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lawlznet · 9 months

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State of the Meme 2023

Content Warnings: Depression, Death, SH, Hatred, a lot of self deprecation What follows is an explanation and also rant about why I haven’t been online for this entire month. If you’d just like to skip down to what I’m planning to do in 2024, scroll all the way down to where the line break is.

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Hey everyone, Lawler here. This is the “State of the Meme” for 2023 and for the purposes of this post, I will be speaking out of character; as myself, not the vtuber.

This has not been a good year for me and it is with bated breath that I look forward to the next one. As some of you may be aware, my father fell ill in late September, suffering cardiac arrest and other diagnoses besides. His chances of survival, much less recovery, were slim given his age and the extent of his complications, but in a series of miracles that I hope to not take for granted for the remainder of his, and my, natural life, he recovered enough to be transferred to a nursing home, and then back to our home. Few of his complications remain and we optimistically foresee him returning to his “pre-accident” state sometime halfway next year. In the days since he returned, around the week of my birthday in early December, he has already recovered enough to move around the house on his own- to feed himself (via a tube connected to his stomach), to prepare his own medications, and to slowly retake ownership of household duties that had fallen to me in the months passed- paperwork and such. Prior to this blog post, it was nearly impossible for me to find time away from assisting him; even our previously late evening streams or early morning and afternoon were not a sure bet, and in fact I had to cancel my participation in a stream on my birthday for this reason.

It is with cautious optimism that things may stabilize enough in my household, to where I could possibly return to vtubing with the regularity I afforded before.

But before that can happen, I have a number of things to talk about first.

I feel like I’ve walked with death all the course of my life, and that does not just include attending one too many funerals for family members, both young and old, or that of friends and acquaintances whom either had theirs taken, or had taken their own. I generally treat the concept as the great unifier of all people, regardless of race, creed, sexuality, or any other descriptor we may use to divide ourselves from one another. It is the one great certainty and on some level, I like to think that I give the concept more weight than most.

Then I find myself spending hours doomscrolling, consuming thread after thread of outrage over strangers I had never met, and only learned hours before. A-drop-in-a-bucket hot celebrity name does something immensely stupid, either intentionally or unintentionally, and I join the lamentation that someone with so much apparent wealth and status can afford to be so flippant. Sometimes I’ll even repost OP or bits and pieces of the thread, telling myself that these individual statements, crammed into 280 or 300 characters, are somehow so poignant so as to redeem the discussion; and that by not mentioning their names, I am somehow not adding to the problem.

The problem of using my platform to further magnify people who we spend a whole lot of words discussing as “evil...” and for what?

Is it fun? Do I feel better about myself? Does anyone, besides the subject, benefit from my “contribution?”

No.

I was depressed before I burned those hours away. My employment is shaky and in a side universe I might have been laid off. I rarely have time for myself anymore that isn’t in the wee hours before getting out of bed or the minutes before falling asleep from exhaustion. And I chose to spend it on reading about how someone I claim I don’t care about did something “horrible,” or at least mildly uncomfortable- about how a country somewhere is doing bad things to people they claim are bad, or “as bad,” or, nowadays, without any sort of justification- and when I’m not doom-consuming, I complain to myself that I don’t have enough time for anything.

That I hate everything.

And well,

I’m not wrong.

But I’ve had this conversation before. I’ve complained about it before, online and on social media and in private discords, and I’ve even, in my continuing hypocrisy, chided others about it. I might try to make myself feel better by telling myself, “oh, well you see...”

“Social media is a ‘necessary part of my job.’”

“You *must* expose yourself to constant, attention grabbing toxicity, and participate in its accumulation- its dissemination, its detached, virtue signaling, people pleasing, mock-outrage generating content creation.”

As opposed... to someone who just, reads reddit, screengrabs accounts with sub two digit readership with obnoxiously bad takes, watches political discourse tiktoks and uncited youtube video essays; yes, you see, surely these people and their misery are entirely *self* inflicted, as opposed to myself, who is “mandatorily” victimized, right?

It’s bullshit.

I hate it.

And so it follows that I must *also* hate myself.

Because I participated in it.

So,

I’m going to try to stop.

Prior to this I never publicized, but internally created some rules for how I interact with this “content” and the people who produce it. Most, I believe, are not intentionally malicious. We are just the successful products of an inherently evil industry; living proof that everything is working exactly as intended.

The only way out is to break the cycle, and in order to do so... I almost always avoid, and if necessary mute, or block, anyone who:

1) Makes generalizing, sweeping statements of an entire group of people,

2) Issues ultimatums on their public facing social media accounts,

3) Anyone who regularly disparages any group of people, especially people whom they are supposed to be a part of- e.g. anyone who regularly harps about “how terrible the vtuber community is,” without the slightest bit of introspection.

For the sake of my own mental stability and to gradually wind down my own involvement in making the internet a worse place, I have decided that beginning in 2024, I will:

1) Reduce or completely eliminate reposting, replying to, or commenting on, any political or negative thread of which I am not directly or indirectly involved, or are not a subject matter expert or hobbyist.

2) Remove all feeds, block or ignore all search terms, and avoid discussing or entertaining any of the above subjects in any capacity outside of private conversations.

3) If necessary, mute, unfollow, or block accounts which only seem to exist to further spread the above content.

As some of you know, I am a cyberpunk influencer and consider myself a “cyberpunk” outside of my online personas. I’ve also recently dipped my toes into the world of Linux and am eager to dive into the worlds of cybsec and opsec beyond browser addons and lists of FOSS programs. I’ve been into this subculture for the majority of my life and I don’t see that changing anytime soon; nor will I censor content that I deem directly or inherently related.

There’s a sheer cliff of difference between merely complaining about celebrities and a toxic online culture and explaining not just how, but *why* it is in your best interest to avoid or defeat these things. Within weeks of a certain major social media website’s fall from grace, a number of user created addons were developed to make said website’s use tolerable (OldTwitter by Dimden as an example); Youtube’s attempts at forcing adblock users to turn off their extensions ironically vastly improved these extensions (uBlockOrigin), and both of these addons, in addition to their “obvious” case use, have further ramifications for the end user than simply complaining about Former Billionaire 9000 and The Evil Company.

For one thing, it’ll save you money in the form of not clicking on malicious advertisements or shelling out a monthly subscription for something you could have gotten for free. But I digress.

These changes are a long time coming, and I apologize to the people whom I long promised I would “avoid” these things... only to return to them when it was convenient, or when I told myself that “this is a special exception,” or when I didn’t care, when I should have. You know who you are.

I’ll most likely fuck up again and find myself having this conversation with myself or in the illusory safety of a chatroom.

But you see... I’m in my mid thirties. And while its true that I have these conversations with myself and others, all the time, and I regularly beat myself up and hate myself for my participating in the “culture,” the truth is... every day, I am more and more grimly reminded, of what little time I have to do things I actually want with my life.

Of how my perception of time seems to be speeding up. Of how little potential time I fear I might have. I don’t just mean the possibility of the Four Horsemen riding and causing such an orgy of misery that will make the last ten years look like Christian cis heteronormative missionary with clothes on and the lights off. I mean the fact that it is atypical for my household to travel to family gatherings in individual vehicles, and that on that evening in September, it was only through sheer chance that we decided to attend my niece’s birthday party individually- that my mother had to be hospitalized for an illness herself, and that I, for reasons I don’t even remember, chose to drive on my own. If this had been any other evening, my father may have had a heart attack while we were all together in the family SUV. On a highway.

And as spooky as that scenario is, every time I get on the road, or even walk down my own street, I think about the possibility of dying. Maybe someone’s in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention while merging onto my lane. Maybe someone’s drunk. Maybe someone needed a twenty and thought they’d rob this weirdo walking around the streets at night and weren’t expecting a fight. Even when you set aside all the political, worldly garbage that trad-media constantly shits down the throat of an unwilling (and sometimes masochistic) boomer populace, you aren’t guaranteed whatever illusion of stability and peace you have right here and now. It could change as easily as the wind blows. And I think I am so tired... of burning so much of my life on shit that has done little for me except to make me upset, when I could have so much, much more to be upset about in the next few minutes.

I walk with death every minute of my life.

If possible, I’d like my last memory to be doing something I actually give a crap about. Or talking with, or about someone that I admire or care about. I don’t think I ever thought those experiences were a waste of time.

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Thank you for reading this far. And now, for changes that actually apply to my “real” content moving forward... (as in, actually applies to you because last I checked, I’m a vtuber, not a vtweeter or a vskeeter or whatever the shit they call it these days...) I’ve worked in corporate for too long. Even if it’s a long shot or doesn’t make that much money, I really feel like a career in the entertainment and art-space is a better occupation to strive for than pushing paper in the universally and permanently depressing healthcare industry.

I’ll keep streaming video games and fighting games will always be part of that routine, but for reasons I don’t understand, I’ve neglected first person shooters. That changes now. (I hope the kind of Doom y’all like are the video game kinds.)

I am in the process of dipping my toes into youtube short form videos and will be uploading some cringey garbage to just about everywhere except Twitter, because of changes to their terms of service which potentially gives total ownership of my IP to the website. Fuck that.

I miss virtual reality.

Those vroid comics take a ridiculously long time to make but god do I enjoy doing it.

I am greatly reducing my usage of Twitter, Bluesky, and Mastodon, aside from announcement posts. Twitter is nearly unusable even with a subscription and unlike Bluesky and Mastodon (which... are basically the same thing) are bereft of the tools necessary for curating my experience and Making Me Less Wanting To Kill My Self. So yeah, Fuck Twitter. But what else is new.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I designed this blog the way I did and by the time you read this, I’ve probably reset it to be a lot easier to read on the eyes, at the cost of not looking as “cool.” I’m going to be making fiction writing a priority again. I have some vtuber tabletop campaigns to write up and then to run.

If I don’t successfully finish in time for Christmas and New Year’s, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I don’t have a timeline of when I’ll be able to stream consistently again. Thank you for your patience with me.

Love,

Lawler Hix

#lawler hix #state of the meme #update #announcement #vent #rant #vtuber #envtuber

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cheap-jumpscare · 2 months

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Welcome to Uta's blog population like 2.

helooo I'm Uta or several other names. I go by it/void and many other prns. check my prns.page >here< !!

read this very important thing written by my meowtual please, thanx :D

a lot more detailed info under the cutt ~

DISCLAIMERS ABT ME / BYF ;;

I say slurs (only those I can reclaim!)

I rarely am ever serious!

I can be very sensitive to rejection!

I'm very apathetic in regards to other people; I wish I wasn't!

I can be very harsh or rude on accident!

im basicallt INCAPABLE of processing if/when a joke is taken too far!! :(

Pls tell me if I fuck up i will not know :(

BASIC INFO ;;

diagnosed and medicated ADHD, peer-reviewed as "def autistic" by my autistic little sister and older brother, depression (or at least some of the symptoms)

divorced parents, adopted at birth!

in general there is something fundamentally wrong/silly abt me

i LOVE homestuck, hiveswap, ddlc, genshin, hsr, crk, cats, borzois, drawing, singing, gacha, voice acting, animation, rain world, etc. (hyperfixations r bold and italic like this!!)

i like spiritual stuff (shifting realities, subliminals, etc) and i may reblog stuff like that sometimes <3

i have a bf!!!! @hanapaws is he!! i love my bf so much rahhh!!!!!

my fav color; tie between red, black, n white. pink n yellow are very close shared-second places

im here to be gay and shitpost man

OTHER SOCIALS ;;

spacehey - cheapjumpscare noplace - hiveswap pesterchum - hollowClown spotify - uta ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ tiktok - qualia.automata

DNIS . . .

thin ice ;

anti-endos / don't believe in endo systems, but don't harass or fakeclaim people abt it (i have friends who are endo and they are very cool!!!!!)

post abt politics Regularly (stresses me tf out)

post abt religion at ALL

if you were that one person who told me I was silencing asians by having a cute/pink/"kawaii" aesthetic blog on tumblr in like 2020. yes that was the actual reason. im being so forreal. /silly but also /gen on this being something that actually happened

DNFI (do not fcking interact) ;

anti-endos / don't believe in endo systems, and DO harass or fakeclaim people abt it

pro-contact / anti-recovery towards paraphilias

nsfw/kink/18+ centered blogs (i am a minor :/)

pro-harassment/anti-anti-harassment

doxx people or support those who do

believe/participate in cringe culture

pro 🇮🇱 or otherwise not pro 🇵🇸 (its a genocide mf)

^ post pictures of gore n dead kids in relation to the genoc¡de w/o tagging, censoring, or warning ANYYY of it (the reason i left twt)

im on your dni (respect your own gd dni)

RANDOM ASSORTED NONSENSE I THOUGHT WAS FUN !! ;;

my true zodiac is Pittarius !! [homestuck]

probably a

i tend to fixate on characters/whatever so hard i either Want to be them, believe i Am them, or both.

^ speaking of, at the bottom of this post is a list of stuff am that way about

^^ i should add here that the personality assigned doesnt contribute to this (though it certainly helps if i can go "THEY JUS LIKE ME FRR") i just. fixate so hard i go "mm i should be [whatever]" or "i mustve been [whatever] in a past life :D"

^^^ i am, most of the time, not under one of these episodes (idrk what else to call them but im not distressed rlly so shrug)

i barely ever remember to categorize things but i will remember for this blog i promise

ORGANIZATIONAL TAGS ;;

#shut up uta! - yapping. rambling even. general Posts tag. #definitely not stolen! - reblogs !~ #uta time travels (again!) - queue'd posts.. mostly going to be whatever im currently horrifically nuclear levels of autistic abt #uta; nobody needs to know this - TMI posts; complaining abt periods, personal life, etc. etc. etc. it can and will get weird here #uta hears voices part ??? - askbox....... #uta pls shut up fr this time - LIVEBLOGGING ~ #(not) uta; [ANY-CHARACTER-NAME-HERE] - for when i am Fixating So Hard On A Character That I /Gen Believe I AM Them. Temporary. pls humor me/play along /gen. #uta's sprites - Sometimes I post homestuck / hiveswap sprites! this is the tag for that :3

Characters / Things Uta sometimes IS (not exhaustive) ;;

italicized = more current / more likely to be this than not | bold = even more current | italicized & bold = almost always this

PROJECT SEKAI ; Minori Hanasato, Airi Momoi, Emu Otori, Kanade Yoisaki, Mafuyu Asahina, Ena Shinonome, Mizuki Akiyama VOCALOID / VOCAL SYNTH ; Xi Yi, Hatsune Miku GHOST & PALS ; Tamari [RECKLESS BATTERY BURNS], Say [CHATTERING LACK OF COMMON SENSE], Cakey [APPETITE OF A PEOPLE PLEASER], Teto [PATHOLOGICAL FASCADE] HIVESWAP & HOMESTUCK ; Charun Krojib, Dave Strider / Davesprite, Jade Harley, Karako Pierot, Meulin Leijon, Nepeta Leijon, Tyzias Entykk GENSHIN ; Collei, Fischl, Furina, Hu Tao, Kirara, Lumine, Qiqi, Xingqiu, Yae Miko, Yoimiya COOKIE RUN ; Peach Blossom, Caramel Choux, Linzer, Mozzarella, Affogato, Strawberry Crepe, Cream Puff, Kumiho, Espresso, Vampire, Stardust, Black Pearl, Whipped Cream, Roquefort, Butter Pretzel, Scorpion, Bellflower, Sour Belt, Crowberry, Pizza, Black Garlic, Coffee Candy, Baguette, Gim, S'more, Strawberry Cream, Astronaut, Starch Noodle, Strawberry Stick, Lotus Dragon, Lychee Dragon, Sugar Swan POKEMON [SPECIES] ; Absol [MEGA], Bewear, Blacephalon, Breloom, Carbink, Chatot, Cramorant, Cursola, Darkrai, Dedenne, Delcatty, Delphox, Eevee, Furfrou, Furret [SHINY], Galvantula, Glaceon, Hatterene, Iron Valiant, Jirachi, Kommo-o, Leavanny, Lucario, Lurantis [TOTEM], Luxray, Lycanroc, Maractus, Mareanie, Meowscarada [SHINY], Mew, Milotic, Mimikyu, Mismagius, Mudkip, Nihilego, Pheromosa, Pyukumuku, Raichu [ALOLAN], Rayquaza [SHINY], Sandslash [ALOLAN], Scoliopede, Scorbunny, Serperior, Shaymin, Smoliv, Sneasler, Solgaleo, Sylveon, Tapu Lele, Thievul, Tinkaton, Torracat, Tsareena, Vaporeon, Wooper, Wynaut, Xerneas, Zoroark [SHINY] POKEMON [HUMANS] ; Justy [JELLOAPOCALYPSE DOGS IN LOVE], N, Ingo, Emmet, Roxie, Clemont, Lisia, Lillie, Ilima, Mallow, Acerola, Marnie, Allister, Klara, Sabi, Florian, Penny, Iono, Rika, Ortega, Kieran, Lacey MISC ; wip.... sorrgy :(

Uta's Glorified Kinlist [IN THE KINNIE WAY] ;;

CHARACTERS ; Kanade Yoisaki, Mafuyu Asahina, Ena Shinonome, Mizuki Akiyama, Charun Krojib, Dave Strider, Fischl, Yoimiya, Strawberry Crepe Cookie, Espresso Cookie, Sprigatito, Ingo, Emmet, Iono, March 7th SONGS ; Born2Run [PENELOPE SCOTT], Hammerhead [PENELOPE SCOTT], Sweet Hibiscus Tea [PENELOPE SCOTT], Baxter Ward is Under Fucking Siege [PENELOPE SCOTT], anarchy [EGG], Digital Girl [KIRA], Nobody [MITSKI], Gay Jokes [RIO ROMEO], Mirror Man [JACK STAUBER]

#shut up uta!#definitely not stolen!#uta time travels (again!)#uta; nobody needs to know this #uta hears voices part ???#uta pls shut up fr this time #(not) uta; [ANY-CHARACTER-NAME-HERE]#uta's sprites

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neck-thats-made-for-bruising · 1 year

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DUDE I HAVE DIAGNOSED ARFID AND IM ALSO AUTISTIC OMG idk i jus saw that in ur bio lmao but yeah i mean like arfid is rlly rare and ik that so if u ever need any support i 100% get what ur going through js hit me an ask :)

Omg thanks this is why I love tumblr bc when I researched why my diet was like this and actually discovered arfid a few years ago it was actually so comforting to know this was a real thing that other people go through. But on tumblr there are people I can actually interact with about these things??? It's crazy

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tda-123 · 1 year

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sbi-au-ideas · 2 years

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Tommy is dying.

He’s sick, with a slow but steady illness that will kill him quickly, one that has no cure. No cure besides the River Clara, of course.

The River Clara can cure any ailment, any wound, anything that troubles you, emotional or physical. The only problem? You have to get through the Temptatious Forest.

The Temptatious Forest is full of magic, conjuring up distractions and obstacles with every step you take. They begin easy to brush off, and as you make your way through the forest you’ll eventually find something that makes you stay. Something that drags you to your death. Something that tempts your greedy mind. Even if you resist and decide to go back? The forest will trap you forever. You either make it to the River Clara, or you become part of the forest.

Tommy doesn’t have those greeds. Or, well he does, but living to 20 sounds nicer than anything the forest could conjure up. Probably. The forest can pull some nasty tricks, who knows.

He doesn’t expect the forest to tempt him with a home. Or a family, one that seems so ready to welcome him in. One that he clicks with so perfectly.

He doesn’t tell them about his illness. People always say to never let the forest know why you’re there.

They don’t want to let him go. But he doesn’t want to die.

Wilbur finds him sneaking away.

“Toms, please? You can stay- we, we have so much for you here! You can be happy Tommy, we want to make you happy!”

“Wilbur, I- I have to.”

“What hurts you so much? Did you lose a brother, I can- Tommy I can be a brother! I’ll be your brother, for you! I swear on my life, please Toms-”

“I- it’s not that Wil. It’s… I… fuck… I’m going to die, Wilbur.”

“You- what? You can’t- there’s no way, you look so healthy! Pink in your cheeks and everything, I mean you don’t look sick, what could possibly be wrong? Tommy?”

“It’s… a rare infection, and if- if I don’t get cured, I’m not going to live to 20. I- I’d honestly be pretty lucky to make it to 18 at this point.” He laughs, devoid of humor. “It’s slow right now, I got- they diagnosed me quickly, and I have time still. But not much. I’m 16. It’s going to kill me in- I- I don’t want to die Wilbur. I’m sorry, I wish-…”

“I- Toms, -we didn’t- we didn’t know, you should’ve said something- oh my god- Tommy…”

“I just wish I had more time Wilbur. If I had even five years? I would throw them all away for you guys but- I… I don’t even have two. I hardly have one year Wilbur, I’m on a time limit. I can already feel it sometimes.”

“Tommy… I- … The forest keeps a tight grip on magic, I can’t just let you go without trying-”

“You have tried Wilbur! And it’s been more than enough, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I wish I could’ve fallen in love with this family earlier. But… Wilbur, if you love me, if you weren’t lying and you truly love me…”

“I do! I do, so much, I love you so much-”

“If you love me… then you have to let me leave.”

“…”

“I just- was it all fake, Wil? Just… the forest? Doing whatever will make me stay? Was it all fake?”

“Tommy… Yes. It started out that way, yes. But this- this isn’t fake! It’s not fake, the forest isn’t strong enough for that, it has to make it genuine somehow- I- we have emotions, and empathy, and feelings and so much more, we aren’t fake, we aren’t lying Tommy,”

“I believe you, Wil. It just… hurts sometimes. And… and if it’s worth anything to you Wilbur… The forest did a great job of making an older brother. I’m sorry.”

“Toms… I’m so sorry Tommy, I’m so sorry, fuck- I wish we could’ve stayed together forever, I would’ve begged the forest for immortality, or something- anything…”

“...”

“…”

“So… this is the end?”

“I- … yes. I’ll go distract Techno and Phil, it’ll give you a head start. Head towards the sun, whether it’s setting or rising, the magic of the forest will lead you to the river regardless. Hide when it’s directly above. Don’t travel at night, the moon leeches away at your will. I… never told you before because of the forest, but I’m throwing all of that out the window. Just… be safe Tommy. I love you. We love you.

“I love you too Wilbur. I love you all.”

#tommyinnit centric #fantasy au #fae au #magical forest #sbi fic idea #sleepy boys inc #sleepy bois inc #crime bois #crime boys

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haunted-by-catholic-guilt · 4 years

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Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Jon was born hurting.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but he did have chronic pain for as long as he could remember.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TW FOR INTERNALIZED ABLEISM

i think thats all this has been in my folder for ages

yeah the title is from a mother mother song don't @ me

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Jon was born hurting.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but he did have chronic pain for as long as he could remember.

He was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and fibromyalgia at age 26, after ten years of progressing symptoms and a lot of pushing from Georgie.

He had started using a cane that same year, after one too many falls for his liking.

He was embarrassed, of course, being as young as he was and needing to use it, but after much reassuring from Georgie, and the pure pain he was in, he finally did it.

He wore braces sometimes, but found that the cane was much to.. showy already that he wasn’t well.

No one at the institute seemed to care, second glances, some odd comments on the rare occasion.

On his first day as head archivist, he looked down to the archives, a steep, jagged set of stairs in his path.

Fuck.

He sighed and painstakingly slowly made his way down the stairs, he was early, and no one saw him, thank god for that.

It continues on like that for a while, going into work early, leaving late, not leaving for lunch.

It worries Martin, and Martin makes that clear.

Jon does not like Martin.

The dog in the archives for one, his constantly late work, his penmanship, his lack of basic knowledge, his frequent interruptions-

Jon could go on and on about why he hates Martin Blackwood, and he makes sure Martin knows.

It does not stop Martins’s worry, or his kindness, and that’s what Jon hates the most.

Jon tries to calmly hate Martin, scarcely snapping at him, and very rarely raising his voice, at anyone, really.

Today, however, Jon had woken up in some of the worse pain he had felt in a long time, something more than the normal bad pain.

His joints were burning, and it was expanding into an ache around them, his skin stung at any small touch, and a stinging pain threads its way through his veins.

Despite this, Jon still went into work, having to stop every few steps to catch his breath, and regroup.

He got in early and locked himself in his office, not talking to anyone and hoping it would stay that way.

But of course, Martin couldn’t give him that, could he?

A soft knock on the door, more for courtesy than asking for permission, Jon had learned.

“Goodmorning, Jon! I brought you tea-“

Jon felt anger rise and boil over before he could stop it, he slammed his hand on his desk, which did not help his pain but that was the least of the issues at hand.

“Damnit, Martin! I don’t want your goddamn tea, I don’t want to talk to you, please for the love of God leave me alone and do your goddamn work well for once? If your performance does not improve soon I will have you fired. And stop getting in the way.

He was yelling, he didn’t mean to yell, but he was.

Martin was pale and shaking, he looked like he was about to cry, and Tim and Sasha had gone dead quiet outside of his office.

Martin cleared his throat, and quickly pulled himself back together.

“R-right I’ll jus- I’ll be going.”

Martin closed the door, and Jon sagged into his chair.

He was going to pay for this, he lost his temper and now he was going to pay for it.

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Martin closed the door to Jon’s office, and it took all he had not to start crying right then and there.

He inhaled shakily, and glanced into the break room, where Sasha and Tim were currently quiet, and staring at him.

Shit.

Tim was the first to move, quickly moving to Martin and then ushering him into the breakroom and sat him down at the table, and Sasha gently pried the tea out of his shaking hands, but he hardly noticed, being too focused on not crying.

He heard Tim talking, his voice was loud and sounded angry, and Sasha was stroking his arm but sounded pissed.

He didn’t hear anything that was being said, he just stared forward, feeling the tears prickle at his eyes, he didn’t even realize he had finally started crying until Sasha cooed, and ran her thumb over his cheek, wiping away the tears.

“Oh Martin, I’m so sorry.”

He quickly shook his head, it was his own fault, no one needed to apologize.

“N-No it’s alright, I’m fine just uh- over sensitive is all, I’m sorry.”

Tim huffed and patted his shoulder, and walked away, not giving any indication of where he was going, but Martin and Sasha both knew, Martin tried to stop him, though.

“Tim you don’t- Tim!”

His attempt was futile and the door was already open and being slammed again.

He let out a shaky sigh and put his head on the table before he stood back up.

“Well I should probably get back to work”

He let out a quiet heh, and Sasha looked displeased.

“Martin, love, it’s ok that you’re upset by that, he was an ass.”

Martin forced a laugh, but reassured her he was fine, and went back to work.

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Jon hissed out a sigh, Tim was right.

He was just graced with quite the telling off from an extraordinarily angered Tim, which he completely deserved, some of the highlights included his selfishness, him being a jerk to Martin for no fair reason, and many, many, other things.

He didn’t try to fight back, he knew he deserved it, but he also couldn’t bring himself to talk at all.

His blood was boiling with pain, and his joints had become stiff with aching, he felt like he had been struck by lightning.

Jon sighed, and stood up, he knew he needed to apologize to Martin, the sooner the better, but before he could do anything, everything went black.

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It had been about half an hour since the incident, Tim having spent the larger part of it chewing out Jon, when they heard a crash from Jon’s office.

“Shit”

Tim scowled but he and Martin rushed into Jons office you see him on the floor, unconscious, Martin quickly knelt by him, and grabbed his wrist.

“He doesn’t have a temperature, but his heart rate is fast”

Tim crouched down next to the small man’s unconscious form, before Martin seemed to get an idea.

“Tim, can you set his legs on your lap? Elevation might help.”

He couldn’t comprehend how Martin was still this caring to Jon who not even an hour earlier yelled such nasty things at him, but he did as he was asked.

After a few minutes, Jon started to stir, and opened his eyes, he looked confused for a second, but then revelation hit him.

“Oh- Martin I- I’m so sorry”

Martin smiled, a sad smile, but Tim could tell he was hurt and wouldn’t say anything.

“It’s quite alright Jon, are you okay?”

Jon shifted a little, before realizing his feet were being held, he smiled sheepishly and wiggled out of Tim’s grasp.

“I’m okay, it happens sometimes.”

Martins brow furrowed and despite himself, Tim felt worry blossom in him too.

“It shouldn’t happen, have you gone to a doctor?”

Jon nodded, and began to pull himself off of the floor, and Martin shot up immediately, eager to help, where Tim slowly stood up.

“Yes, it’s fine, Martin.”

Martin helped Jon sit down at his desk, and looked down, still embarrassed about earlier, Tim supposed.

“Come on boss, the least you can do is tell Martin why you yelled at him and then fainted.”

Martin made a noise, and stuttered.

“Tim, that is not necessary! If he doesn’t want to tell us he doesn’t need to”

Jon knew he should tell them, should tell them ‘sometimes I pass out, it’s one of the many symptoms of my chronic illnesses!’ but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to be seen as fragile, and weak.

“Martin I’m so sorry for yelling earlier, I’m not feeling my best and I took it out on you, but I shouldn’t have”

This time Martin looks up at Jon and looks surprised by a genuine apology.

“It’s alright Jon, really.”

Tim looked like he was about to fight it, but Jon felt a burst of pain from his knee, and let out a whimper despite himself.

“Jon? Are you alright?”

He gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Jon I can tell you’re not, what’s going on?”

Jon sighed, and wrong his hands, anxious for reasons he didn’t understand.

“It’s fine. I just- I have a- a chronic illness, and one of the symptoms of one of them is sometimes when I stand up, or sit up, I get dizzy and sometimes faint, I’m fine really, I just prefer to keep it to myself.”

He twisted his hands again, uncomfortable but Martin put his hand on Jon’s, clearly in a gesture of comfort.

“I- I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, my joints aren’t right, too flimsy and bendy, more things too… and my pain varies, but it’s always there and I use the cane to help balance, and no I don’t need your pity or to be treated like I’m fragile just because I’m disabled, it’s just there.”

He looked up to see Martin smiling softly at him, and Tim looking surprised, and Sasha, who had apparently shown up without his knowledge, was leaning against the doorframe.

“Jon, we‘re not going to treat you differently now that we know what’s wrong with you, it can just make it easier for us to, you know, help you!”

Sasha’s voice was soft and reassuring, and she stepped into the room further, and Tim spoke up.

“Boss, you really gotta stop hiding information from us like, ya know, the fact that sometimes you pass out, or you’re going to give poor Martin an early heart attack”

Martin blushed and stammered at that statement, before moving his hand to Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon, I’m glad you told us, I know it can be hard to be open about those things.”

Jon nodded, and slowly started to push himself off the floor, and Martin immediately started to help him up, Tim grabbed his cane from where it had fallen, offering it to him.

“Let us help you, boss, we are a team after all, aren’t we?”

Jon smiled and nodded, and for a second, felt okay.

#the magnus archives #jon uses a cane #chronic pain #projecting #eds #fibromyalgia

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Seven, “Meet Me in the Hallway”

New to the story or want to catch up? Find all chapters HERE! :-)

Ok I didnt forget this time :/

* SNEAKYYYYYYYYY PEEK TIME *

“Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop.”

“I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket.

“I was too! Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.”

P.S - I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors or stuff that should be bolded/italicized that I missed, I already edited this chapter on here a few times and Tumblr kept losing it ugh.

Enjoy!

“I don’t know,” she replies, yanking at the corners of my heart. A sigh escapes my lips when I feel my heavy head fall into my hands. “M-my dad,” Becky continues, but her words collapse into tears before too long.

I almost tell her that I already know, but my lips stop just in time. I don’t want her to get mad at Asher. And if I’m honest, our secret elevator meetings to talk about her are the highlight of my week. But my lips search for something to say. The sound of her tears is all I can hear, no matter how badly I ache to take them away.

“He has c-cancer, Harry,” Becky says, her words tumbling out sloppily. They pull at my heart again, making it fall another notch.

“Fuuuuuuuuck . . . . ’m so sorry, Becks . . . . Are ya okay?”

“No, w-why would I be? How could I be?” she responds, her words falling out fast.

“Becks . . have ya been drinkin’, love?” I ask tentatively, wincing when I hear her groan.

“I don’t wanna ‘ear it. Imma grown woman. I can bloody drink if I want t’ and-,” she argues, her voice steely. I’m caught off guard by the confrontation, and it only makes me feel worse.

“Tha’s not what I meant, love. I jus’ . . . ,” I try, my train of thought fleeing me. All of my thoughts do, because I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t even know if I’d have any better idea of what to say if I’d had notice she was going to call. That she was going to remember who I was for the first time in 9 months. “Are ya atta pub? Cuz I jus’ wanna know yer safe. I can leave an’ give ya a lift home if ya need,” I finish, unsure of how she’ll take my words.

She’s quiet and it only makes the scary thoughts buzz louder in my head.

What if she gets the idea to drive herself home?

What if some drunk bloke bothers her and she can’t fend for herself?

What if she tries to walk home in the rainstorm?

What if she keeps drinking, not knowing when to stop?

What if-

“No, I’m at home. In me bed. I’m not st- dumb, Harry,” she slurs, showing me a side of her I’ve never seen. We’ve had drinks together before - in my office or rarely at a pub. But she never got drunk before.

“I don’ think ya are, bug,” I counter, the nickname falling effortlessly from my tongue. “’m really sorry ‘bout yer dad. D’ya know how bad it ‘s yet?”

“Noooo, other than that ’s somewhere . . . like in uh Stage 2 . . or somefiing,” Becky answers, her words all over the place. “It’s t-the prostate. Ya know that fing that uh . . . is . . where ‘s it ‘gain?” One of her many words that don’t make much sense.

“Ya I know what it ‘s an’ where. I uh have one of ‘em,” I finish for her. I’m rewarded by hearing her decadent laugh. A sound I’ve craved and missed for so long. I missed it more than I thought I had, I realize as a smile pulls my cheeks upwards.

“Oh ya. I uh kinda forgot ‘bout dat,” she titters, encouraging a chuckle from my now smiling lips.

But her laugh fades first and mine follows. Because she didn’t call to laugh at my lame jokes, or to catch up on things we’ve missed in each other's lives. No, not really.

“He’d been ‘aving pains. So bad he can’t eat, or use the uh loo . . He told me when we was there wit’ Robbie and . . . . he looked baaad,” she tells me, her voice catching on the last word. I feel my heart shudder in pain again, and suddenly I realize the validity of the second-hand pain phenomenon. “And I jus’ dunno ‘ow I’m gonna do dis. I wanna help him and take care o’ him . . . But I’m t’ree hours ‘way and . . . I just dunno how t’ do dis.”

“There’s no real setta rules, love. No guideline or brochure fer how t’ handle it . . Ya jus’ gotta do yer best, an’ love him . . ‘m sorry,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re sorry?” she laughs, pulling my eyebrows into a knot. “Tha’s a firssssst.”

I listen to her laugh some more, savoring it. But I’m also confused and a little offended. But then it stops abruptly and I hear her sniffle. “I’m the one whoooo should be sorry,” she begins, tears lacing into her words. And taking all of mine with them. “You’re just trynaaaa help, and I’m bein’ mean and rude just like I always am to ya. Ughhhh, I dunno why I even called.”

“No, ‘s okay. Yer goin’ thru a lot an’ . . . I appreciate ya callin’. I jus’ hope ‘m helpin’,” I say quickly, dropping a hand in defeat. It finds its way to my pants and I pick at the loose thread that’s been bothering me all day.

“But I am, Harry! I’m mean and I make no sense a-and I’m jus’ loadin’ onto ya. But I dunno who else t’ call, cuz ’m tryna t’ be strong forrrrr Robbie. And not worry Skye, an’ I jus’ dunno what t’ do, Harry,” Becky says, the last of her words dissolving into sobs. Biting my lip at the sound of her crying into my ear, I keep biting and biting as she cries. I yank at the thread and feel it dig into my skin, but I don’t let go. “I don’t wanna lose me dad afta I already lost you.”

It takes a few seconds of telling myself, but I slowly release my bottom lip. I huff, swiping my tongue across my lips. I taste the metally blood coming from the stinging cut. And then the warm taste of salt joins it on my tongue. Pressing my lips together, the pain only intensifies. But I let it stay as tears roll down my cheek. My finger burns, but only for a few short seconds when I finally rip the thread from my pants. It doesn’t compare to the pain I feel inside of my chest, like a vice around my heart. Tightening and throbbing.

The line grows silent, but I know she’s there. Because I hear her shallow breathing, and the occasional sniffle. And I know that she’s still crying, because I hear the whimpers that she tries to hide. Even if she is drunk. And the pain only keeps coming, because I hate that I can’t do anything to stop hers. Nothing at all.

“I miss ya so much, Becks,” I whisper, not believing the words coming from my mouth. But they feel good. Freeing. Almost exciting.

“I . . . I do too, b-but I can’t go down that road ‘gain, Harry. I- I can’t do this,” she rushes. I hear noises on her line, but I can’t get out the words before the it goes dead. Silence.

I feel my phone slide from my hands slick with tears. It falls to the floor with a thud, but I hardly hear it. Because her voice is drowning out the sounds of everything else.

The thunder.

The rain falling harder by every second.

I press the pads of my fingers into my eyes and let my own rain fall. My fingers grow wet with every tear. Every single one I held in as her voice graced my ears. The tears that grew from the pain I heard in her voice. From when I heard about her dad’s diagnosis. And I think the ones I’ve been pushing away for a long time.

The rain welcomes a friend, and I join the drops drilling against the glass until the storm passes. But I know that although the storm inside of me passed for a little while, that it’s only come back stronger. The velvety sofa cushions and pillow welcome my tired body. I fall into a fitful sleep with her comforting voice dancing through my head. The only place I can see her again, and where I didn’t fuck everything up.

“Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll get this all figured out. You just do your best and take care of yourself and your father. Keep me updated on what you learn, and if you need extensions. Alright?”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” I reply emphatically.

He nods before patting my arm and telling me to have a good day. I return it before leaving his office and feeling the slightest weight leave my shoulders. That was the easy part, I think to myself as I find my way through the twisty halls.

Looping my arm through my other backpack strap, I turn a corner and keep walking. I feel my heartbeat start to slow down after that nervous meeting with Professor Alcott, finishing up my afternoon of meeting with my professors. I couldn’t even believe the words leaving my mouth to grace their ears.

My dad was diagnosed with Stage 2 prostate cancer recently. We still don’t know a lot, but I wanted to let you know. I plan to still stay enrolled in the program and I’m committed to my courses. At the same time, I’m going to do what I can to take care of him. I will keep you updated as I learn more, but there are still a lot of unknowns at this point and . . . , I think, pausing the track I had on repeat for the last few hours. I had to figure out what to say, then rehearse it, and then say all of those words to the stern-looking expressions of my professors. Two of whom I’ve never even met before, because I’m taking their classes online. But my advisor, Sally, told me it would be best to meet with them in person. It’s more personal and shows your commitment blah blah, she said.

I’m just glad to have that part over with, I sigh inwardly.

The first fallen leaves of Fall crunch under my lace up purple Vans. The crisp air welcomes me. For a few seconds, I lose myself in the beginnings of the changing colors of Autumn. But the incessant worrying thoughts that have plagued my mind sit at the back, ready to pounce. I was rather numb for the first several days. I didn’t know how to function normally. Let alone inform my professors professionally and in person about the events that just rocked my life. I’m relieved that they were all very accommodating and kind to me about the news. But I know that the hard work is just about to begin.

A U2 song pours from my speakers as I back out of my parking space and start my journey home. I try to lose myself in the beloved lyrics, but it’s hard. When they become too relatable and too nostalgic, I skip it and the stereo player whirs as it thinks. My Spotify chooses a song at random - a favorite by Vance Joy. I roll my windows down and try to sing along.

I close my apartment door with my foot, sifting through the mail.

A bill. An advert for Skye. Another bill. Another cosmetology advert for Skye. An advert from my uni. Something Skye ordered from Amazon. A random magazine subscription that I most definitely don’t want to subscribe to. A sheet of Domino’s coupons. And a square periwinkle envelope with my name scrawled across the front. No return address.

My feet stop in the middle of toeing off my shoes. The one falls to the floor with an echoing thud. I swallow and pad slowly over to the kitchen island. Pushing Skye’s mess over, I let the pile of mail fall with a slap. With one shoe still on, I soon find myself sitting on the arm of the sofa. Backpack still heavy on my shoulders. Keys still hanging around my finger. But all I can focus on is the periwinkle envelope in my hands. And that familiar handwriting.

I hug it to my chest and tap my fingers along it as I think.

I know what it feels like, but I don’t know if I want to open it.

Because I know what will happen if I do.

But I can’t deny the first bubbles of excitement rising in my chest.

The first feelings of happiness I’ve felt in 11 days.

11 days since my dad announced that he has cancer. The dreaded C word.

My thumb does the first rip without me barely registering it. My excited heartbeat eggs me on. I try to rip it neatly, and leave the pretty envelope intact. But I’ve never been good at opening mail neatly. It’s just too exciting. I see the cursive word on the back first. The card company’s name.

The card is a periwinkle purple, like the envelope. He remembered it’s my favorite. My eyes fall closed without warning when I feel the hard square inside of the card. A sigh escapes my lips. It only grows longer when I feel the tiny imprints the pen left from pressing down hard in the author’s hand.

Exhaling slowly, I flip the card over and find a saying that I glance over. The cursive words made permanent by gold lettering tug at my heart. But I know that’s only the beginning. My finger pries at the opening and runs along the inside, feeling the bumpy impressions of the ink words. I rip the bandaid off and open it. But before I read anything, I grab a hold of the plastic square. I place it behind the card in my grip.

One step at a time.

The inside of the card is painted with sloppy black writing. At the sight of it, I watch my sight grow hazy. Starting at the beginning, I blink and feel the first tear fall when I see my name.

Harry’s name for me.

Dear Becks,

I saw this card and thought of you. The little bunny on the front just screamed your name, and well it harassed me during my whole shopping trip to buy it. Isn’t it just adorable? It made me think of the story you told me once about the baby bunny you found with your dad that was hurt. You both nursed it back to health before it hopped away back into the woods. Or your Dad called the animal services to take it to rehabilitate it. You said you couldn’t remember. Anyways, it made me think of you and the unimaginable pain you’re going through. You and your family. I never had the pleasure to meet your Dad but I wanted to extend my sympathies. He must be a pretty incredible man seeing how well you and Robbie turned out. You always spoke fondly of him. I know you’re very close to him, and because of that I know this is even harder for you. I’m so sorry. I’ve been thinking of you and your family often, and wishing there was something I could do to help. I’m so sorry, Becks. I really am. I don’t think there’s much else I can say to comfort you right now, or if there is I don’t know what it is. I’d just suggest doing what you can to be with your father during this time, and although it may be difficult to see him in pain, I think you’d be happy if you were there. No matter how things turn out, I think it would mean a lot to the both of you. I’ve experienced grandparents and loved ones passing, and it’s the shits but whoever said that it’s better to suffer together than by yourself was right. But please take care of yourself too. I don’t know what your plans are, but please don’t load your plate too full. Okay? I’m sorry, but you won’t be much help to your Dad if you’re giving yourself too much work. I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Becks. It pains me more than you could know to know that you’re going through this. You and your family will be in my thoughts and prayers during this difficult time. Please let them know that. Take care of yourself, please. For you and your dad. If there is anything at all I can do to help please don’t be afraid to let me know. In the meantime, I hope that this Visa gift card will help. I recall you said you’re from Madley and your dad still lives there, which is quite the trip. I hope this money will help pay for petrol, meals, hospital bills, and anything else that may help make you and your dad comfortable. Myles’ brother who’s a doctor knows of some good docs at The Royal London Hospital where he works - if you’re interested, just give him a ring. I’ll be praying for a hopeful diagnosis and outlook for your dad, and that he recovers from this. I hope you’re hanging in there, Becks. Just take it one day at a time.

Harry xxxxx

My chest shakes with a sob as I breathe in, but it’s so hard. And it hurts. Closing the card, I cover my face with it. And feel the warm tears paint my cheeks. I don’t know where they come from or how I haven’t ran out of them yet, but they keep coming. Without knowing it, I find myself sliding off the sofa and down onto the floor to rest against the sofa. Ugly sounds leave my lips and my body shakes with each sob. For the first time in days, there’s a feeling inside of me stronger than sadness for my dad.

Longing.

Missing.

I miss Harry. And I let myself feel all of it. Like I haven’t been letting myself for months. I forgot how much I missed him.

The way he could make me laugh.

How he always knew what to say without worrying it being the right thing.

His sunshine smile.

His molasses like voice - deep, rich, and syrupy sweet.

And most of all, the way his hugs fixed me like a bandaid. I feel my heart wrench with everything I miss, but it especially hurts when I think about how much I miss his hugs. And how badly I crave one right now. No, I need one.

I cry harder at that, because apparently things can get worse right now, I think inside the chaos that is my mind.

I miss my dad, even though I saw him yesterday when I went back home. And then I miss Harry, even though I kicked him out of my life. Even though I heard his molasses voice the other day when I mistakenly called him after drinking a bottle of wine.

I miss him so much and it hurts.

I didn’t know that I could even hurt more than I already was.

And I wouldn’t have guessed that his card warms my heart, and breaks it at the same time.

My thumb wavers over the keyboard of letters, indecisive and lost. I groan and walk away, padding out of the room and into our main living area.

“You better be getting a snack since you didn’t eat dinner,” Skye calls out to me from her perch on the sofa.

“Okay, Mom,” I retort, searching the shelves of the fridge. It sounds bad, but it only took Skye a major life event to do a decent job at grocery shopping, I recount. Grabbing a yogurt from the drawer, an apple, and a spoon from others, I leave with my dinner in hand.

The food falls to my desk with a clatter as my attention diverts to my phone. Waking it back up, I see the words I had typed out before. Without another thought, I press Send. With wide eyes and a shaky hand, I lay my phone face down away from me. I’ve only gotten settled and read a few lines from my textbook when my phone chimes. With teenage jittery excitement, I stare at it for a few seconds before daring to pick it up. My heart does a somersault in my chest at the sight of the name.

Harry.

I read over my text first, and then read his.

Hi. I can’t thank you enough for the incredibly sweet card. The gift card was more than generous. I don’t know which I cried more at. Just THANK YOU. A lot. I don’t know how many times I can say that. It was so kind of you to think of me and my dad.

Harry

hi! stop it youre more than welcome. im glad you liked the card. i wasnt sure if it was 2 dorky. u better not have cried at it. im here if u need anything. have a good night xxxx

My thumbs dance around on the screen. But before long, I set it down and try to immerse myself in my textbook. But it’s hard, because all I can do is think about him and our texts. I was texting him and we were talking, my over excited teenage-like mind thinks. But the adult part of it sweeps it under the rug, or tries to. Those two parts fight each other as I struggle to make sense of the chapter I’m reading. Because the teenage girl side wants to text him back, but the adult side argues there’s nothing to say. And that won’t I just get hurt again? I find myself nodding at that. Or more so, the argument it makes about there being no point in it. But the teenaged side reads into his words and grows excited at some of them. Talk about distracting.

“Oh my god, just stop!” I mutter aloud, covering my ears but it doesn’t work. Groaning, I flip the page and read on.

He helped and his card stands on my desk now, but I need to focus on my dad. And school. And this fricken boring chapter that I have an upcoming quiz on.

Voices carry down the tiled hallways. The sounds of footsteps sound like ghosts around me. So do the memories I have of these halls. Ones that stab at my insides as I walk further into them. I turn a corner and find the light at the end of the tunnel. He senses me and looks up. He shows a small smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s continued to ignore the the circle of chairs in the waiting area. Instead, he leans against the wall nearby the door we’ve been staring at.

“Is he done with his labs yet?”

He shakes his head no, narrowing his eyes at me. “You said you weren’t going to go and cry in the bathroom, you liar,” Robbie jokes, but I don’t laugh. He purses his lips and holds his arm out for me.

I walk into them and rest my head on his chest. “Yeah well, you tell everybody that you’re the older twin when you’re not,” I quip with a sniffle. A laugh rumbles underneath my cheek.

“That’s ‘cause I am.”

“No, you’re not. Dad only said that when we got in fights to make you feel better,” I reply, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat. For some reason, his hugs never fail to calm me down. After a fight we had whether we were 5 or 15, when I snuck into his bed at night when mom and dad were fighting, after a pet died, even after a bad day at school, and especially lately with dad’s diagnosis. It only strengthens my belief about the whole twin thing.

He scoffs in reply and my lips find a laugh. “I want to see our birth certificates and settle this once and for all.”

I giggle into his warm chest and close my eyes. But then the thoughts and not longer after, the tears arrive. Robbie squeezes me and tickles my back with his fingers.

“They sounded hopeful at least,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but they want to do chemo before and after surgery.”

“I know, but they said they have to be sure. If things look good when they’re doing the surgery, like clean margins or whatever it was, then he might not need chemo afterwards,” Robbie points out and I nod, feeling the damp spots on his shirt from my tears.

“He seems like he’s holding it all together pretty well.”

“Yeah he’s always had super strength. Remember in primary when we wrote that dad was our hero-.”

“And mom got mad,” I finish for him, adding my laughter to his.

“Yeah. And even though we made that superhero poster about him, I never stopped seeing him as a superhero,” Robbie says, slowly trailing off when the emotions steal his words.

“Bee, stop, you’re gonna make me cry even more.”

He laughs for a second, but then I hear him start to cry. His chest trembles underneath me. I give up and cry with him.

“Harry sent me a card in the mail,” I sob, hiccuping in between words.

“He did? I always knew I liked that guy. What’d it say?”

Something half-scoff and half-laugh is my response before I take a big breath. “I don’t know, it was just so sweet and kind. He said that he’s thinking of all of us, and told me to take care of myself. He said he knows it’s hard to see people you love suffering, but that it’s better to suffer together than on your own,” I choke out, tears drowning my words. “The card had a bunny on it. He said he got it because I told him the story of how Dad and I saved that hurt bunny. I wish he could’ve met dad when I still worked there . . And he sent a $150 Visa gift card to use for bills, petrol, and food.”

“Wow, that’s crazy generous. Wait, what? You two didn’t save it, the animal control people did,” Robbie argues and I just shake my head. “And don’t say it like that. Dad’s too stubborn to die, you know that. And with how much you talk about Harry, I’m sure you guys are gonna get coffee one day and fall in love and get married,” he continues, his voice quickly turning mocking and girly. I laugh and shove him, stepping away with a laugh.

“What?” he laughs. His voice is still under water, as is mine. “Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop,” I reply, laughing with emotions fighting in my voice.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling me into his arms once again. “Ya know you can tell me. I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. You blabbed to the whole 1st grade I had a crush on Johnny Turner. Then, when I gave you a second chance, you did the same thing again in 8th grade with Willie. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket.

“I was too!”

“Being it for one week and quitting because you went home in the middle of the first camp doesn’t count!”

“I still think it does. I have the outfit, sash, hat, and everything still. I made dad proud, and you know it. Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks, his scratchy chin resting on top of my head. We hear the click of a door open, and I frantically wipe my eyes. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.”

I roll my eyes at Robbie as I peer up at him. He winks before sloppily kissing my head.

“Come on, you rascals. Let’s get outta here before they try to poke me with any more needles,” our dad says, walking out of the room with his jacket folded over his arms.

I know he knows we’ve been crying, but he doesn’t mention it. I think another secret language is already starting to form between us. With Robbie’s arm around my shoulder, I grab hold of my dad’s hand. He turns to flash a tired smile at me, before placing a kiss on my forehead.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he hums quietly as we stop in front of an elevator. His smile tugs at my heart. I’m just thankful to be able to still see it.

Stepping onto the elevator, he squeezes my hand hard, just like he always has done. “Dad, don’t!” I yelp and he chuckles under his breath.

After pressing the button for the lobby, I see Robbie’s lips bend upwards. This can’t be good. “Hey, dad, when we get home can you pull out our birth certs? I need to know the truth of who’s really the older twin.”

“Oh god. You two are 25 years old, when is this going to be over?!” my dad huffs, rubbing at his eyes, but with a smile. “Maybe I won’t take you with the next time, since it’s giving you existential crises,” he threatens, and we all fall into easy laughter.

“I’m gonna have an existential crisis if I found out you’ve been lying to me for my whole life,” Robbie exclaims and we all only laugh harder.

My backpack and coat fall to the floor with a heavy thud. With a yawn, I bend over to grab my things. The sound of chattering surrounds me. It slowly grows in volume as I sit there tiredly with my head down. I hear footsteps, laughs, and the scuffling of moved objects.

“Wake up!” a voice nudges at me. I groan angrily in response and hear laughter in response. I peek through a crack in my arm to find Ruby’s crazy red hair bobbing next to me. My newest friend from Criminology. “Just ‘cause we have a guest speaker today, doesn’t mean you can sleep.”

“Oh, that’s today?” I reply excitedly, returning to the warm cocoon of my arms.

“Yeah, but we still have to take notes. Ya know like last Wednesday when we had our first guest speaker? We had to write down questions for them, even if we don’t end up asking them. Alcott just wants us to get thinking and to well, pay attention. And not fall asleep like somebody! And then we have to write down 8 things that interested us, so get unpacking,” Ruby replies, her chipper voice drilling into my ears.

“Noooooo,” I moan, scrunching my face in secret.

I hear the door to the lecture hall close with a loud bang and Alcott laughs. “Alright, you lot, look alive. Our guest speaker has arrived and is ready to dazzle you this rainy Wednesday morning. Remember to be working on your page of ‘Ahas’ whilst he’s speaking. You’ll be passing it in at the end of class which is in 50 minutes,” Alcott announces. His Southern accent coming out in a few of his words.

“Shitttttt. I think I might like this guest speaker. Look at him, Becky. He is fineeeeeee,” Ruby whispers, elbowing me hard in the arm.

With a whimper, I sit up with a secret stretch. Combing my hair back, I rub at one of my eyes as they both struggle to focus.

“What, who’s fine? What’s fine?” another voice blurts out. I squint and look over to find Simon taking the seat on the other side of me. The little Criminology trio back together again.

“Not you being tardy, that’s not fine,” Ruby retorts with a smirk in her voice. I can’t help but smile. Simon flashes one at me as he combs a hand through his sandy hair after digging in his backpack.

“So without further ado, I’d like to introduce our guest speaker today. Harry Styles from Styles and Lawson. Let’s welcome Mr. Styles with open arms and give him our undivided attention, please.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumble under my breath, coaxing a confused ‘what’ from Ruby and Simon’s lips .

“Hullo, class. My name ‘s Harry Styles, but ya can call me Harry. Ummmmm as Professor Alcott said, ‘m from tha London law firm Styles and Lawson. Me mate, Myles Lawson, makes up tha otha half o’ tha firm. This year it’ll be 5 years since we started tha firm togetha, which ‘s bloody crazy t’ me. Before, it was his dad’s firm, and long story short, Myles an’ I got togetha an’ here we are. Anyways, I make me rounds in London talkin’ t’ law classes. I’ve always enjoyed speakin’ t’ tha incomin’ lawyers an’ tellin’ some o’ me stories. An’ me favorite part - answerin’ questions. I thought ‘d start with how I got into law, tho’.”

Shit. I really should’ve known this would happen.

“Nothing,” I reply. “J-just hand me a piece of paper and a pencil, please,” I say briskly to Ruby.

The last thing I want is to make a single sound that will bring attention to me. But it seems like the universe doesn’t really care lately what I want. I’m already trying to figure out my odds of him spotting me in the sea of 50-so students. Amongst 35 or so ogling girls. Typical.

But the more my eyes focus and my ears attune themselves, I lose myself. I knew it wasn’t a dream when I heard the first word from his mouth. I’d know that voice anywhere. But when my eyes finally focus on the towering figure standing at the front of the room, my eyes struggle. Gone are his long curly locks, and replacing them is a short and curly quiff. I try to ignore the somersaults my insides are doing, but it’s terribly difficult.

Taking a deep breath, I savor listening to the words fall from those smiling cherry lips. In that slow, calming voice. Never being able to remain in one place, he paces around the front of the room slowly. Clad in a gray suit with a black button down, I slowly melt next to Ruby. Who from her choice of words, is doing about the same. Just in a less graphically described way than her. I can’t blame her, because somehow he has only gotten more handsome over the last year.

“Isn’t he just so nice to look at?” she croons.

“Oh yes,” I reply without thinking, and she sighs happily.

Simon groans in disgust, shaking his head. I see him out of the corner of my eye playing with the lead in his pencil. He tries to take it out in one piece before putting it back in. Rinse and repeat.

I bite my lip and somehow tear my eyes away and to the paper sitting in front of me. I scribble my name across the top. Numbering my page, I write down the first ‘aha’ I have.

1. Renowned lawyer with his own firm at 28. Almost unheard of.

Tapping the pencil absently at my thigh, I return my attention to the front. Playing with the rings donning his hands, Harry continues with the story of how he came to be a lawyer. One I can’t say I’ve heard before. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he starts to walk again. Changing his focus from somebody in the front row, it suddenly floats up.

And lands on me.

Not only am I surprised, but so is he. The pencil between my fingers halts and altogether falls from my fingers. He stops mid sentence when his eyes lock with mine. My insides grow bubbly as a sparkle gleams in his eyes. I watch a grin unfold on his lips before he composes himself.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “I-I’m sorry, can somebody uh remind me what I was sayin’?”

Nervously, he combs a hand through his hair. Laughing, he thanks an eager girl in the front row when she reminds him. And soon enough, he’s back on track with a new nervousness to his voice, or excitement. I’m not sure which. And his eyes trail back to me after a few words, making a smile tickle at my lips.

Although hard, I look away and pretend to think of something to write. Feeling another pair of eyes on me, I look over and find Ruby’s hot on my cheek. I shrug at her jealous look and she just shakes her head. I laugh under my breath and she kicks me under the table.

I lose myself in Harry’s words for the rest of his talk, his maple syrupy voice like music to my ears.

He talks about starting his law firm with Myles.

Some of his favorite cases.

His first case.

His worst case.

His hardest case.

And then he goes on to answer questions. Ruby and I aren’t the only ones fawning over him, because most of the class is as well. Some girls are really flirting it up with Harry. He just relishes in the flattery, to no surprise. I try not to notice the few times he peeks at me when he looks for somebody to call on with a question.

“Why does he keep looking at you?” Ruby whispers to me as I write down another ‘aha.’ Some random takeaway from another story of his.

“How am I supposed to know?” I reply, twiddling with my pencil when I’m done. “Why don’t you ask him a question already? I can see the ants in your pants, Rube.”

“I don’t know, I think her question would be if he was single,” Simon jokes, garnering a few curse words from Ruby. I quietly laugh between their hushed argument.

“Well, ‘m gettin’ tha eye from Alcott, so I reckon that my time’s up with you lot. Thanks fer havin’ me an’ hopefully I wasn’t too boring t’ listen to,” Harry concludes at the front of the lecture hall.

I pretend I don’t hear Simon’s griping next to me. I can’t help but smile as I slide my backpack onto my shoulders.

“Not so fast, everybody. What do we say to Mr. Styles for speaking to our class today?” Professor Alcott pipes up. I join in on the class-wide thank you as I hand Ruby her pencil back.

“I bet you’ll be awake and ready for Wednesday lectures from now on,” she says, winking at me.

I roll my eyes with a grin as I start down the steps beside her. “Like you’re any better. I saw you both drooling from the corner of my eye,” Simon remarks.

“Maybe,” I say quietly, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my pullover quarter zip. The last syllable falls from my lips as my eyes pan over to find his head of dark curls.

Nearly at the uppermost row, my view wasn’t the best. As I near closer to him, his features sharpen and with the realization, my heart squeezes in my chest. Light stubble coats his dimpled cheeks as he smiles talking to a classmate of mine.

I’m only a few footsteps from the bottom now, following the slow line of people who are leaving. The angel and demon, for lack of better words, argue inside of my head. Should I go and say hi?

Yeah, why not?

No, why would you?

It would be rude if you didn’t.

It would be weird if you did.

But there are a handful of girls around him probably already flirting with him.

With an indecisive sigh, I clench my fists inside of my pockets. The two opposites inside of me clash, and I truly have no idea what to do. His card the other day was so kind and thoughtful. But I was a bitch the last time I saw him. I can’t believe it’ll be a year in two short months since I quit. Wow.

“I dunno why they’re bothering, it looks like he’s taken,” Simon snickers, earning a flick on the head from Ruby. “Don’t be a bitch just because I pointed out the truth. Can’t shoot the bloody messenger, Rube.”

I don’t intervene when Ruby chases after Simon to the door. Suddenly my feet stop around the corner from the stairs. Only a few more steps and he’d be out of my sight.

Again.

For who knows how long until next time.

I can’t take my eyes off of him. He really looks like he’s enjoying himself talking to law students. Up close, he really has grown more handsome over the last 11 months. I never thought that could be possible. Smiles crease his cheeks.And light up his eyes.

But when his left hand habitually goes to fix his quiff of curls, I see the gold ring Simon saw. He wore rings, but never that one. It’s like my heart is brought up from the bottom of the lake where it’s been, and takes another nose dive back down.

“Becky!” somebody calls for me. I blink and almost think it’s him. But when I look around for the culprit, I find Simon walking up to me.

I find it hard to squash the disappointment weighing inside of me. That it’s not Harry.

“Sorry, Si. W-what’d you say?” I reply, tearing my eyes away from Harry.

“Don’t look so sad he’s taken,” Si jokes quietly, putting an arm around me and squeezing my shoulder. I force a smile and walk to the door with him. “Wanna go get a coffee? Maybe that’ll cheer you up,” he suggests happily, his voice echoing in the hall to the door.

“Yeah sure,” I respond slowly, unsure of my words. I let him guide me out of the lecture hall and into the busy hallways.

Wow, Harry, you moved on from Amber that quick, huh? I think to myself with knitted brows and self-doubt. Swallowing, I try to push the nagging thought away. But I can’t, and I find myself barely able to carry on a conversation with Simon.

I thought seeing Harry in my lecture was one of the sweetest surprises. Instead, it feels like a happy dream that turned into a nightmare at the end.

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triple-a-enderdragon · 5 years

Text

Meet the Locals!

Hermits, in this AU, come in three different flavors; avatars, those who were given magic, and those who have magic of their own.

Avatars: Hermits who have had the (mis)fortune of being chosen by an Element, beings who represent different aspects of the world (more on these guys later). Avatars can channel the power of their Element and have certain related abilities. This is elaborated in each individual avatar’s infodump.

Given: Hermits who have obtained magic via other superpowered beings other than the Elements. Their powers and abilities vary greatly.

Personally Obtained: Hermits who were either born with their magic or obtained it without the intervention of any superpowered being. Again, their powers and abilities vary greatly.

Hermits! In (kinda) alphabetical order!

Bdubs: Flavor 3; can manipulate space and distance, but in small areas. He can make these changes “permanent”, most prominently in his builds; or temporary. He mainly uses it as a way to travel more quickly and safely between locations. The larger the area, the longer the time held, and the more dramatic the change, the faster he tires out. However, the small area of his builds and the subtlety of the magic used makes these permanently sustainable.

Biffa: Secret flavor 4; but he’s the only one. He has no “real” magic, but his stubbornness to not die is magical on its own. Biffa originally came from an...interesting world. It was a hardcore world, meaning perma-death. This world had a gladiator-style arena that he never left (until he left that world). He was thrown into fights constantly, which led to the almost total (violent) removal and replacement of his fleshy bits. He is about 90% cybernetic and can become a bloodthirsty little monster. That’s why he’s on the Strike Team! Known as the Berserker, he is the frontal assault in most confrontations, drawing the attention away from the flankers, Iskall and Python. His fighting style may seem random and haphazard, but it is well structured and takes full advantage of his metal body. As an ST member, he has special weapons, two axes and a greatsword.

Cub: Flavor 2; Bestowed with Vex magic alongside Scar and is an OP. Cub, besides having handy mechanic-exploiting knowledge, has some control over the elusive magic of the Vexes. He knows not of the true nature of how he and Scar came about it. Cub’s speciality is utility magic and he mostly uses it to test the limits of the world around him. Because the magic can be volatile, he (and Scar) must use a focus or risk great damage to himself. Cub’s focus is a fairly small sphere of translucent quartz that, over time, has grown small cracks of a suspiciously light blue material.

Docm: Flavor 1; Avatar of Redstone, whether she knows it or not. Frankly, whether he knows it or not, either. ~Once upon a time~, Doc was a regular researcher, doing regular researcher things. Until one day. An explosion rips through the facility, fusing several things together. Two of those things being Doc and a creeper. Also, he lost some body bits as well. This explosion drew the attention of Redstone (an Element!), who had been watching him closer than she normally would (read: at all), took pity on him and replaced his lost body bits with some snazzy redstone bits. Needless to say she didn’t expect that would make him her avatar. She then went back to minding her own business. Or, at least, trying to. Something about Doc is just...captivating. Can’t be this avatar business. Oh no. ANYWAY. Doc can manipulate redstone. Fun! He can also feel the circuits and how they work, allowing him to make incredibly accurate diagnoses of other hermits’ redstone circuits. He also has a weird and exceptional way with a channeling trident...

Evil Xisuma: Flavor 1; Avatar of Void, kind of an accident. EX came into being when Void made a very bad mistake. Void saw all these Elements with their avatars and decided they wanted one. (bad reason, but oh well.) Xisuma just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would have gone smoothly (if X consented. He probably would have), but someone else didn’t. The world guardian smacked Void back into their place, but not before they took a bit of X with them. The piece of X’s soul that Void stole became EX, kind of an avatar, kinda not. EX lives in the void of the End, between the death layer and Oblivion. He catches (and sometimes collects) whatever falls in. If hermits ask nicely, then he may return some items they have lost, but he rarely does this as most of their things aren’t collection-worthy. His favorite collection is of souls, those that somehow ended up below the death layer.

False: Flavor 3; Has powers over enchantments. False is the champ of PVP; the only other hermits that can hold their own against her is Iskall and Biffa. Her preferred weapon is the bow, in which she is unparalleled. Some time ago, between world 4 and 5, she (and Iskall) were pulled to The UHC to compete. False won (no surprise), but she was forced to stay behind to watch Iskall fight through (and win) the next round. During the upset of his “win”, she slipped away to the 5th world. False hasn’t told him what she saw in that 2nd UHC. Switching gears, False is Commander of the Strike Team, and so that is her alias. While very capable at PVP, she is the only member who can strategize on the fly; such that she takes her super special bow to high ground and controls the field as a chessboard. If things get really dire, she can supercharge the enchantments of one (or all) of the boys and essentially make them unstoppable for a short period of time. She cannot do this for very long and is completely vulnerable the entire time. That’s why Wels is there!

GTWScar: Flavor 2; Bestowed with Vex magic alongside Cub. Scar is the one to bring Vex magic down on him and Cub. He knows it is not a gift, but a pact. In order to gain the protection of the Vex, he had to essentially pledge himself to them. His relation to them is very Avatar-like in nature. Most of the time he can do his own thing, but occasionally the Vex will guide him to do something, as stated in the pact. Where Cub has the less intrusive utility magic, Scar has the more intense evocation magic.

Grian: Flavor 1; Avatar of Air. Has wings! Now, I know what you’re thinking. ~Evo~, right? Well, I grant you but a taste and nothing else. Grian lived in Evo for a while, went through all that, became a baby watcher and everything, then vanished. A certain something has found the crown jewel to its collection. A trade, it proposed. You can come and join me. No unnecessary restrictions will be upon you. No benchmarks. No goals, other than your own. In return, you will be a blank slate. I will not tolerate a being tainted by Them. I guess it was a bit taken aback by how enthusiastically Grian agreed. He remembers nothing of Evo (except that something happened), or of the deal. He is the brand new avatar of Air, as he had shown exceptional flying skills and no fear of heights. Without the need for rockets to stay airborne and an inherently curious personality, Grian has very quickly become the air equivalent to Iskall’s ground scouting.

iJevin: Flavor 3; Has various slimy powers. Slime has alchemical properties. Jevin is a slime. Full stop. Okay, not full stop. But he is a slime, just a really weird, blue, potentially one-of-a-kind one. He wasn’t created in a lab, but he was found and dumped in one to “be studied”. Unfortunately for the researchers, Jevin was also very sentient. And sentient slimes don’t like to be “researched”. So he left. He managed to (very poorly) disguise himself as human and waltz out the door. Whilst exploring worlds, he discovered some very interesting properties of his slime. When used in potion-making, it can enhance the properties of the potions significantly. To the annoyance of the other hermits, he prefers to make poisons and other negative-effect potions. They have to coerce him to make more beneficial ones. The other hermits don’t know their drinking Jevin-juice. Shh, don’t tell them.

Impulse: Flavor 2 & 3; Is an OP and has mob wrangling powers. More useful than it sounds. Impulse seems to just have a way with mobs. Unlike Ren or Cleo, he can’t control or talk to them; which makes this even more mysterious. Mobs just...behave differently around him. There’s a reason he always has a trading hall within days of getting to a new world.

Iskall: Flavor 1; Avatar of Diamond. A bit unhappy about it. (jus’ a bit). Iskall’s early days hail from hardcore worlds, where he had to hone his PVP and tracking skills to survive. Between worlds 4 and 5, he (along with False) were pulled into The UHC. He and False had two very different experiences. Long story short, in a battle against another skilled PVPer, Iskall lost his left eye. Upon winning, he became MIA for several hours before following a trail, left by False, to the hermits’ fifth world, now sporting a shiny new eye. This shiny new eye gives him control over all things diamond. If it’s gear he made, full control. If it’s gear someone else made, partial control. He can detect other people if they’re wearing diamond gear. He can also detect diamond ore in a 5 chunk radius around himself, 16 if he’s concentrating. All these cool abilities come with a downside; if his eye is removed, he will not survive long without it. Iskall is a member of the Strike team, dubbed the Hunter, due to his unmatched tracking skills. Along with Python, he is a flanker. Iskall’s preferred weapon is the glave, because polearms are awesome. Also, how can he thrive in such cold biomes? This man’s a walking furnace I tell ya. The downside is that he can’t stay in the Nether too long or he’ll start to overheat.

Joe: Flavor 3; Can cast Suggestion at will and always succeeds. Basically, Joe can subtly influence peoples’ emotions, always in the interest of safety and diplomacy. Okay, that’s not entirely true; he also does it to confuse and befuddle. He’s very good at that. Another thing he’s good at is healing. Joe is the resident medic. While other hermits, (Iskall and Wels), have rudimentary medical knowledge, it’s mostly field dressing. Joe has a more extensive knowledge of long-term treatments. He is the one wrangling Jevin to produce beneficial potions.

Keralis: Flavor 3; Hypnosis. Look into my eyes. Nothing but my eyes. Keralis can captivate one person at a time with his gaze, but once captured, he cannot look away without breaking his hold.

Mumbo: Flavor 3; Can alter reality, but doesn’t know it. Whatever he believes will happen (or not), will happen. Mumbo may possibly be the most powerful hermit; he can unknowingly alter the outcome of whatever he’s thinking about just by believing in his new reality. The catch? He can’t do it at will. Thus, he can never know about it. The only person who knows about it is Xisuma, and only after some intense investigation over several worlds. Aside from that Mumbo is well-versed in redstone, and is better at it than he thinks. His problem? What he thinks becomes reality.

Python: Flavor 3; If he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t. No matter what. Not invisibility, I swear. Camouflage!! Python was apart of someone’s attempt to make attack creepers; an unsuccessful venture. You’d think he’d be more chameleon or something with how well he can blend in with his surroundings, but no. Python is a member of the Strike Team. While he’s not as good as Iskall at tracking, Python is (predictably) better in the stealth department, earning him the alias Assassin. He moves much like a viper, striking with his twin daggers before his target has time to react. He works exceedingly well with his fellow flanker, Iskall, to take down all sorts of enemies.

Ren: Flavor 1; Avatar of Life. Can speak with animals and can turn into a massive grey wolf. ‘S pretty cool. Ren came to be an avatar out of desperation, and Life was the only one who could help him. It’s not quite what he expected, but it’s pretty cool all the same. He can communicate with animals and can even, at the right moment, become one. His favorite shape to take it that of a grey wolf.

Stress: Flavor 1 & 3; Lucky girl! Or is she? Avatar of Water and a certain magenta surprise later on. Stress became Water’s avatar almost as a second thought. There’s a reason she’s known as the Ice Queen and not the Water Queen; Water neglected to give Stress full access to her powers, as the Element is much like Redstone; keeping to herself. Not that this hinders Stress in anyway, she is still a force to be reckoned with. She doesn’t feel the cold and experiences no ill effects from prolonged exposure.

Tango: Flavor 1; Avatar of Fire. He ain’t too happy about it either. Tango became and avatar in a similar fashion to Ren, except he turned down Fire’s proposition, saying he’d rather die. To which Fire replied, “You are in the Nether. You die here, you are mine irregardless.” Needless to say Tango’s still a bit salty about that whole ordeal. At least he can spend more time in his favorite dimension, the Nether! Impulse and Zedaph often find him taking a dip in lava or sleeping in a bed of his own flames. On the heat scale, if Iskall is a furnace, then Tango is a miniature sun.

TFC: Flavor 1; Avatar of Earth; but at this point, they’ve pretty much become one. Tfc is the wrangler of the other Elements as Earth is the oldest one around. At this point TFC and Earth have bonded to the point where they are almost indistinguishable from each other. Of course, hermits can still tell if it’s TFC or Earth talking. Usually it’s TFC; Earth only comes out when absolutely necessary. Since they are bonded together so completely, TFC can bring out the pure, raw power that Earth has to offer, something that no other avatar can claim.

Wels: Flavor 2; Made a pact with an entity eons ago. He can never be defeated as long as he is protecting someone. Well, not so much a pact as a promise. Wels gave his word to this entity that he would always protect those who need it most, and in return the entity’s power would shield him from death for as long as he protects someone. Even with this protection, he has to be careful; once the conditions have passed, he will succumb to any fatal wounds he sustained over the fight. To counter this, Wels has gotten incredibly skilled at defensive battle. He may not be an attacker like the rest of the Strike Team, but his sword and board tactics have come in handy more times than one can count, earning him the alias Bastion. False owes him her life several times, when he protected her as she unleashed her magic.

Xisuma: Flavor 2; Admin! Admin powers are granted as host of each world’s resident guardian. Xisuma handles all of the behind the scenes, keeping an eye out for anomalies, sending Iskall to investigate “visitors”, generally making sure everything is running as smoothly as possible. A while ago, X had a runin with Void. Long story short, EX came into existence and left X missing a piece of himself. Because of this, he often finds himself forgetting simple things, like conversations or bits of projects. He has also had to enhance his helmet to help his breathing, as he now finds the overworld and Nether atmospheres to be too oppressive.

Zedaph: Flavor 3; No magic can affect him. That’s it. Even Mumbos’ reality-changing ability can’t touch him. Zed is the much-needed keystone in the midst of all the magic running around this world. Even he doesn’t know the full extent of his magic-negating ability, except that it hasn’t truly been tested yet.

ZCleo: Flavor 3; Due to a glitch years ago, Cleo is now a zombie. She can talk sense into undead mobs. Cleo was once a normal person. Well, as normal as she gets. What I’m saying is she wasn’t a zombie yet. But a glitch happened years ago at the exact moment when she (and other people in different worlds) died and respawned, trapping her between life and undeath. She took this very well, immediately trolling any hermit she could find. Cleo has expressed a preference to being undead, as the only mobs she has to worry about now are creepers and spiders. Occasionally a limb will fall off, but she takes it in stride.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #lore #hermit lore #time to strike back #ttsb #third stop #AND WE'RE OFF

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horrormaestro-aa · 5 years

Text

˗ˏˋ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓 ˎˊ˗

repost , don’t reblog !

BASICS.

full name. ariel juliet torrance. pronunciation. ah – re – el ju – li – et torr – ance. nickname. jackie ( preferred name ) , jacks / jax gender. cis female height. 5′3 age. 30 zodiac. aquarius spoken languages. english ( native ) , american sign language , french ( fluent in both )

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color. black , often balayaged with different colors. most notably silver – blonde. eye color. deep chocolate brown. skin tone. extremely pasty pale. body type. curvy , thicc but not necessarily considered overweight by society. she’s got an ample bust & thick hips with a pronounced buttock. accent. subtle upper maine accent with a slightly more french canadian sound to it. voice. she can be a bit loud & obnoxious at times , but her voice normally is rather soothing. dominant hand. right. posture. she slouches a lot , sometimes forward & sometimes back in her seat. scars. several , several self – harm scars on her inner thighs from her teenage years. tattoos. left ribs , ring fingers , thumbs , underboob birthmarks. not applicable most noticeable feature(s). mesmerizing eyes & plump pouty lips.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. castle rock , maine hometown. castle rock , maine birth weight. 6 pounds , 14 ounces. birth height. 18 inches. manner of birth. vaginal. first words. da – da. siblings. none. parents. william & madelaine torrance. parental involvement. until she was five , both parents were extremely involved. she was raised by both of them & doted on as an only child. however , after her father committed suicide , her mother was distant. she had to pick up more jobs & that left her with a babysitter or on her own a lot. & then after she got out of control ( due to her shine & not understanding it ) her mom completely stopped any sort of parental involvement. she really detached from ariel , as it just reminded her of how much damage the torrance family & name had done. & she was selfish in how it affected the view of her.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. investigative journalist. current residence. frazier , new hampshire. this is entirely verse dependent , however. close friends. isadora novak ( @ownsherlife ) & her cousin , dan torrance ( @neverreallyend ). ( these two apply to every arc & interaction ) relationship status. single & she’d rather be murdered than commit. financial status. middle – class. driver’s license. yes. criminal record. assault & battery , disturbing the peace ( both from bar fights when she drank ) vices. abusing opioids & xanax , alcohol ( for most verses she’s sober 2 + years as of now ) , sex

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. hyper pansexual romantic orientation. grey panromantic. preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch libido. extremely high turn on’s. biting / scratching / slapping , blood play , breath play , calling her male partners ‘ daddy ’ , commands , degradation , hair pulling , older men in general , praise turn off’s. bodily fluids ( you know , the ones that are 100% not sexy ) , humiliation , poor hygiene , “ slut shaming ” love language. it’s rare , if it ever happens , but should she opt to show any sort of affection : hand holding , quiet moments where neither she nor her partner say anything but it isn’t needed , resting her head on your chest , running fingers through your hair , spooning , staying as opposed to leaving after sex relationship tendencies. you have to have a truly profound impact on her. one nighters are more than likely all you’ll find her engaging in. however , it’s not impossible to have a relationship with her. but you have to be patient & let her open up on her own time. she struggles with a lot of trauma & has a ton of baggage. if she doesn’t feel like you can handle it , a relationship isn’t happening.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. she doesn’t have just one , so here’s a tiny playlist below :

“ i do ” – cardi b

“ no one’s gonna ever love u ” – delacey ( @ her exes )

“ play with fire ” – sam tinnesz

“ rage ” – rico nasty

“ tempo ” – lizzo

hobbies to pass time. drawing / painting / sketching , photography , practicing witchcraft , reading , watching true crime documentaries mental illnesses. borderline personality disorder , generalized anxiety disorder , insomnia , night terrors ( diagnosed , but this is actually part of her shine ) , post – traumatic stress disorder. physical illnesses. endometriosis , prone to blackouts & convulsions during intense visions from her shine. left or right-brained. right. fears. abandonment , claustrophobia , irrational fear of insanity self – confidence level. extremely low , but she’s become an expert at masking it as coming off almost arrogant. vulnerabilities. anyone she grows to care about enough to say she loves them. particularly her cousin , dan. if something were to happen to him , she would lose her mind. he’s the only family she has & the only family she’s ever known to truly love her for who she is.

tagged. @polowac ( thank you , bby ! ) tagging. steal it ! be gay ! do crime !

#˗ˏˋ 𝑖𝑐. ˎˊ˗ i push you to the darkness just to pull you back to light ⁄ headcanon.#˗ˏˋ 𝑜𝑜𝑐. ˎˊ˗ dude are you five ? yeah five inches deep in your mom ⁄ dash games.#suicide mention cw #mental health cw #daddy kink cw #self harm mention cw

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 years

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P through T!!!!

Easy as 1, 2, 3 || –

P = parent (what kind of parent would they be?)

“I… I no can have children,” she says softly.She swallows hard and feels that empty hollow in the pit of her belly. She’d been diagnosed almost twenty years ago ~where had the time gone? when did she come close to approaching 30~ with a rare condition that not only robbed her of that, but that might in the future trigger other issues.

But she’d like to think she would have been a good mother, loving and kind. She’d support her children and always make sure they knew they were safe and loved and the most important people in her life. She would have been patient. She would have been involved.

Essentially, the diametric opposite of her own parents.

Q = questions (do they believe in the super natural? Aliens? Anything along those lines)

“I mean, doesn’t everyone? Even jus’ a lil bit?”Her culture was rife with Gods that still walked amongst the people, with everything having a spirit of it’s own, and a healthy respect for everything of the earth, heavens, and beyond. She absolutely believed in ghosts and faeries, in shape-changers and great unknown beasts. But she was not completely willing to admit to it.

R = romantic (are they romantic during the relationship?)

“Like t’ believe once I meet da righ’ person…we fit t’geddah like two half of a coin, ya know. Compliment’ry, infinite, passionate, but friends too. Share some t’ings but wi’ room t’geddah t’ grow.”She imagined she’d be like a heroine in one of those old movies she loved so much as a kid, or in the stories she read, even though she knows that’s not really possible. Real life wasn’t movies or books, but she could hope.

S = smile (what makes them smile without fail)

“Hundred percent of da time? Dad jokes.”Because they were often the only jokes she actually got. Most of them went over her head, or were really mean, or some permutation of those. But most of the time, dad jokes were honest, decent and clean both in content and in connection.

T = together (how clingy are they? How long do you two spend together per day on average)

Astrid reminds Beth of a kind of alien, haole version of Haumea, the great mother. Goddess of childbirth and fertility that even when she was young, Beth prayed too. The mother of Madam Pele. Of Kāne and Kā-moho-aliʻi, of Nāmaka and Hiʻiaka. In some ways, like other mother figures, Gaia and the like. And maybe…Beth is jealous of her.She hears the song of Life in her head all the time. Can weave it with expert fingers to heal and harm as she pleases…but she avoids the temptation of its darker aspects, but for all of that…she can’t…fix herself.

And Astrid offers. Of course she does.Some day, Beth might just say yes.For now, she’s content to garden with the woman. Enjoy stories of other worlds she may never visit.

#Mahalo!P <33 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #theholyandthedamned

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queenofthefaces · 6 years

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For psyche we had to do a project abt our development and shit, so for one: I was the CUTEST baby

And 2 I was such a DIFFERENT kid oof,,,,,jus hearing what my mom had to say abt how o acted and shit? Comparing myself andmy development to other kids?

When I was 3 months old I wanted to be mostly left alone and I didn’t like to be held and that’s like a defining part of Me, I need my silence and solitude

I was fluently reading and writing and talking in complete sentences by two—I was correcting grammar by TWO. And I had a logical reason for EVERYTHING I did. My mom had to COMPROMISE with me when she punished me bc I wouldn’t be satisfied until I felt I was being treated fairly, and I wouldn’t listen unless I knew WHY I had to act a certain way

Teachers talked to me like they’d talk to adults, not in topic but in tone

We had silent lunch tables which were desks far away from the other kids where you’d go if you were disrupting other kids and I ASKED to go there bc I wanted to not be bothered while I ate and I wanted the silence

I was a loner bc I liked being on my own with my books and my thoughts and it was hard for me to find kids who were, as my mom put it “on my level” bc I couldn’t really talk to them all the time

I was and still am honest to a fault; I rarely ever lied bc I didn’t see the point of it, and I valued the truth above all else. If I thought something was true I was going to say it. I was overly BLUNT and at times I hurt people bc I said smth that was cruel or hurtful but I didn’t MEAN it to be, I just thought it was saying something true and that ppl needed to know the truth. I didn’t get why they were hurt

I can still to this day be harshly oblivious and struggle w reading between the lines when it comes to, like, household chores. If you tell me to do smth I’ll do it, but you can’t just expect me to do it if I haven’t been assigned the task bc I assume if I wasn’t told to do it that someone else will do it?? Or t just won’t cross my mind a lot of the time??

Or if my brain catches smth I think is illogical it will cling to that and I’ll repeat it until it’s acknowledged bc it will stick with me, and sometimes social politeness goes completely over my head—ESPECIALLY when people offer to do smth for me. Why offer if you don’t actually want to do it??? Don’t expect me to lie and say I DOKT want a sandwich

I stim a lot, I fidget and rock and rub my hands and chew things sometimes, I have anxiety that comes up mainly around needles and unfamiliar social situations and conflict

I go through phases where I’m extremely invested in smth I like and if you go through my blog you can easily see where my phases start and stopbased on just how much content I reblog and at the frequency. I talk too much about things I’m passionate about and can go on and on for hours. Sometimes I talk too much and I’m insecure about that but I just love to talk

My mom’s brother likely has undiagnosed something. My mom grew up with him, learned his mannerisms, learned that they’re just a part of who he is, and then she had me, and knew how to deal with me a lot in part because of her experience with him, then she started working with the special ed program at the elementary school

My mom told me, if she ever bothered to get me checked as a kid, they probably would’ve diagnosed me with something too

Sometimes that just sticks with me.

#creo talks #long post #vent #oof ahsjsjsjdkkkflgl ive been thinking abt this for a Long Time #im alsoincredibly uncomfortable with change oof #i havent gotten new social media in so long #and i havent watched ang bew shows and my attentjon span can just go out turbwindow at times like that

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nope-body · 3 years

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It’s sad that the php program I went to was considered really good by pretty much everyone. Because it wasn’t, not really. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as the horror stories that seem to be the norm, but it wasn’t good.

Problems with it:

First, every kid there was viewed as a problem to be solved. It wasn’t stated outright, but that was pretty clear based on how we were treated, assessed, and categorized.

The treatment was the same for everyone with extremely minor variations based on your diagnoses, and it only addressed the symptoms. We were taught coping skills in levels, but with no rhyme or reason to what was being taught. Anyone who had been there for more than two weeks could basically teach the lesson, and that happened quite a few times. The three levels of skills were basically:

-I’m ok and trying to stay that way (basic self care)

-I’m not ok but not in crisis, trying to get to ok (correct unhelpful thinking and symptoms of mental illnesses)

-I’m in crisis and need to calm down (in the moment coping skills- breathing, grounding exercises, etc)

The problem with this was that everyone there was in the program because they were almost always in crisis. Nothing was taught about how to maintain your basic needs if you’re not ok, and that’s the most important thing in treating mental illnesses.

They took a very “all or nothing” stance on basically everything, from self care and coping to simply learning or functioning.

If you weren’t able to do x coping mechanism the way they taught, it’s useless. If you’re not doing well, you can’t be happy. If you’re in crisis you can only use the crisis level skills. If you’re not paying attention you’re not learning and you can’t use the skill.

The irony here is that they loved teaching in sliding scales and shades of grey. Your mood is on a scale of 1-10, you aren’t expected to complete most of the exercises (half of them you’re not even given enough time to complete anyway), and more. But while they say that everything is in shades of grey, it must fall into one of their three boxes of ‘grey’- white, black, and grey. No other colors, no tints, no transparency or stripes or anything. And when you have a classroom of kids with a variety of different issues and an even larger variety of symptoms and severities, you can’t sort people into three, or even five boxes.

They also used diagnoses as boxes, which makes sense at first, but falls apart under scrutiny.

All the kids with anxiety or ocd were put on the ‘exposure therapy’ track. What they didn’t take into account was how anxiety or ocd is impacted by other mental illnesses, the symptoms we had, or what caused our anxiety/ocd in the first place. I was there because of my anxiety. However, the first thing they did was ask me what activities gave me how much anxiety- something I don’t really know. Because of my adhd, I have lots of difficulty understanding what I’m feeling and the intensity of it, and I have a bad memory. So asking me to remember what I felt and how much is something I really struggle with.

Also, it’s jus not at all structured. There’s lessons throughout the day and the occasional small-group group therapy thing that you’re placed into based on what mental illnesses you have in addition to depression. I got exposure therapy for ADHD and OCD. Traumatized me so much that I now refuse to try exposure therapy unless I am doing it on my own with no therapeutic oversight. You also get pulled out randomly. Sometimes with no warning, sometimes it’s something you know is coming up but specific days and times are never said. Also, even if they are, they are rarely (if ever) kept to. There seems to be no communication between the staff at all, and especially not between the large group counselors and the one-on-one specialists.

I could go on and on about it, but in short, it sucks. It wasn’t designed with anyone other than the stereotypically depressed student in mind, and its main goal is to get you used to a classroom setting so you can be a functional student. Helping you maintain your long-term mental health isn’t even on their radar, their goal is to get you to be good enough to leave.

#an old old rant from when I had just left compass #but it may be helpful to a specific someone (you know who you are) now #your feelings about it are valid and you are not the only one who feels this way

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alicecpacheco · 4 years

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Extraction with an electric motor-driven handpiece may still cause subcutaneous emphysema - A case report

Journal of Dental Sciences

Available online 24 November 2020

In Press, Corrected ProofWhat are Corrected Proof articles?

Correspondence

Extraction with an electric motor-driven handpiece may still cause subcutaneous emphysema - A case report

Author links open overlay panelBo-JenChiou†Shan-JuChou†Dennis Chun-YuHoChih-YuanFang

Cite

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jds.2020.11.009Get rights and content

Under a Creative Commons license

open access

Keywords

Subcutaneous emphysema

Extraction complication

Dental iatrogenic disease

Dental high-speed equipment

Subcutaneous emphysema (SE) in the head and neck region is a rare iatrogenic complication from oral surgery, restorative dentistry, endodontic, and periodontal treatments.1,2 The air-driven air- turbine handpiece was responsible for most SE events. Patients with SE show noticeable swelling and discomfort where air has penetrated into subcutaneous tissue. Differential diagnosis of SE from anaphylactic reactions or angioedema is crepitus on palpation and timing. In severe cases, SE can spread and cause respiratory or cardiac distress.3 However, most SE cases resolve within 3–5 days without complications.

This article reported a case of SE around the paraorbital and submandibular regions through extractions of teeth 28 and 38. This 20-year-old man came to the emergency room at night with the major complaint of pain and discomfort during swallowing. Sudden swelling at his left face during extractions of teeth 28 and 38 three hours ago was mentioned. The original surgeon who performed the odontectomy was aware of the SE after removing the surgical drape and specific post-operation instructions were given as follows: immediate hospital care may be needed if the patient encountered difficulties in swallowing or any worsen complications or discomfort. The surgeon was uncertain whether using the electric motor-driven handpiece during tooth extraction was the main cause of SE. Lacking the ability to differentiate between difficulties in swallowing or post-operation discomfort, the patient decided to visit our hospital for further help. Physical examination revealed that everything was within normal range, except the swelling at the left paraorbital and submandibular regions with typical crepitus on palpation and minor discomfort. Thus, the SE during and after teeth extraction was diagnosed (Fig. 1A). Both the left upper and lower extraction wounds were primarily closed with sutures, no sign of inflammation or swelling was noted at either the tonsil or lingual area, and hemostasis was obtained. Panoramic radiograph showed no obvious jawbone lesion (Fig. 1B). The patient was kept under observation for 1.5 h and then granted permission to leave due to absence of further complications. Oral administration of 1 tablet of amoxicillin/clavulanic acid (875/125 mg/tablet, Curam®) every 12 h, 1 tablet of diclofenac potassium (25 mg/tablet, Cataflam®) three times a day, and dexamethasone (0.5 mg/tablet, Dexazone®) three times a day were prescribed to the patient for 3 days. Patient was later followed at the previous surgeon's local dental clinic after 3 days and signs and symptoms of SE were resolved.

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Figure 1. Clinical and radiographic photographs of the patient. (A) Extra-oral appearance of the patient showing the swelling at the left paraorbital and submandibular regions during and after extractions of teeth 28 and 38. (B) Panoramic radiograph showing intact lamina dura of the extraction sockets and no obvious jawbone lesion.

Tooth extraction-related SE is often caused by using air-driven/air-turbine high speed handpiece. Although some suggestions were raised for preventing extraction complications,4 using electric-driven, sonic/ultrasonic or non-vented high-speed devices for surgical extraction is the best method preventing the occurrence of SE.5 In this case, even though electric motor driven handpiece was used, SE still occurred. That was probably caused by the air from the water-cooling system of the handpiece (from the dental unit) which the surgeon did not notice. This issue was later confirmed by him. It is better to check if there is extra air vented forward from the handpiece before using a new device. By giving antibiotic, analgesic, and corticosteroids, SE can be effectively managed without the need for surgical intervention, but prevention is still the best policy.

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madisonacampbell · 4 years

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Via the ACLU: The Short Life and Curious Death of Free Speech in America

The Short Life and Curious Death of Free Speech in America

No one expected their words to be enlightening or their tone harmonious. Hatred rarely comes in such flavors. It spills out as an ugly, incoherent mess infused with the rotten odor of willful ignorance. And so it was with the Nazi wannabes — self-styled white supremacists determined to make their mark on the world, committed to convincing anyone who might listen that their superiority was both evident and inevitable. The setting was downtown Charlottesville, Virginia, August 2017. Their mission was unity — of like-minded hate mongers. Their leader, Jason Kessler, was a 33-year-old who lived with his parents and had once supported Barack Obama. He had learned that many demographers thought whites would eventually become a minority race in the United States. That news was so unsettling that Kessler remade himself into a white-rights activist. He styled himself as “a civil and human rights advocate, focused on the Caucasian demographic” in the mode of “Jesus Christ or Mahatma Gandhi.” His “Unite the Right” rally, observed the Christian Science Monitor, “was supposed to be the movement’s coming out party, an emergence from the shadows of internet chat rooms into the national spotlight.” Kessler was inspired in part by fellow University of Virginia graduate and white supremacist Richard Spencer who, in May 2017, led a band of racists in Charlottesville chanting “Russia is our friend” and “Blood and soil,” a Nazi-inspired slogan. Why they were enamored of Russia is anyone’s guess; I presume it had something to do with President Trump. The reason for the Nazi chant was evident; they thought it allowed them to channel the spirit of General Robert E. Lee, who had abandoned the U.S. Army in a doomed quest to preserve race-based slavery in the South. Charlottesville’s leaders recently had voted to remove Lee’s statue from the downtown park that no longer carried his name. Spencer and his crew opposed that effort and everything they thought it implied, including hostility to the legacy of whiteness. The Loyal White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan were similarly motivated by the perceived threat to American whiteness. Its members — 50 strong — converged on Charlottesville that July to march around and shout “white power” as hundreds of counter protesters responded with “racists go home.” How did the mad ravings of a bunch of intellectually confused, racially paranoid misfits end up spurring a national debate over the limits of free speech, the meaning of the First Amendment, and the moral obligation of the president of the United States? One reason is that — despite Kessler’s efforts to cast himself as the Martin Luther King Jr. of white rights — the rally engendered fears of made-for-TV-scale violence. As news of the event spread, and some sense of its size became clear, several local businesses announced they would temporarily close out of concern for the safety of their customers and employees. The University of Virginia, located in Charlottesville, asked students to stay away. Many rally participants showed up armed with rifles and other deadly weapons (thanks to Virginia’s open carry laws). Indeed, even before the rally’s scheduled noon start time, Kessler’s congregation had ignited so much hostility and ugliness that local authorities labeled the gathering an “illegal assembly” and ordered participants to leave. In the end, the racist, anti-Semitic hate-fest caused three deaths. Two of the dead were state troopers. Berke Bates and H. Jay Cullen, assigned to monitor the gathering from the sky, died when their helicopter crashed. The third victim was Heather Heyer, a 32-year-old paralegal. James Alex Fields Jr., a 20-year-old Adolf Hitler fanatic from Ohio, killed Heyer by intentionally plowing his car into a crowd of counter protesters — injuring some 19 people in addition to Heyer, who died from blunt-force injury to her chest. Following the tragedy, Donald Trump famously condemned the “hatred, bigotry, and violence on many sides.” His words provoked a controversy that went on for months as Trump proved incapable of criticizing the racist mob without also condemning those who opposed it. Heyer’s mother, Susan Bro, was so sickened by the president’s words that she refused to take his condolence call. “I’m sorry. After what he said about my child,” Bro told CNN, and added, incredulously, “I saw an actual clip of him at a press conference equating the [counter] protesters … with the KKK and the white supremacists.” James Fields’ lawyers sought mitigation by stressing his history of mental illness. A psychologist testified that he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 6 and later with schizoid personality disorder. His lawyers also delved into his childhood traumas, which included coping with the murder of his grandmother by his grandfather, who had subsequently killed himself. “James’s mental illness causes him to lose emotional and behavioral control in stressful situations,” said his attorneys, who claimed he had taken himself off his meds when he was 18, meaning he was medically untethered when he murdered Heyer. After pleading guilty, Fields received two life sentences — one in state court and the other in federal court. Even with Fields confined to prison, questions raised by Heyer’s murder — and the rally that caused it — reverberated. Trump’s troubling insistence on calling bullying bigots “very fine people” was perhaps inevitable given his need to placate a base that contains more than its share of people like David Duke, the former Ku Klux Klan grand wizard who promoted the rally as an effort to “take our country back” and who, after Heyer’s murder, thanked Trump via tweet for his “honesty & courage.” Duke also tweeted, “This is why WE LOVE TRUMP and WHY the FAKE NEWS MEDIA HATES TRUMP. He brings to light what the lying, Fake News Media Won’t. The truth is the media covers up horrific numbers of racist hate crimes against White people!” But putting the president and his behavior aside for the moment, what about the free speech community — the civil libertarians who successfully fought in court for Kessler’s right to hold his rally in downtown Charlottesville? The city had wanted to move Kessler’s parade of bigotry to another park, one farther from the heart of town that officials claimed would be easier to police. But Kessler had said no; and the American Civil Liberties Union, along with a local outfit called the Rutherford Institute, had sued the city on Kessler’s behalf. Following the event, the ACLU was heavily criticized — and also lauded — for standing up for the racist rabble-rousers. Glenn Greenwald, best known for reporting on U.S. surveillance programs brought to light by whistleblower Edward Snowden, forcefully defended the ACLU. Civil liberties advocates, he argued, “defend the rights of those with views we hate in order to strengthen our defense of the rights of those who are most marginalized and vulnerable in society.” Others were not so sure. The Guardian reported on an erosion in “the belief that the KKK and other white supremacist organizations are operating within the bounds of acceptable political discourse — rather than as, say, terrorist organizations — and therefore have a moral right to be heard.” Jessica Clarke, a law professor at Vanderbilt University Law School, pointed to studies showing that bigots routinely hid behind free speech arguments as a cover for racism. Highly prejudiced people, she noted, “were less likely to voice First Amendment objections when the threatened speech was race-neutral, suggesting their free speech concerns were more about the freedom to express racist prejudice than free speech in general.” Legal scholar Laura Weinrib noted that the ACLU had never blindly supported free speech but had done so in the fight for a better society; and she wondered whether “a dogged commitment to free speech” was still the best strategy for an organization pursuing social justice: “The balances have shifted dramatically since the 1930s. In recent years, nearly half of First Amendment victories have gone to corporations and trade groups challenging government regulation. Free speech has served to secure the political influence of wealthy donors. Labor’s strength has plummeted, and the Supreme Court is poised to recognize a First Amendment right of public sector employees to refuse to contribute to union expenses. Long-settled principles of American democracy are newly vulnerable, and hate has found fertile terrain.” Even Susan Herman, president of the ACLU, questioned whether old assumptions about free speech still applied: “We need to consider whether some of our timeworn maxims — the antidote to bad speech is more speech, the marketplace of ideas will result in the best arguments winning out — still ring true in an era when white supremacists have a friend in the White House.” Leslie Mehta, the young black attorney who was legal director of the ACLU of Virginia when it took the Kessler case, seemed confident, when I interviewed her in the aftermath of Heyer’s death, that she had made the right decision. “There were certainly lots of conversations between myself and the executive director. There were a lot of revisions back and forth with briefs and having discussions about potential implications, but nobody has a crystal ball and no one [knew] exactly what [would] ultimately happen. I do think that the First Amendment has to mean something. And at the time, it was my understanding … that there was no evidence that there would be violence.” Mehta, a native of Woodland, North Carolina, is intimately familiar with the South and with the United States’ legacy of brutal racial oppression. She went to historically black Howard University School of Law because of its reputation for creating lawyers devoted to “social activism and social justice.” But she also is adamantly committed to the idea of free speech. “I think one of the reasons why free speech is so important to me is because … it exposes what you disagree with. And for me, I think it’s important to hear things like our president saying … ‘Well, there are good people on both sides.’” Mehta also thought it was important to consult with her mother and her 92-year-old grandmother as she proceeded with the Kessler case. Her grandmother, she confided, “never said that she fully agreed or disagreed [with Mehta taking the case], but she did not think that I was wrong.” As anyone trying to understand the Charlottesville fiasco quickly discovers, the issue of speech — particularly in a society polluted by racism and largely defined by economic inequality — is endlessly complex. So let me begin this journey with a brief exploration of how the U.S. came to embrace such a broad notion of free speech, and let’s look at some decisions made in its name. ••• We tend to think our current conception of free speech has been around essentially since the beginning of the republic. In truth, our firm and collective embrace of the First Amendment is a relatively recent phenomenon. The Constitution was drafted at a time when the Founders had rejected foreign tyranny. They were wary of the potential power of a centralized state. So the Bill of Rights was a balancing act, weighing not only the rights of individuals versus government in general but also the rights of states versus the federal government. Indeed, at the time the Bill of Rights was ratified, the First Amendment did not apply to the states. As legal scholar David Yassky has pointed out, the Constitution’s guarantee of free speech was “quite weak — at least to contemporary eyes. A citizen in 1800 had no absolute right to free speech; if the speech-restricting law was a state law, the Constitution was silent.” Eventually that changed, and that had a lot to do with the Civil War, the end of slavery, the 14th Amendment, and assorted court decisions. But even after the Reconstruction era, free speech, as we understand it today, was nothing but an aspiration, which is one reason that Southern states could effectively outlaw agitation for abolition. Free speech is very much an invention of the 20th century. And that concept of speech is very idealistic, inextricably linked to the notion that in the competition of ideas, good ideas generally crowd out bad. That argument received its most famous articulation in a 1927 case: Whitney v. California. At its center was Charlotte Anita Whitney, a wealthy California blueblood convicted of joining the Communist Party. She argued that her prosecution violated the Constitution. The Supreme Court unanimously disagreed. But even in disagreeing with her position, Louis Brandeis (joined by Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.) produced a brilliant and eloquent exegesis on the potential of free speech to enact social change: “Those who won our independence believed that the final end of the State was to make men free to develop their faculties, and that, in its government, the deliberative forces should prevail over the arbitrary. They valued liberty both as an end, and as a means. They believed liberty to be the secret of happiness, and courage to be the secret of liberty. They believed that freedom to think as you will and to speak as you think are means indispensable to the discovery and spread of political truth; that, without free speech and assembly, discussion would be futile; that, with them, discussion affords ordinarily adequate protection against the dissemination of noxious doctrine.” As Brandeis saw it, free speech was virtually a sacred right and an awesomely powerful force that would expose “falsehood and fallacies” and “avert … evil by the processes of education.” Hence, the remedy to bad speech was “more speech, not enforced silence.” That piece of writing has been deemed one of the most important commentaries ever crafted on the First Amendment. But Brandeis assumed something that has not been borne out by facts, which is that the better argument would generally win. He also assumed that relevant people on all sides of a question were equally capable of being heard and that skeptics were interested in listening. That fallacy continues to inform the thinking of those who see speech as inherently self-correcting. Much as many of us admire Louis Brandeis’s mind and spirit, the society he envisioned has never existed. Instead, we have created a society in which lying is both endemic and purposeful. We have brought the worst values of advertising into the political sphere and wedded that to long-established tactics of political propaganda, even as our political class has learned to use social media to spread disinformation that propagates at a breathtaking rate. The very idea that political speech would expose and therefore vanquish “falsehood and fallacies” now seems incredibly naïve. Free speech always had limits. But because of our new technological reality, because of the unexpected weaponization of speech, we are having to consider those limits in a new light. We live in a world where it is far from clear that the answer to bad speech is more speech; and where a foreign power, thanks to our freedom of expression, may well be responsible for the election of a U.S. president. We live in a time when a frightened white minority within the larger white majority fights to maintain control of our country; and when large corporations and cynical functionaries — eager to exploit fear — have a bigger megaphone (including their own television news networks) than anyone speaking for the powerless and dispossessed. We live in an era when the U.S. awarded its presidency to a man who lost the election by roughly 3 million votes, and who, with the cooperation of a submissive Senate, has appointed judges determined to thwart the will of the public; has proposed policies, supported largely by lies, designed to further divide an already polarized nation; and caters to an irrational mob whose most fanatical elements want to refight the Civil War. All of this raises a host of difficult questions: If the Brandeisian view of speech is fatally flawed, what is a better, or at least a more realistic, view? Is it possible to reverse these trends that are destroying our democracy? How do we balance an array of important societal values that compete with the value of free speech? How, in short, do we enable a relatively enlightened majority to rescue our country from an embittered, backward-looking minority? And what happens to speech — which has never been totally free — in the process?

Published September 21, 2020 at 01:40PM via ACLU (https://ift.tt/3iRPsAm) via ACLU

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gadgetgirl71 · 4 years

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Top Ten Tuesday 8 September 2020

Welcome to this weeks Top Ten Tuesday. Originally created by The Broke & The Bookish, which is now hosted by Jana @ That Artsy Reader Girl. Each week it features a book or literary themed category. This weeks prompt is:

Books for My Younger Self:

(These could be books you wish you had read as a child, books younger you could have really learned something from, books that meshed with your hobbies/interests, books that could have helped you go through events/changes in your life, etc.)

Well there are a few series that I would have liked my younger self to have read which are mainly fiction along with only a few non fiction and they are:

Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China by Jung Chang

A new edition of one of the best-selling and best-loved books of recent years, with a new introduction by the author. The publication of Wild Swans in 1991 was a worldwide phenomenon. Not only did it become the best-selling non-fiction book in British publishing history, with sales of well over two million, it was received with unanimous critical acclaim, and was named the winner of the 1992 NCR Book Award and the 1993 British Book of the Year Award. Few books have ever had such an impact on their readers. Through the story of three generations of women — grandmother, mother and daughter — Wild Swans tells nothing less than the whole tumultuous history of China’s tragic twentieth century, from sword-bearing warlords to Chairman Mao, from the Manchu Empire to the Cultural Revolution. At times terrifying, at times astonishing, always deeply moving, Wild Swans is a book in a million, a true story with all the passion and grandeur of a great novel. For this new edition, Jung Chang has written a new introduction, bringing her own story up to date, and describing the effect Wild Swans’ success has had on her life.

The State of Me by Nasim Marie Jafry

It s 1983 and 20-year-old university student Helen Fleet should be enjoying the best days of her life, but while all her friends go on to graduate and have careers in London, she is forced to return to her parents home, bedridden with vile symptoms that doctors can’t explain and often don’t believe. She is eventually diagnosed with M.E, a cruel illness that she must learn to live with over the next decade. All of her relationships are tested and changed by her condition, but Helen s story is so much more than an account of her suffering. Far from it. The State of Me explores the loneliness and chaos of one of the most misunderstood illnesses of our time, but also celebrates the importance of family, friendships, and sexual love. A stunning, eloquent and linguistically perfect debut novel.

Autobiography of a Geisha by Sayo Masuda

Sayo Masuda’s story is an extraordinary portrait of rural life in japan and an illuminating contrast to the fictionalised lives of glamorous geishas.

At the age of sis Masuda’s poverty-stricken family sent her to work as a nursemaid. At the age of twelve, she was indentured to a geisha house. In Autobiography of a Geisha, Masuda chronicles a harsh world in which young women faced the realities of sex for sale and were deprived of their freedom and identity. She also tells of her life after leaving the geisha house, painting a vivid panorama of the grinding poverty of rural life in wartime Japan.

Many years later Masuda decides to tell her story. Although she could barely read or write she was determine to tell the truth about life as a geisha and explode the myths surrounding their secret world. Remarkably frank and incredibly moving, this is the record of one woman’s survival on the margins of Japanese society.

Geisha: The Secret History of a Vanishing World by Lesley Downer

Ever since Westerners arrived in Japan, we have been intrigued by geisha. This fascination has spawned a wealth of fictional creations from Madame Butterfly to Arthur Golden’s Memoirs of a Geisha. The reality of the geisha’s existence has rarely been described. Contrary to popular opinion, geisha are not prostitutes but literally arts people. Their accomplishments might include singing, dancing or playing a musical instrument but, above all, they are masters of the art of conversation, soothing worries of highly paid businessmen who can afford their attentions. The real secret history of the geisha is explored here.

A Night Out with Robert Burns Arranged by Andrew O’Hagan

January 25, 2009, marks the 250th anniversary of Burns’s birth. It will be a huge event around the world, not least across Canada. And we have the book!

Robert Burns (1759-1796) is part of your life. If you’ve ever given or received a romantic red rose, or talked about a “do or die” situation, or if you’ve sung “Auld Lang Syne,” you’re included.

Others celebrate this ploughman poet with an eye for “the lasses” more directly. Every year, literally hundreds of thousands of Canadians, from coast to coast, go to Burns Suppers in January to celebrate his life. This year —2009 — will be the biggest ever, since it’s a 250th celebration of his birth.

CBC TV is joining with the BBC to produce three one-hour programmes on his life, all written and hosted by Andrew O’Hagan, who is now the authority on Burns. This is because this book, published by Canongate in 2008, has already become a classic, bringing Burns to ordinary readers. Because Burns was on the right side of history, against privilege and rank and for everyone getting a fair chance, he is beloved around the world — in Andrew O’Hagan’s words, he is “the world’s greatest and most loveable poet.”

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

Bequeathed a rare diamond by her late uncle, heiress Rachel Verinder has no idea it was stolen from an Indian temple or that it has a cursed history. When the diamond disappears on her eighteenth birthday, multiple suspects – including Rachel’s suitor, Franklin Blake – are implicated in its theft. Determined to prove his innocence, Franklin begins his own investigation. Did one of his fellow Englishmen steal the jewel? Or was it whisked back to India? The case, which unfolds through multiple narratives, takes startling twists and turns in pursuit of the truth.

Widely considered the first great detective novel written in English, The Moonstone is one of Wilkie Collins’s most famous works.

Dead Witch Walking (The Hollows Series) by Kim Harrison

Rachel Morgan lives in a world where a bioengineered virus wiped out most of the world’s human population – exposing the existence of supernatural communities that had long lived alongside humanity. It’s her job as a white witch working for Inderland Security to protect the humans from things that go bump in the night.

For the last five years Rachel has been tracking down lawbreaking Inderlanders in modern-day Cincinnati, but now she wants to leave and start her own agency. Her only problem: no one quits the I.S.

Marked for death, Rachel will have to fend off fairy assassins and homicidal werewolves armed to the teeth with deadly curses.

Unless she can appease her former employers by exposing the city’s most prominent citizen as a drug lord, she might just be a dead witch walking.

The Last Orphans (The Last orphans series) by N W Harris

One horrifying day will change the life of sixteen-year-old Shane Tucker and every other kid in the world.

In a span of mere hours, the entire adult population is decimated, leaving their children behind to fend for themselves and deal with the horrific aftermath of the freak occurrence. As one of the newly made elders in his small town, Shane finds himself taking on the role of caretaker for a large group of juvenile survivors. One who just happens to be Kelly Douglas—an out-of-his-league classmate—who, on any other day, would have never given Shane a second glance.

Together, they begin their quest to find out why all of the adults were slaughtered. What they find is even more horrifying than anything they could have expected—the annihilation of the adults was only the beginning. Shane and his friends are not the unlucky survivors left to inherit this new, messed-up planet. No, they are its next victims. There is an unknown power out there, and it won’t stop until every person in the world is dead.

A spine-tingling adventure that will have you gasping for breath all the way until the last page, The Last Orphans is the first book in an all-new apocalyptic series.

The Breakers Series by Edward W Robertson

In the Breakers series, humanity faces not one apocalypse, but two: first a lethal pandemic, then a war against those who made the virus. This collection includes the first three books and is over 1000 pages (350,000 words) of post-apocalyptic survival.

BREAKERS (Book 1) In New York, Walt Lawson is about to lose his girlfriend Vanessa. In Los Angeles, Raymond and Mia James are about to lose their house. Within days, none of it will matter. A plague tears across the world, reducing New York to an open grave and LA to a chaotic wilderness of violence and fires. Civilization comes to an abrupt stop.

Just as the survivors begin to adapt to the aftermath, Walt learns the virus that ended humanity wasn’t created by humans. It was inflicted from outside. The colonists who sent it are ready to finish the job–and Earth’s survivors may be too few and too weak to resist.

MELT DOWN (Book 2) In upstate Idaho, Ness Hook is run out of his mom’s house by his bullying brother Shawn. In Redding, California, Tristan Carter is graduating college, but with no job and no prospects, she’ll have to move back in with her parents.

Then the world ends: first with a virus, then with an alien invasion.

Ness and Shawn take to the mountains to fight a guerrilla against the attackers. In California, Tristan and Alden are taken prisoner. Separated from her brother, Tristan crosses the ruins of America to track him down. She will stop at nothing to get Alden back–but her fellow survivors prove even more dangerous than the monsters who broke the world.

KNIFEPOINT (Book 3) Raina was just a girl when the plague came. She survived. Her parents didn’t. Neither did the world. As civilization fell, she took to the ruins of Los Angeles, eating whatever she could catch.

After two years alone, she’s found and adopted by a fisherman and his wife. Their makeshift family lives a quiet life–until a man named Karslaw sails in from Catalina Island with an army of conquerors. Driven by visions of empire, he executes Raina’s new father as a traitor and takes her mother captive.

But Karslaw’s people aren’t the only ones vying for control of the ruined land. As violence wracks the city, Raina joins a rebellion against Karslaw’s rule. She will stop at nothing to free her mother–and to have her revenge.

Wrong Number, Wright Guy (Bourbon Street Boys Series) by Elle Casey

When a mysterious text message summons May Wexler to a biker bar in downtown New Orleans, she knows something is very wrong. Her sister has sent out an SOS, but when May gets there, she’s nowhere to be found and May is the one in trouble—she’s wearing pink espadrilles, she’s got a Chihuahua in her purse, and she’s in the middle of a shootout.

After tall, muscular Ozzie comes to her rescue, May has no choice but to follow him to safety. At the headquarters of his private security firm, the Bourbon Street Boys, she finds a refuge for the night—and the offer of a job. But it’s not long before a gun-toting stalker isn’t the only complication in May’s life: the more time she spends with Ozzie, the less she can deny that they’ve got some serious chemistry. A wrong number got her into this mess…Will it also get her the right guy?

#JustForFun #Top Ten Tuesday #TopTenTuesday #TTT

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