago, I found you.”

“You're saying you’ve been inside my head, just poking around for the last few days!” You question, voice beginning to raise and anger starting to enter you.

You can’t even begin to think what Charles has seen in your head. The lives you’ve taken. The few you’ve saved. The moments between you and James.

These people are definitely bad news.

“We are not bad news.” Charles states.

You go to yell again, irritated that he once again entered your head. However, you don’t get the chance as the woman finally speaks.

“We run a school.” She reveals, your eyes meeting hers and seeing no threat, no violence. Only concern and sincerity. “We recruit children who are mutants like us. We teach them regular classes that normal kids go to, as well as others that help them learn to control and grow their abilities. Sometimes, a few of us go out on missions and help those in danger.”

You take a moment at that, listening to her heartbeat to determine if she is truthful. You only hear the steady beat. You notice how her respiration is also steady and there’s no sweat - all the simple signs of being deceitful.

“Again, congratulations.” You start. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Simple. We want to recruit you.” Charles says simply, a smile on his face.

You laugh. You can’t help it. You’ve never been around people more than a few days in ten years and here comes three lunatics who apprently want you to attend their school. Maybe you’d have said yes before everything happened, but you cannot imagine being surrounded by so many people. Your life is insane.

“Recruit me?” You ask incredulously. “Sorry but I’ve been out of school for about, hmmm, 70 years.”

“Not as a student, but as a teacher.” Ororo corrects a small smile on her face as if she saw your laughter amusing.

You laugh again. These people have got to be on soemthing.

“If you’ve been in my head the past few days like you claim to have been” you point at Charles, “Then you know I hate being around people. You know that-“

“You get territorial. That you can easily blend into your environment? That you have 207 books in your own personal library - most that you did not obtain legally? That your favorite book is Brave New World and that you enjoy hunting for your own food and occasionally taking out what you deem ‘assholes who shouldn’t be on Earth’?”

You gape. You can’t help it. You guess this guy has been in your head. You grimace at what he may have seen.

“Just, give us time to explain a little more. Maybe visit the school. If you want nothing to do with it after - that’s okay. We won’t bother you again.” Charles proposes.

You swallow, thinking this through. While you do not know what the other two’s abilities are, you’re confident you can take them if the need arises. They seem sincere. Well, maybe not Scott but Charles and Ororo do.

If they want you to teach there, maybe this is your opportunity to finally understand the world. Why non-mutants hold so much hatred. Maybe you’d actually be able to learn how to handle being around other people- how to not be lonely.

With all these thoughts in mind, you nod.

…

The moment you visited Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters you said yes to teaching there.

You couldn’t explain it, but the school was different than anyplace you’ve ever been. Maybe it was because it was place solely for mutants. Maybe because you realized you could be yourself without the threat of revealing yourself. Maybe because it made you feel less alone.

You didn’t have someone there to guide you when you discovered your mutation. You didn’t have someone to explain your mutation. To help you through all the differences you had compared to the average human. You realized you could make a difference at the school. Being there for kids just like how you wanted someone to be there for you.

Charles, or old man as you continued to call him, only fondly, offered you to teach English and Literature, as well as assist with combat training due to your skill in that field. You agreed, excited for the opportunity to share your love of literature with younger minds.

You were given your own room, which was connected to a private bathroom. You brought the minimal items you owned with you, as well as all 207 books from your personal library. Due to the room size, your books were brought into your classroom, with the exception of some that you kept in your nightstand and a bookshelf in your room.

There was a communicable mess hall for meals, as well as a kitchen that everyone had access to at any time during the day. In addition, faculty had access to all classrooms if needed as well as the combat room.

You learned that Scott’s mutation was the cause of him wearing sunglasses 24/7. He was able basically shoot lasers from his eyes. Apprently the sunglasses prevented that from happening.

Ororo’s mutation was interesting to you, as it was soemthing you never thought possible. She has the ability to manipulate the weather and atmosphere. She could call a snowstorm at hand, a lightening strike, or even tornado.

You made a note to yourself to never piss her off.

The one thing you bregudebly relented to was a physical exam by Dr. Jean Grey. Charles informed you that at any moment you could stop the exam and nothing further would be done.

But you wanted to do it. For some reason you trusted Charles and he trusted Jean so you allowed the exam to happen.

Jean was a women that appeared a few years younger then you. She was tall, with fair skin and long red shit. She was a strong telepath that thankfully didn't invade your mind, understanding the invasion of privacy.

She was completely professional throughout the whole thing. Quickly drawing your blood, listening to your heart, and asking you to show off your mutation. She completed a gyno exam, gave you a full body CT scan - the school was super rich cause you have no idea how they could afford one - and an ultrasound.

All that was the during the first week of your stay and found you where you are now: seated in what they call the review room, listening as Jean explains her findings with Ororo and Charles present.

You did not like Scott, and did not want that man present to hear what you’ve been through. He seemed to have a superiority complex and you’d rather claw your own eyes out than have him know what was done to you.

You sit in front of a large screen, your body scans on view. You have no idea what you’re looking l at or what the numbers on the screen mean. Ororo is seated to your left with Charles in his wheelchair on your right.

Jean stands in front of you all, an electronic tablet in her hand - soemthing you didn’t even know existed. Again, this school is rich.

“From my results, I was able to hypothesize a few things that may have happened while you were held for a month.” Jean starts, having you on the edge of your feet.

“Is it safe to assume that once your mutation revealed itself, you never got sick” she questions, looking to you.

You nod as it’s the truth. You’ve never had the common cold, seasonal allergies, or the stomach bug.

“I’m assuming they injected you with multiple viruses to see how your body would react. I myself did that with one blood sample and a known strain of measles. When I combined the two, your cells immediately attacked the stain and eradicated it in mere seconds.

When comparing you to the average human or even mutants blood, you have a significant amount of neutrophils - a type of white blood cell - that fights of the infection. Typically that causes an average person to become sick, but your mutation produces it naturally to fight of any infection.”

You nod again. You don’t know much of biology but Jean at least explain it in laments terms so you can understand.

“As for your healing ability, which I’m also assuming they tested, works basically a hundreds times faster then soemone without your mutation. The level of neutrophils lends a hand to this but you also have high levels of fibroblasts and macrophages - cells responsible for the beginning and end of the healing process.”

You’re in awe. Since you’ve discovered you were a mutant, you always wanted to learn how. How anything you do is possible. That’s why you would always bug James about his own as they were so similar. Now though, you’re finally learning all you can.

“You also have a large number of keratinocyes, which allow your nails to grow at the rate and length they do into claws. When it comes to your teeth, you have an increase in all the cells responsible for growing and protecting them. I believe that is why yours are able to sharpen at will and are as indestructible as you described.”

You smile at hearing that. While you always tended to slice someone's throat with your claws, your teeth were your best asset. You shared with Jean how easy it was for you to tear into someone’s throat with them - namely dick Vic as you’ve begun to call him in your head. You got a laugh form Jean at those stories.

“One thing I did find, however,” Jean pauses, frowning slightly as she looks at her device.

Your heart starts to hammer in your chest and you feel Ororo grab your hand. You have no idea what she’s going to say but know it’s going to be bad. Why else would she have paused.

“However what?” You quesiton, one of your legs starting to bounce up and down in anxiety.

“I think it’s best we discuss this privately.” Jean’s voice is suddenly in your head.

You nod your consent, staring ahead and she informs Charles and Ororo that she wishes to speak about the last matter with you alone. Charles shoots you a look you see out of the corner of your eye before leaving.

Ororo gives your hand one last squeeze before rising from her seat and following Charles out. Suddenly it’s just you and Jean and you suddenly get nervous when she takes a seat next to you.

“You informed me during our exam that you have not gotten your period since your mutation revealed itself, correct?”

You don’t like where this is going. You nod.

Jean continues. “With some of the tests I did, as well as the gyno exam, you’re in perfect, healthy condition for soemone who is also your age. Ignoring the mutation.”

“But?” You question, searching Jeans eyes for what’s she’s going to say next.

“But, on average people who are your age have about 80,000 eggs available for fertilization. You have half that.” Jean reveals.

“Are you saying I can’t have kids?” You stand, running a hand through your hair. “I mean I never imagined having kids.” You start to rant, beginning to pace the small room. “But I mean, I did think of it once with one guy but that was almost a life time ago. I mean I-“

“Y/N” Jean starts, stopping your rambling. She’s now stood up and is facing you, hands on either shoulder. “I’m not saying you cannot have kids.”

You let out a breath. You didn’t expect that possibility to rattle you but it did. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you’re still holding on for Logan to turn up. For you to return to your cabin in the Canadian Rockies and actually have little runts of your own.

“Then what are you saying?” You ask weakly, having never felt this nervous before.

“You told me you remebred waking up once, when you were first at the facility, correct?”

You nod.

“And that there was a doctor, or someone, between your legs, and they made a comment about how they were surprised you weren’t with child?”

You nod again.

Jean sighs, leading you back to your chair. She sits down and grabs your hands in hers. You’ve only known her a week but have never seen her this worried, this emphatic. She’s usually all business, all serious.

“I believe that, based on my findings, during your month at the facility, they were extracting your eggs from your oaveries.”

You feel your entire body freeze. Extracting your eggs. Extracting your eggs. Taking something you have that can create life, from you.

“But only men can pass down the mutation gene.” You state, confused.

Jean nods sympathetically. “Correct but, you are a rare mutant. Not many posses an animal like mutation, specially one as feral as yours. I think -“ Jean cuts her self off.

“You think what?” You question harshly.

Jean sighs. “I believe they may have taken your eggs, which are from a strong, rare female mutant, and planned to see if they could find traces of the X-gene. And if that failed..”

Jean trails off but you’re able to figure it out. If they were unsuccedul with that, they still had eggs with your genetics. Eggs that can be mixed with a male mutants sperm and injected into some poor girls uterus. Thus engineering a mutant child they would have complete controls over.

“I - I need some time alone to process this.” You say, rising from your feet and quickly leaving the room, ignoring as Jean calls out after you.

You quickly move throughout the mansion, your room your destination in mind. You push past Scott who tries to stop you; an Ororo that looked concerned, and many teenage mutants who simply looked confused.

You finally resached your room and slammed your door shut, locking it. You rested your forehead against it, body rising and fall as your breath increased. Your mind whirling at all the possibilities of what they could have done or still be doing to your eggs filling it.

You let out a frustrated scream, right arm reaching and sending all the objects on your desk flying. Not quit satisfied at the damage, you made quick work of the small bookshelf in the corner, knocking it over with a growl.

At this point, your mutation is on full display, teeth grown and claws long. You let out another rgrowl and make a fist, sending it flying through the wall that is shared with your bathroom, your hand going through it.

Suddenly, a bang is heard and you look up to see Scott and Ororo standing there, the man having kicked it in. You turn your body towards them, growling lowly and ready for a fight.

Scott takes a step toward you, and you mimic him, ready to take him out of you need to. You watch as Ororo places her hand on his shoulder to stop him. She says something to him but your mind is still whirling you cannot comprehend what.

Your mind is solely relying on all your instincts. The human part of you is not able to cope with this discovery and has backed itself into a hole in your mind, allowing your animal side to deal with it.

And it’s dealing with it aggressively.

You watch as he sighs and nods before exiting; leaving you with the other women.

“Y/N.” She says, voice calm and low, as if talking to a scared animal.

You guess that’s what you are right now. Your instincts have taken full control of your body and kill and maim is the only action that seems to be what it wants. You want to make those suffer who hurt you. You want to slowly run your claws along every one of their arteries, watching them bleed. Then, you’d bite into their throat and take out a chunk.

“Y/N!” Ororo says, this time more stern.

It seems to gather your attention a little more, gaze shooting up to meet here eyes. They only show concern, soemthing you’ve only ever seen from one other person. Seeing them from her, it does soemthing inside of you and you break.

Your animal side seems to notice it too as soon your claws are gone and teeth back to normal. Tears immediately begin to leave your eyes and the women crosses the room to enlope you into her arms, pulling you into a hug. Your body immediately relaxes as you let out a sob.

You finally found out what happened to you but now you have to cope with it.

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Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa @whyamistillontumbler

A/N: I said lots of angst… now we know what happened during readers time being held captive. Sorry about no Wolvy- next chapter I promise!!

#fanfic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett imagine #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine one shot #xmen fanfiction

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forsoobado137 · 4 months ago

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Nations and Medical Treatment

I feel like nations in Hetalia don't have good histories with hospitals. Due to their mysterious functions and inhuman nature, it's difficult to find solutions to their complex medical issues. I have a list of headcanons on how nations are treated medically. tw for medical malpractice.

In the modern day, nations are usually assigned an extensively trained physician. Multiple nations often see the same doctor.

Certain hospitals that are frequented by nations are often equipped with trained staff. Training videos are provided to every hospital.

Anaesthesia was historically administered rather poorly to nation people. They were either given too little, none at all, or way too much based on biases on how nations tolerate pain. The latest publicized incident occurred in 2014, when America underwent an appendectomy without any anaesthesia. This event and the following lawsuit resulted in a bill being passed making it illegal to deny anaesthetic to nations.

Nations often have physical medical conditions confused for symptoms of being a nation, and vice versa. As a result, a nation’s concerns may be blown off as untreatable, while others are overmedicated for something that is caused by domestic events.

Female nations are less likely to receive proper treatment than male nations. The reasons behind this are due to the lack of studying on female nations as well as misogyny.

It’s a common occurrence for nation medicine to not be government approved or tested properly. Very rarely are nation medications actually tested on nations. They are usually run through human trials and then magnified to meet perceived “nation levels”. The largest ever recall for nation medicine was in 2010, when a popular anti-depressant was causing paradoxical side effects.

It’s a common occurrence for hospitals to turn away nations due to the perceived difficulty of treating one.

Many medical textbooks used for training doctors often perpetuate misinformation about proper treatments and dosages, such as the myth that nations have extremely high pain tolerances compared to humans.

Some doctors have expressed contempt for nations requiring medical assistance, believing it to be a “waste of time” due to overestimating their regeneration abilities. Another common belief is that nations are “seeking attention” so they can mimic human experiences.

Due to negative experiences with doctors, many nations have developed hospital-related anxieties and phobias. They often refuse to seek medical attention until it’s life-threatening.

Psychological issues are rarely treated properly. It's common for bosses and government officials to hold off on what they think is unnecessary treatment. Though not all nation psychiatrists are bad, many are only really interested in the paycheck.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #nation lore #aph america #hws america #alfred f jones #this was a lot #I'm sure some doctors genuinely care about their countries #but a lot of them have been taught incorrectly #yap fest

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bludhavens-finest · 2 days ago

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Ok so this is the biggest blog I have so I will be talking about it here, also comics have always been inherently political so it makes sense to talk about here, this will be posted to the rest of my blogs as well

I’m going to tag this with tw’s, if you don’t want to see more shit about the election I get it believe me I do, that’s fine. If you do stay around I’m going to be incredibly blunt about this shit

1. Do not fucking kill yourself. The amount of queer and especially young people I have seen saying that they are going to is astronomical, these people are not worth loosing your life. If you need help, get help, talk to someone, at the end of this post I’ll add numbers/websites

2. If you are disabled like me, and you need something medically whether that be vaccines, surgeries, procedures, mobility aids, medications, or even certain information; get them now while you can. The medical system in America is a bitch to deal with and even harder to get into, most of my appointments take at least three months, but if you can get in and get things done before they switch who’s in office, get it done now.

3. If you are trans and planning to get gender affirming surgery or healthcare in the next few months same goes for you, get the surgeries while you still can and get on meds now, if you get on them now it’s going to be easier to keep the prescription for as long as you can.

4. If you’re a woman or afab, get birth control while you can. Because they are going to get rid of birth control at this point, they’ve already gone after abortions and this is the next step.

5. But queer/feminist/punk media and books while you still can, because yes they can and will ban books they already do it in schools

6. Honestly I would even go so far as to say start buying physical copies of certain bands if you can, because most hardcore and just regular punk bands will probably be less accessible

7. Honestly probably just get a vpn at this point, I know you’ve gotten an ad for one from a YouTuber before, look into the company’s, find one you can afford and like

8. If non-Americans or even just some Americans who are republicans (which if you are fuck off.) think this is an over-exaggeration it’s really not.

America is the only first world country without universal healthcare, most people in this country either die waiting for a doctor, die because of a doctor (medical negligence and malpractice are leading causes of death in America, over a quarter of a million people die a year because of it.), public transit is non-existent, disabled people have been fighting for our rights for decades, women lost the right to control their own bodies after having that right for less then a life span. Many woman were there when roe v wade passed and still alive when it was overturned. Because it all happened in the span of 50 years. The amount of violence in our police departments (that are only getting more and more funding), the lack of education and lack of historically accurate information taught in public schools, the literal fucking constant brainwashing campaigns.

This is all coming from someone who is Afab, a Minor, living in the south, mentally and physically disabled, a lesbian, and trans. Believe me I understand how fucking scared people are.

It is 2024 almost 2025, not 1970. You have access to information and you are entitled to being informed, so inform yourself. Check your own sources, do your own research.

I’m well aware that this all seems fucking dystopian, I know that it seems like there’s no point, but keep yourself safe. If you need a break from seeing all this filter your tags, go outside for a while, get off the internet, play with your pets, talk to friends. Just don’t let yourself sit in this and worry yourself to death, it’s not going to help anyone.

Numbers you can call: 1-866-488-7386 (Trevor project), If you go to their website you can also text if talking isn’t safe, 988 (suicide and crisis line),

#ooc post #but an important one #election 2024 #us elections #tw sui talk #tw sui ideation #tw us politics #disability #queer community

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strangestcase · 2 years ago

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For the people that are going to do Dracula Daily this year:

One of the subplots that Dracula covers, and arguably the most important subplot, is one centered around a psychiatric patient confined to an asylum- it touches upon the way he sees the world, his relationship with his doctor, and how he relates to and perceives the villain VS the heroes, since for most of the plot he believes the villain to be good and strives to serve him.

Both the patient and the doctor characters (who are part of the main cast and very important to moving the plot foward in their own ways!) are portrayed as sympathetic victims to the main villain and mostly on the side of good, but in different ways, and, of course, the way they are written is informed by the beliefs of the time.

I won't spoil anything too important about it, just warn you that this subplot depicts Victorian Era ableism, which is... pretty extreme, and forms of medical abuse (specifically, psychiatric abuse) that still exist today!

This plotline involves:

-depictions of hallucinations, delusions, and irrational thinking

-medical malpractice: delusions being encouraged, patients being dehumanized, prolonged use of dangerous restraints

-unsanitary behavior (eating live animals)

-ableist attitudes from most of the hero characters

(other Dracula fans pls tell me if I've missed something)

What do I make of this? you ask. Well...

Do not excuse medical abuse, even if it's fictional. The doctor character is, for all his medical malpractice, depicted as a complex person that has some likeable traits and he undergoes a pretty sad arc relating to loss and trauma, like most of the heroes of this novel. This doesn't make him any less of an abuser, nor makes his patient any less of a victim!

Refrain from using ableist language or rethoric. The patient character, being written for a very old horror book, is often depicted as "unsettling" and his strange behavior is sometimes played for horror. This 1) doesn't make his situation any less deplorable 2) doesn't make him any less sympethetic and most importantly 3) doesnt give you a free pass to treat him as a scary horror monster. He's a victim of both the real monster of this story and the system he lives in.

Listen to psychotic fans. Research the history of Victorian asylums. Understand the historical context. Look at this subplot from a holistic perspective instead of treating it as a horror story within a horror story (although, it is a horror story, but not for the reasons some think it is!). Just don't be a dick to disabled people.

If any part of this subplot triggers or squicks you, you are not obligated to read it, just be aware that it exists and that it is important to avoid perpetuating ableist stereotypes, be they present in the original text or not. (Hell, you are not obligated to read any part of the book if you don't want to do so. Dracula Daily is supposed to be fun. Analyzing literature is supposed to be fun. Enjoying literature is supposed to be fun!)

For the love of God, don't get angry if some fans dislike the doctor character for what he's done and take the patients' side. This was an issue during the last Dracula Daily run. He's literally the victim in this relationship. I'm not saying you can't like or dislike either character but I have to reiterate: do not erase either character's contribution to the plot, do not demonize the patient character for being mentally ill in an "ugly" way and beliveing the villain is good, and don't woobiefy the doctor character because he said a funny thing once. Both are complex adult human beings so don't expect them to be caricatures.

Do not be afraid to call out ableist behavior from other fans, but also be careful to not overstep or talk over disabled fans, especially psychotic fans.

During the Dracula Daily run, some blogs will warn about the entries in which this subplot takes place, and what triggers apply for each one of them. If you need those warnings, don't be afraid to reach out for them!

Happy reading!

#dracula daily #dracula #dracula daily 2023

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the-lily-blooms-late · 10 months ago

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forget grim-dark pseudo-historical dramas, isn’t it enough to commit some medical malpractice with your soulmate (all to help people of course) while your not-uncle drags you into increasingly inept crime shenanigans on the side?

#the artful dodger #go watch it everyone I promise you’ll love it

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dresden-syndrome · 1 year ago

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24/VI-1963. KGB division unit B-8, Saxony region, German Democratic Union Republic, EESU.

Tomasz turned his head towards the loud, rough sound of footsteps. For him, that meant danger. Someone's coming. Someone's coming for him. There's nothing good to enter.

As long as Tomasz was kept in the lab, the only times he'd feel relieved hearing footsteps were feeding hours. Back then, at the prison, nothing was ever known, fixed or certain. At times, he wasn't getting any food or water for a few days, having to drag his weakened, bruised, aching body to the faucet each time he wanted to drink. In the lab, on the other hand, life was bound by a strict schedule. This hour to eat, that hour to sleep. If you won't, you'll be fed and sedated the hard way. A few bulky books on the table and Radio Wrocław playing far in the hallway. Everything was painfully predictable, except for one little thing. Experiments. Nobody knew when the doctors would take them, as well as why, for how long and would they even return.

He couldn't stay in a locked room forever, yet even a slightest sound made him flinch. The footsteps were getting closer. Too late. No time to hide. He could feel his breath getting faster, body freezing with fear, bracing for what is to come.

The opening door made Tomasz flinch one more time. A neatly looking man in a Soviet uniform stood in the doorway, holding a weird blue stick in his right hand. The man had a rather relaxed, lively, even friendly appearance - nothing like the pale, scrawny, constantly tired scientists or the loud, gruffish officers in the detention. No matter what. It's a military man. He's not to be trusted.

-Good morning, little one. How are you doing?

The Soviet officer introduced himself. He spoke with a strangely light, calming voice with a notable accent - speaking Polish clearly was a struggle for him - yet Tomasz still couldn't move a muscle, still alert and afraid.

-Don't worry, sweetheart. You're not in the lab anymore, - he made a few steps forward, carefully observing his new possession, - I will take care of you from now on.

Tomasz stayed silent. What did it mean - take care of? What will he do? He couldn't believe his lab days were over, he was out of there, he made it out alive. Yet he wasn't released, neither he'd ever be. From the moment Tomasz got classified as a class 4, his life and freedom was over. He was aware of it very well.

-Listen here, - the officer stated, setting a first rule for the boy to know, - For you, I am the boss here. You will have to do what i say. Understand?

Failing to receive anything more than a little nod, he stared into Tomasz's eyes.

-You understand, little one?

-...Yes, sir - Tomasz muttered.

On the next move, the Soviet man pointed at the prod in his hand, slowly moving it towards his new pet's leg.

-Look at this.

A sudden bolt of pain struck the back of a leg, forcing Tomasz to let out an involuntary scream. It was burning to touch. Frightened again,he retreated to the bed corner, further away from the painful thing.

-Does it sting that much? - the officer condescendingly shook his head.

-Listen, if you don't do as told, if you act out, I'm afraid I'll have to use it on you. Now, be a good boy and stay quietly in the room. I'll be back soon.

When the door shut again, making a key-locking sound, overwhelmed and confused, with a stinging feeling on his leg as a new owner's reminder, Tomasz curled up on his bed as tears rolled down his eyes.

Day 4 and 7 of Whumptober

Prompt: Cattle prod / "I paced around for hours, I jumped at the slightest of sounds"

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #no.7 #cattle prod #i paced around for hours on empty i jumped at the slightest of sounds #oc #art #medical malpractice #electrocution #historical whump #pet whump #military whump #whump #whump community #whump art #whumpblr #whump oc #captive whumpee

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girlactionfigure · 2 months ago

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How a Kabbalist Accidentally Became an Arsonist: A True Tale of the Rabbi who Burned Down the Jewish Ghetto of Frankfurt in 1711 🔥🧵

By 1704, when he was invited to become Chief Rabbi of Frankfurt, Rabbi Naphtali Katz had gained renown throughout Ashkenaz as a Ba'al Shem—a shamanic healer, amulet writer, and kabbalist.

His tenure in Frankfurt was brief. It ended on Jan. 14th, 1711, when a fire spread from his home & reduced the Judengasse—then the largest Jewish community in Germany—to ashes.

He was arrested by German authorities on claims of arson & witchcraft and was held for five months before being exiled from Frankfurt.

Soon after the fire, this poster was hung by Christians throughout the Judengasse. The left side depicts the Jews fleeing the flames.

The right side reads (in part): "Alas! The happiest [and] most unhappy day On which at Frankfurt am Main The Jewish quarter having been set ablaze With Rabbi Naphtali the Pole being the cause Within the space of 24 hours burned to the foundations."

How exactly did Rabbi Naphtali cause this urban wildfire? Johann Jacob Schudt, in his "Jewish Oddities"(1714, Frankfurt) records several rumors. One popular account blamed his kabbalistic malpractice...

"The Rabbi, who was a great kabbalist, had himself set the fire to show his students how he could extinguish the fire...(but) in his haste to put it out he had summoned the Prince of Fire instead of the Prince of Water & that is why the fire grew." Oops!

This is a painting made by the German Jewish artist Johann Nothnagel entitled, "Rabbi Naphtali Cohen with two Schoolchildren" (1772). It portrays this scene of angelic conjuring & accidental arson.

The Magen David image before him was part of a popular kabbalistic recipe for extinguishing fires. The radiant and hovering disk = the angelic Prince of Fire. Smoke emerges from the top right & the student's faces flash concern.

Nothnagel made a copy of this painting a few years later with one significant change: The abstract disk is replaced with a more concrete angelic figure.

Notice how this version has been modeled after another scene of angelic conjuring: Rembradnt's "Faust" (1652).

In a sort of full-circle, Rembrandt was likely modeling his portrait on tropes of Kabbalah popular during his time.

Who is the Prince of Fire (Sa'ar Ha-Esh)? Midrashic sources identify him with the archangel Gabriel. "Michael is the angel of snow and Gabriel of fire; this one does not extinguish that one, and that one does not harm this one." (Shir Ha-Shirim Rabbah 3:11)

Sefer Ha-Razim, a magic text from the time of the Midrash, identifies two other angelic fire-archons: "Yabniel is in charge of all things concerning the igniting & extinguishing of fire... Deleqiel is in charge of flames of fire, to kindle or quench them."

Rashi (1040-1105) already reports that summoning these angels was uniquely difficult.

Interestingly, a very similar story to Rabbi Naphtali's arson is told about another Ashkenazi Ba'al Shem—The Ba'al Shem Tov/Besht. This version is from "In Praise of the Besht" (Kopust, 1814).

A second version of this story is told by a later hassidic master.

This incident would have occurred not long after 1711 (the Besht is born in 1698 & these tales occur in his youth). And, reportedly, the Besht knew of Rabbi Naphtali & mocked his ascetic model of practical Kabbalah.

The upshot? Don't start a fire to prove you can put it out + When Kabbalah is no longer theoretical but also "practical," its relationship to the elements and society is more acute & mistakes have material & historical consequences.

#Jewish Ghetto of Frankfurt in 1711

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steddiebang2024 · 27 days ago

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a glimpse of your canvas | M | 21k

Author: @dartlekey | ao3

Artist: @hawkinsleather| ao3

[Link to fic] | [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (very brief) Steve Harrington x OC, implied & one-sided Eddie Munson/Nancy Wheeler

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Max Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, The Party, Male OC’s, Female OC’s

Tags: drama&romance, post-season four, hospital fic, transfemme!Eddie Munson, straight!Steve Harrington, closeted character, coming out, self discovery, found family, sharing a bed, the platonic intimacy of grooming, character study, gratuitous LotR references, Nancy Wheeler appreciation fic

Trigger Warnings: blood and injury, chronic illness, medical malpractice, medical discrimination, explicit period-typical homophobia, internalized transphobia, implied biphobia, misgendering, suicidal ideation (brief/mentioned), references to parental neglect/abuse, slurs used as self-descriptors

↳ Keep reading below for a sneak peek!

It’s a little unfair, really.

After the copious amount of concussions he’s had, Steve Harrington feels figuring out complex mysteries should be left to other members of the party. But he can’t help noticing these little oddities - that the name Eddie calls himself and the name on his medical file are different, that Eddie has a book full of sketches of Nancy Wheeler that he keeps like a closely guarded secret. Or the fact that as he spends time with him, helping him through recovery, Steve can feel himself falling for Eddie Munson, despite historically being very heterosexual.

Steve’s stubborn, though, and determined. If no one’s going to tell him what’s going on - well, he’ll just have to fuck around and find out.

***

It’s all a little too good to be true.

Eddie Munson’s built her highschool persona hinging on the fact that as a closeted trans woman, she’s got no one on her side but her Uncle Wayne. The plan was to hightail it out of the shithole of Hawkins once she finally got that fucking diploma, to leave it all behind and finally transition, because she’d have to completely reinvent herself to really be loved, right?

Only, that doesn’t seem to be holding up. As it turns out, she’s not the only girl in Hawkins whose relationship with womanhood is a little weird, and the others seem determined to prove to her she’s one of them now, whether she likes it or not.

It seems like she’s going to have to woman up, especially if she wants to save the man she loves

#steddiebang24 #steddie #steddie big bang #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddiebang24 masterpost

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Podcasting "How To Think About Scraping"

On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

This week on my podcast, I read my recent Medium column, "How To Think About Scraping: In privacy and labor fights, copyright is a clumsy tool at best," which proposes ways to retain the benefits of scraping without the privacy and labor harms that sometimes accompany it:

https://doctorow.medium.com/how-to-think-about-scraping-2db6f69a7e3d?sk=4a1d687171de1a3f3751433bffbb5a96

What are those benefits from scraping? Well, take computational linguistics, a relatively new discipline that is producing the first accounts of how informal language works. Historically, linguists overstudied written language (because it was easy to analyze) and underanalyzed speech (because you had to record speakers and then get grad students to transcribe their dialog).

The thing is, very few of us produce formal, written work, whereas we all engage in casual dialog. But then the internet came along, and for the first time, we had a species of mass-scale, informal dialog that also written, and which was born in machine-readable form.

This ushered in a new era in linguistic study, one that is enthusiastically analyzing and codifying the rules of informal speech, the spread of vernacular, and the regional, racial and class markers of different kinds of speech:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/24/because-internet-the-new-linguistics-of-informal-english/

The people whose speech is scraped and analyzed this way are often unreachable (anonymous or pseudonymous) or impractical to reach (because there's millions of them). The linguists who study this speech will go through institutional review board approvals to make sure that as they produce aggregate accounts of speech, they don't compromise the privacy or integrity of their subjects.

Computational linguistics is an unalloyed good, and while the speakers whose words are scraped to produce the raw material that these scholars study, they probably wouldn't object, either.

But what about entities that explicitly object to being scraped? Sometimes, it's good to scrape them, too.

Since 1996, the Internet Archive has scraped every website it could find, storing snapshots of every page it found in a giant, searchable database called the Wayback Machine. Many of us have used the Wayback Machine to retrieve some long-deleted text, sound, image or video from the internet's memory hole.

For the most part, the Internet Archive limits its scraping to websites that permit it. The robots exclusion protocol (AKA robots.txt) makes it easy for webmasters to tell different kinds of crawlers whether or not they are welcome. If your site has a robots.txt file that tells the Archive's crawler to buzz off, it'll go elsewhere.

Mostly.

Since 2017, the Archive has started ignoring robots.txt files for news services; whether or not the news site wants to be crawled, the Archive crawls it and makes copies of the different versions of the articles the site publishes. That's because news sites – even the so-called "paper of record" – have a nasty habit of making sweeping edits to published material without noting it.

I'm not talking about fixing a typo or a formatting error: I'm talking about making a massive change to a piece, one that completely reverses its meaning, and pretending that it was that way all along:

https://medium.com/@brokenravioli/proof-that-the-new-york-times-isn-t-feeling-the-bern-c74e1109cdf6

This happens all the time, with major news sites from all around the world:

http://newsdiffs.org/examples/

By scraping these sites and retaining the different versions of their article, the Archive both detects and prevents journalistic malpractice. This is canonical fair use, the kind of copying that almost always involves overriding the objections of the site's proprietor. Not all adversarial scraping is good, but this sure is.

There's an argument that scraping the news-sites without permission might piss them off, but it doesn't bring them any real harm. But even when scraping harms the scrapee, it is sometimes legitimate – and necessary.

Austrian technologist Mario Zechner used the API from country's super-concentrated grocery giants to prove that they were colluding to rig prices. By assembling a longitudinal data-set, Zechner exposed the raft of dirty tricks the grocers used to rip off the people of Austria.

From shrinkflation to deceptive price-cycling that disguised price hikes as discounts:

https://mastodon.gamedev.place/@badlogic/111071627182734180

Zechner feared publishing his results at first. The companies whose thefts he'd discovered have enormous power and whole kennelsful of vicious attack-lawyers they can sic on him. But he eventually got the Austrian competition bureaucracy interested in his work, and they published a report that validated his claims and praised his work:

https://mastodon.gamedev.place/@badlogic/111071673594791946

Emboldened, Zechner open-sourced his monitoring tool, and attracted developers from other countries. Soon, they were documenting ripoffs in Germany and Slovenia, too:

https://mastodon.gamedev.place/@badlogic/111071485142332765

Zechner's on a roll, but the grocery cartel could shut him down with a keystroke, simply by blocking his API access. If they do, Zechner could switch to scraping their sites – but only if he can be protected from legal liability for nonconsensually scraping commercially sensitive data in a way that undermines the profits of a powerful corporation.

Zechner's work comes at a crucial time, as grocers around the world turn the screws on both their suppliers and their customers, disguising their greedflation as inflation. In Canada, the grocery cartel – led by the guillotine-friendly hereditary grocery monopolilst Galen Weston – pulled the most Les Mis-ass caper imaginable when they illegally conspired to rig the price of bread:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bread_price-fixing_in_Canada

We should scrape all of these looting bastards, even though it will harm their economic interests. We should scrape them because it will harm their economic interests. Scrape 'em and scrape 'em and scrape 'em.

Now, it's one thing to scrape text for scholarly purposes, or for journalistic accountability, or to uncover criminal corporate conspiracies. But what about scraping to train a Large Language Model?

Yes, there are socially beneficial – even vital – uses for LLMs.

Take HRDAG's work on truth and reconciliation in Colombia. The Human Rights Data Analysis Group is a tiny nonprofit that makes an outsized contribution to human rights, by using statistical methods to reveal the full scope of the human rights crimes that take place in the shadows, from East Timor to Serbia, South Africa to the USA:

https://hrdag.org/

HRDAG's latest project is its most ambitious yet. Working with partner org Dejusticia, they've just released the largest data-set in human rights history:

https://hrdag.org/jep-cev-colombia/

What's in that dataset? It's a merger and analysis of more than 100 databases of killings, child soldier recruitments and other crimes during the Colombian civil war. Using a LLM, HRDAG was able to produce an analysis of each killing in each database, estimating the probability that it appeared in more than one database, and the probability that it was carried out by a right-wing militia, by government forces, or by FARC guerrillas.

This work forms the core of ongoing Colombian Truth and Reconciliation proceedings, and has been instrumental in demonstrating that the majority of war crimes were carried out by right-wing militias who operated with the direction and knowledge of the richest, most powerful people in the country. It also showed that the majority of child soldier recruitment was carried out by these CIA-backed, US-funded militias.

This is important work, and it was carried out at a scale and with a precision that would have been impossible without an LLM. As with all of HRDAG's work, this report and the subsequent testimony draw on cutting-edge statistical techniques and skilled science communication to bring technical rigor to some of the most important justice questions in our world.

LLMs need large bodies of text to train them – text that, inevitably, is scraped. Scraping to produce LLMs isn't intrinsically harmful, and neither are LLMs. Admittedly, nonprofits using LLMs to build war crimes databases do not justify even 0.0001% of the valuations that AI hypesters ascribe to the field, but that's their problem.

Scraping is good, sometimes – even when it's done against the wishes of the scraped, even when it harms their interests, and even when it's used to train an LLM.

But.

Scraping to violate peoples' privacy is very bad. Take Clearview AI, the grifty, sleazy facial recognition company that scraped billions of photos in order to train a system that they sell to cops, corporations and authoritarian governments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/20/steal-your-face/#hoan-ton-that

Likewise: scraping to alienate creative workers' labor is very bad. Creators' bosses are ferociously committed to firing us all and replacing us with "generative AI." Like all self-declared "job creators," they constantly fantasize about destroying all of our jobs. Like all capitalists, they hate capitalism, and dream of earning rents from owning things, not from doing things.

The work these AI tools sucks, but that doesn't mean our bosses won't try to fire us and replace us with them. After all, prompting an LLM may produce bad screenplays, but at least the LLM doesn't give you lip when you order to it give you "ET, but the hero is a dog, and there's a love story in the second act and a big shootout in the climax." Studio execs already talk to screenwriters like they're LLMs.

That's true of art directors, newspaper owners, and all the other job-destroyers who can't believe that creative workers want to have a say in the work they do – and worse, get paid for it.

So how do we resolve these conundra? After all, the people who scrape in disgusting, depraved ways insist that we have to take the good with the bad. If you want accountability for newspaper sites, you have to tolerate facial recognition, too.

When critics of these companies repeat these claims, they are doing the companies' work for them. It's not true. There's no reason we couldn't permit scraping for one purpose and ban it for another.

The problem comes when you try to use copyright to manage this nuance. Copyright is a terrible tool for sorting out these uses; the limitations and exceptions to copyright (like fair use) are broad and varied, but so "fact intensive" that it's nearly impossible to say whether a use is or isn't fair before you've gone to court to defend it.

But copyright has become the de facto regulatory default for the internet. When I found someone impersonating me on a dating site and luring people out to dates, the site advised me to make a copyright claim over the profile photo – that was their only tool for dealing with this potentially dangerous behavior.

The reasons that copyright has become our default tool for solving every internet problem are complex and historically contingent, but one important point here is that copyright is alienable, which means you can bargain it away. For that reason, corporations love copyright, because it means that they can force people who have less power than the company to sign away their copyrights.

This is how we got to a place where, after 40 years of expanding copyright (scope, duration, penalties), we have an entertainment sector that's larger and more profitable than ever, even as creative workers' share of the revenues their copyrights generate has fallen, both proportionally and in real terms.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our book Chokepoint Capitalism, in a market with five giant publishers, four studios, three labels, two app platforms and one ebook/audiobook company, giving creative workers more copyright is like giving your bullied kid extra lunch money. The more money you give that kid, the more money the bullies will take:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Many creative workers are suing the AI companies for copyright infringement for scraping their data and using it to train a model. If those cases go to trial, it's likely the creators will lose. The questions of whether making temporary copies or subjecting them to mathematical analysis infringe copyright are well-settled:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/ai-art-generators-and-online-image-market

I'm pretty sure that the lawyers who organized these cases know this, and they're betting that the AI companies did so much sleazy shit while scraping that they'll settle rather than go to court and have it all come out. Which is fine – I relish the thought of hundreds of millions in investor capital being transferred from these giant AI companies to creative workers. But it doesn't actually solve the problem.

Because if we do end up changing copyright law – or the daily practice of the copyright sector – to create exclusive rights over scraping and training, it's not going to get creators paid. If we give individual creators new rights to bargain with, we're just giving them new rights to bargain away. That's already happening: voice actors who record for video games are now required to start their sessions by stating that they assign the rights to use their voice to train a deepfake model:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/5d37za/voice-actors-sign-away-rights-to-artificial-intelligence

But that doesn't mean we have to let the hyperconcentrated entertainment sector alienate creative workers from their labor. As the WGA has shown us, creative workers aren't just LLCs with MFAs, bargaining business-to-business with corporations – they're workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

Workers get a better deal with labor law, not copyright law. Copyright law can augment certain labor disputes, but just as often, it benefits corporations, not workers:

https://locusmag.com/2019/05/cory-doctorow-steering-with-the-windshield-wipers/

Likewise, the problem with Clearview AI isn't that it infringes on photographers' copyrights. If I took a thousand pictures of you and sold them to Clearview AI to train its model, no copyright infringement would take place – and you'd still be screwed. Clearview has a privacy problem, not a copyright problem.

Giving us pseudocopyrights over our faces won't stop Clearview and its competitors from destroying our lives. Creating and enforcing a federal privacy law with a private right action will. It will put Clearview and all of its competitors out of business, instantly and forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/01/you-should-have-right-sue-companies-violate-your-privacy

AI companies say, "You can't use copyright to fix the problems with AI without creating a lot of collateral damage." They're right. But what they fail to mention is, "You can use labor law to ban certain uses of AI without creating that collateral damage."

Facial recognition companies say, "You can't use copyright to ban scraping without creating a lot of collateral damage." They're right too – but what they don't say is, "On the other hand, a privacy law would put us out of business and leave all the good scraping intact."

Taking entertainment companies and AI vendors and facial recognition creeps at their word is helping them. It's letting them divide and conquer people who value the beneficial elements and those who can't tolerate the harms. We can have the benefits without the harms. We just have to stop thinking about labor and privacy issues as individual matters and treat them as the collective endeavors they really are:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/26/united-we-stand/

Here's a link to the podcast:

https://craphound.com/news/2023/09/24/how-to-think-about-scraping/

And here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_450/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_450_-_How_To_Think_About_Scraping.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/25/deep-scrape/#steering-with-the-windshield-wipers

Image: syvwlch (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Print_Scraper_(5856642549).jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

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