#school leadership workload

[richardtheteacher]

Starting Out as an SLT Member: What I Learned from the Experts

📢 New Blog Post from Award-Winning Author Richard James Rogers 📢 Richard James Rogers, global authority on practical pedagogy and award-winning author of The Quick Guide to Classroom Management and The Power of Praise, has just published an insightful new blog post on stepping into senior leadership for the first time. Recently appointed as the Acting Head of Secondary at an international school in Thailand, Richard shares hard-hitting, real-world advice gathered from experienced SLT members. In this latest post, he uncovers the realities of leadership that many teachers don’t see—including the challenges of governance, the importance of meeting deadlines, and why trust is the foundation of an effective leadership team. 🔹 SLT isn’t as powerful as it seems – Leadership is constrained by boards, budgets, and policies. 🔹 Gossiping teachers are noticed – Professionalism is key to career growth. 🔹 Complainers stand out (for the wrong reasons) – Solution-oriented educators earn leadership opportunities. 🔹 SLT works tirelessly—even during holidays – The workload behind the scenes is immense. 🔹 Hard work and dedication get noticed – Leadership teams recognize consistent, proactive teachers. For any educator aspiring to climb the leadership ladder, this is a must-read. Richard’s blog post is packed with practical wisdom, offering a candid look into what it really means to be part of a school’s senior leadership team. #EducationLeadership #SchoolManagement #SLT #EdLeadership #TeachingCareer #AwardWinningAuthor #RichardJamesRogers #Pedagogy #EdChat

A blog post by Richard James Rogers (Award-Winning Author of The Quick Guide to Classroom Management and The Power of Praise: Empowering Students Through Positive Feedback). This blog post has been beautifully illustrated by Pop Sutthiya Lertyongphati. Stepping into a senior leadership team (SLT) role for the first time can be both exhilarating and daunting. Recently, I was appointed as the…

[princesssmars]

plsssss do something for michael munroe im so starved

i could change your mind

some college football player mike headcanons.

contains: fluff. some nsfw. american football gross. mike is cocky whats new. fem!reader. hair nor skin color described.

a/n: anon i lowkey miss him too so i'll do a few headcanons for you anon. sorry that my until dawn rewrite is like on hiatus I just feel like it's gonna be such a flop so my brain says it cant be bad if I don't write it ??? idk. ty for making me do this. set in college but i've decided to start a year late so if i get shit wrong sorry scholars. (heart fingers emoji I'm on desktop fml.)

idk why but the first thing that popped into my head was him loving a sport...like he gives smart but also dumbass jock to me we let's go with he did football in high school and he's at college on a scholarship.

if you're like me you don't give two shits about the sport you probably would not like twice in a football player's way, which he definitely sees as a challenge. he'll come up to you in the dining hall and try to hit on you in front of his jock friends, spouting a "whatever you say, sweetheart" when you reject him with a grimace.

to your surprise and horror he's in one of your advanced classes in your second semester, sitting with his feet up next to your seat with a smile when you walk in. you do call him troglodyte for having his shoes on the table but he says with an easy smile that he's in with the teacher who said it was alright.

great.

for the first three weeks, you try to ignore his questions and poking at all costs, but when you get paired up on an important assignment you decide to hold your disdain on pause. he invites you to "study in his dorm" which nearly gives you a migraine, until he chuckles and tells you he's joking, telling you you can meet at common ground and study in the library.

you hold your tongue instead of giving a quip about how he probably won't be able to keep his mouth shut, but once you actually get there you realize the worst thing ever: mike munroe isn't a moron. he's actually pretty smart, maybe nearly as smart as you, and shows pretty good leadership with how he takes in both your academic strengths and divides the workload based on them. its not hard to see why he's the quarterback.

after you get an a+ on your project, you start to warm up to mike. his stupid quips in class start to actually become funny, leading to numerous moments where he makes you snort in class and the professor rolls his eyes.

your friendship soon grows enough that mike has the confidence to invite you to one of his games while you're walking around campus, and if you start to say no he informs you that he will not hesitate to get on his knees and beg in front of everyone. that makes you feel a little weird so you groan and tell him fine.

the whole time you don't really know what's going on, even though ten minutes before he had to get ready he tried to cram all of the rules into your head. even though you don't know everything you can tell when something good happens, like when he makes the touchdown that wins your school the game. he celebrates with his team members and his crowd of fangirls before coming over to you, clearly waiting for you to say football is fun or something,

you don't. but the after-party definitely was. you don't know what that frat guy put in the punch but it was good, and had you nearly drunk in only two hours. nearly being a keyword, because someone who was past the point decided to do a childish game of seven minutes, and you decided to play along for fun.

but it wasn't so funny when they spun the bottle and it landed on you, then the next turn between two people to point towards the couch where mike was watching with his friends. they both burst out laughing at the horrified look on your face as you reluctantly follow him inside the closet.

for the first minute it's quiet, soft noises from the two of you adjusting your bodies in the quiet space and "sorry"'s when you bump into the other.

he takes your silence for uncomfortableness, telling you he's alright with just sitting with you. "one of my favorite things to do actually"

you don't really know why but you kiss him after that. when you pull away you can faintly see his blank face. great. you ruined everything. you're about to give some half-assed excuse before his hand is on the back of your neck and he's pulling you back into him and pressing your body into his.

things get weird after that night.

you're still friends after that night, of course. except now its...different.

you still have your movie nights laughing at people making dumb decisions in horror movies, except now you'll sometimes wind up on mike's lap with your tongue down his throat.

you still text each other stupid pictures you found on snapchat (he insists on using it, fuckboy he is. or used to be, weirdly). except now before you go to sleep he'll send you a picture of his bulge with a smiley face at the bottom. if you send a picture back he'll send a long voice message that you don't open for your own sanity.

but you aren't like. dating. and you don't know why in passing you hear his teammate nick call you "mike's girl". because you aren't. at all.

and plus its not like you've slept together or even gone on an actual date. you're just...closer than normal friends are.

and then he leaves the next december to spend a week with his old friends, and you kind of mope around campus while he's gone. he makes sure to text you constant updates until the night where he arrives at the cabin, where he leaves you delivered for two days. he did say his ex was going to be there, so that nagging voice in the back of your head is telling you the worse.

until you finally get the call from some random number in alberta. when you pick up after some initial confusion you hear mike on the other side.

"mike? what the actual hell? its been two days, thought you somehow managed to get lost in the snow."

he laughed on the other line, able to tell you're insult at his intelligence meant you cared. his voice sounds hoarse.

"yeah, yeah i know. i'm sorry. something came up and i...i've been stuck in this damn police station-"

"police station? jesus, how hard did you guys party."

he calls your name and it's serious. he only sounds like that when something important or bad has happened.

"mike? is everything ok?"

"no, no its not. josh is...he's gone. the cabins gone. we're all pretty messed up."

you don't give a response, waiting for him to elaborate if he wants to.

"i don't know what to say..i'm so sorry."

"it's alright. i'll explain more when i get back. i just wanted to hear your voice."

"now you're really scaring me."

he laughs again, the scratch of his voice returning.

"thank you."

"for what? constantly insulting you and bringing you back to reality?"

"for making me laugh. haven't done it in a while."

"yeah, well...i'll make sure your roommate hasn't completely trashed your dorm. and we can get some takeout. on me, because i'm polite."

"screw that, we're going on a date."

your heart skips.

"did you actually get a concussion because that's not funny."

"im serious. no more being a pussy. time to start getting serious. plus we're basically already dating, so."

"god, why does everyone keep saying that?"

"i'll see you soon."

the phone hangs up and you toss the phone to the side with a slight smile.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Four Names

A microfic written for Day 5 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Matchmaker, Matchmaker - a little push for our stubborn duo!

680 words

Rated G

Albus Dumbledore has an important choice to make...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, staring at the list in front of him. Four names, from which to make his choice. One by one, he considered them carefully.

Remus Lupin had the character, certainly, but Albus couldn’t help thinking that Remus had enough on his plate, what with managing the effects of the lunar cycle on his health on top of his N.E.W.T. workload. At times, Albus wondered whether his choice of Remus as a prefect had been too much; this would certainly be a step too far. 

Next, William Foster, of Hufflepuff. Albus made his decision quickly, though with more than a little regret. William would make an excellent Head Boy, but choosing a second muggleborn Head Student was more of a statement than he wanted to make, given the current political climate. 

Jonathan Corner wasn’t really a contender either. He was competent, efficient and (clearly, as the Ravenclaw prefect) extremely intelligent, but he was unfortunately somewhat abrasive, and lacking in the leadership qualities that Albus felt were so important in the role.

That only left Josiah Carrow. None of Albus’s other objections applied to the Slytherin prefect  - he didn’t have any health issues to consider, his pureblood status would satisfy the need for balance, and he was certainly the most natural leader of the group. Josiah was the obvious choice - and yet Albus hesitated. 

The problem was that Albus wasn’t supposed to know about the Carrow family’s close links to Tom Riddle. He wasn’t supposed to know that young Josiah had already been introduced to his inner circle. And he certainly wasn't supposed to know that Josiah would be taking the Dark Mark at a ceremony scheduled for some time in August, and would be a Death Eater himself by the time he returned to school in September. No, he wasn’t supposed to know any of it - but thanks to the latest intelligence received by the Order of the Phoenix, he did. And he couldn’t in all conscience pair his stand-out pick of a Head Girl, Lily Evans, with an actual Death Eater of a Head Boy.

So - what to do? Albus tapped his quill on the parchment thoughtfully, considering his options. He’d never chosen a head student from outside of his prefect group before, but perhaps, for once, it might be his best option. Was there someone else that would fit the bill? Someone who thrived on more responsibility, not less. A pureblood who wasn’t a blood fanatic. A charismatic and popular leader. When Albus thought about it like that, one name in particular suggested itself immediately; James Potter. 

Lily, of course, might have an entirely different set of objections to James as her Head Boy than she would if Albus were to appoint Josiah Carrow. Albus probably wasn’t supposed to know about that either, but wasn’t blind, and nor was he as unaware of the… less academic aspects of his student’s lives as many would have suspected. 

He’d seen their relationship change over the years, from indifference to antagonism and finally blossoming into friendship. Over the spring term, he’d noted the lingering gazes and sudden blushes and he’d wondered if he would soon hear murmurs that spring’s blossom had become summer’s blooms - but it hadn’t happened, not yet.

Albus would never, of course, appoint a pair of Head Students if he wasn’t totally confident that they were up to the job, but neither was he averse to finessing his selection if offered… other possible advantages. He generally kept it very well hidden, but the fact was that Albus Dumbledore was a hopeless romantic, and in this case, he couldn’t help but wonder if throwing the pair of them together in this way might not provide just the little push they needed. The more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. 

Slowly, a smile spread across his face.  Decision made, he selected a fresh sheet or parchment, and began to write.

Dear James, Congratulations on your appointment to the position of Hogwarts Head Boy! Please find enclosed your badge…

[zenala-art]

Do you have an infodump on your captain Agent 4?

Firstly, thank you so much for the ask and interest!!

Secondly, I sure do! Conelia's my first and main Splatoon OC so she has. a lot. of lore, and I'll gladly infodump some stuff :D

Let's start with her general reference sheet! I think it makes for a nice introduction:

I think the first thing anyone asks (reasonably so) when I tell them that she's the captain is "Why not Agent 3?" In my agent story, Agent 3 is completely MIA since the end of Octo Expansion, and even without taking that into account, Conelia spends a lot more time with Marie and Callie than he (being very introverted) ever did, and she's definitely more dedicated to being a good fighter. So, when it came to choosing who's going to be the next captain, she was a very clear choice.

Being one of the captains of her competitive team, she was already used to this sort of responsability, too! The NSBS sure can sponsor her dream of being a professional competitive player, and this just meant more time to be spending with the Squid Sisters, which can't be a bad thing in her opinion.

Here's an overall of my (active) agents:

Asra and Radish are a bit outdated since I've added more interesting things to their lore since I made this picture, but the rest pretty much remains the same!

Conelia really enjoys Asra's company as her first pupil, being much more proactive and giving more pieces of random advice than we see the Captain do in the game. After the events of ROTM, the two of them very often communicate mostly through sign language, since it usually feels more comfortable for Asra (who is mostly nonverbal due to some circumstances in their life, but with Conelia they sometimes speak). She's super excited and wants to teach Asra everything she can, acknowledging that they "have a lot of potential".

She also has a long friendship history with both Agent 3 and Agent 8, but they might not be super relevant to the conversation at hand? I do have this relationship chart from some time ago that could be a fast, superficial view however (don't mind the old designs, drawings are a little old, but the info is still correct):

So yeah, if we talk about the general character, Conelia has most of the attributes usually associated with Agent 4 (the excitedness and general perceived vibe, the "always busy with school" aspect of it, living far from Inkopolis or Splatsville, etc). The most important aspect of her personal life that I feel affects how she handles leadership (and therefore her work as a captain) is having inattentive parents who forced her to be independent since way too young.

It took her some convincing from the Squid Sisters to accept recruiting a new agent, even though 8 is mostly not working with them anymore - she just wants to do everything herself all of the time, even though she knows that workload would be too much for her.

I won't go too far into detail on her personal life right now (or I'd make an actual essay here), but hopefully this infodump was interesting to you :D once again thank you for the interest and the excuse to dump about my ocs in public

[queerofthedagger]

i had the absolute wildest day at work including large scale fraud, several crying coworkers, my workload being trippled all at once, and the chance of me going back to school for a specialised degree that'll highly promote me paid for by my employer while not even having finished training for this leadership position being put on the table and like. respectfully if this is any indication for how this year is going to go i think i need to reconsider substance abuse. respectfully

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I re-read your Fellow Honest study, and one thing to mention is that Riddle is immensely proud of having no one drop out or transfer out of Heartslabyul/NRC, right? His dorm is the only one at full capacity? This means dropping out of NRC isn't that uncommon, whether it's a money issue or a grades issue, and that's more people discarded simply because they couldn't keep up.

[Referencing this analysis!]

Mmm, that's true 🤔 I wonder how NRC's dropout rates compare to those of other magic schools and regular schools that do not train mages... I can't imagine that NRC has a ton of dropouts though, because otherwise I feel like more dorm leaders and staff would express concern about it? Like if a ton of students were dropping out, it would reflect poorly on their leadership and teaching skills, wouldn't it...? Maybe it's not mentioned because it isn't that relevant to the main story or Riddle in particular is super fixated on it (given how strict he is). At the very least, we know that NRC has a non-zero dropout rate. Even at a school that supposedly has the best and brightest mages-in-training, some will not make the cut.

As cruel as this may sound (sorry, Fellow), it's 100% understandable from a school's perspective why they wouldn't want to keep supporting students who continuously do not succeed and ultimately dismiss them. Many programs irl (especially those in higher education) set standards that students must meet and maintain until graduation if they want to remain in their program. It could harm the school's educational reputation if they do not produce "results".

In some cases, schools that fail to maintain a certain "pass" rate on specialized exams their students take may lose accreditation (an official “quality seal”) for their program(s). For example, irl nursing programs in the U.S. and Canada are put on probation if they have a class of students with an 80% or lower passing score on the NCLEX exam. They are given 2 years to "fix" this low passing rate; if this is not corrected, then the school's accreditation is revoked completely. A loss of accreditation can result in many other negatives, such as less financial aid dispersement and fewer job opportunities (/your diploma not being seen as “legitimate”).

That's unfortunately how it works. Granted, a school shouldn’t spite a student for not being able to keep up with the workload (which sadly may have been the reality for Fellow), but it really is in the institutions’ best interests to drop a student they fear won’t perform well.

[annaraebananawriter]

Hi, I'm just about to go to bed but I thought of yet another little fanfic idea I thought I'd share with you all before I forget--

A few centuries ago, in a remote village, there lived two brothers, Dream and Nightmare. Their mother cared for them, and she was the unofficial leader of the village, too. However, when the boys were young, around 6ish, their mom died. The village, feeling lost, looked to them for guidance, though the adults shortly realized they were far too young to lead. The villagers took it upon themselves to teach the young boys and train them.

They quickly found that Dream excelled in making sure everyone was fed and cared for, all the making of a strong and good leader. Meanwhile, Nightmare excelled in any kind of scholarly area, acing tests and flying through books. The villagers discussed the boys frequently, and most of the adults favored Dream over Nightmare, finding his social butterfly personality charming, while his brother’s tendency to stay tucked away in the house reading a bit frustrating. A leader couldn't keep their head in a book and take good care of their village, after all.

So, slowly, they gave the important lessons to Dream, busying Nightmare with test after test, gradually marking lower and lower to make him focus on getting the grades up, all in hopes of keeping from getting suspicious as to why Dreams lessons were far longer than his were. And why did Dream walk out of the lessons with such different homework than his? It looked far more wordy, too complex to be for school. The teachers never gave him much answer when he asked: "Dream simply outgrew the regular schoolwork."

Nightmare, used to being the academic one, grew worried about his place in this village. Mother always said he would be a great person to go to regarding decisions for the villages' problems one day. She taught him to have pride in how smart he was. But these teachers marked him low, made him feel stupid, chiding him on taking too long to answer a question, for getting too excited and rambling on, all because he recognized the subject matter from a book ge read the other day.

At first, he tried hard to get his teachers to see him, to tell that he was smart, too, just like Dream. He deserved the special lessons, too. But the longer this went without notice, the longer the teachers dismissed him, and the more time the manor halls were empty and he was alone, waiting for Dream to get out of lessons, he grew tired of trying. He stopped doing his schoolwork and stopped participating, which only made the teachers madder. The teachers told him to quit acting like a baby and do the work they gave him or waste away into nothingness. Nightmare, angry because they still didn't understand, yelled back about how he didn't see a point to work if he didn't get recognition for it. The teachers didn't take this kindly--in fact, they slapped him for it.

Stunned, Nightmare could only listen as the teacher berated him for being so selfish. From then on, he kept to himself, and he played the part the adults wanted him to play. All while nursing a stirring jealousy and bitterness as he watched Dream step into a position of leadership, hours upon hours of work and work, most of the time away from the manor.

Dream, on the other hand, was shaped for leadership and nothing else. He was taught to put the village above himself, above Nightmare, above anyone he might love. The teachers told him a leader wanted the best for his people, and the best was always everything you could give and more. When he transitioned from schoolwork to village work, he's unsure, but it was not a sudden change; he looked over his work one night and had a slow realization that this was not the schoolwork his brother was getting, no, it was something far more important. And he never got a break from this work, not like his brother did. It just piled on and on, more problems appearing the minute he solved one.

One day, he complained about this workload, saying it made his head spin. He had had so little sleep that the ceiling seemed to dance around his head. This day, the teachers had apparently been in a bad mood, for while they would normally laugh and gently chide him, this day they screamed: "Leaders do not rest until all of their village's problems are satisfied. You do not get to rest until we say you can. You do not deserve to." Needless to say, this woke Dream up well, and he apologized quietly and said he would do better.

Trapping this as a lesson in his head, Dream changed. He accepted his leadership position with no complaints, throwing himself into his workload in hopes of getting done fast enough to still make it home in time to eat supper with Nightmare--he rarely made it. Taught to be selfless, nothing more than a tool used to better the village, Dream lost himself, the lines of who he was and who his teachers wanted him to be blurring.

Dream also hid away a spek of jealousy as he watched him brother lounge on the couch at home, reading all day long. It seemed like he was so free, able to do as he pleased. He was free to be himself and nothing more, not expected to be something untouchable, something immovable, invincible.

Both brothers envied the other; Nightmare for how loved Dream was, Dream for how free Nightmare was.

Eventually, all the time away from home, away from his brother, wore on Dream. He messed up more and more, too distracted by the ache of missing Nightmare, and the villagers noticed. They snapped at him to pay attention. In secret, they planned. Nightmare was distracting their leader, and if this continued, their village would be ruined. They planned to fix this by getting rid of the distraction for good.

Nightmare's sickness started as a cough. It lingered and lingered and drove him mad. He grew feverish, too, barely able to get out of bed some days. And it all came to a head when Drema returned one night to his brother passed out on the floor of his room, blood dripping out of the mouth. The doctors could do nothing, leaving Dream anxious and Nightmare bedridden.

Dream, unable to take the tragic news that his brother could not be helped, searched and searched for his own cure. He came up with nothing--until. He saw in a book, a dusty old thing hidden away in Mother's library, writings about creatures in the woods around the village that are rumored to grant a wish of any kind. Even to cure and uncurable disease.

Hopeful and desperate, forgoing the warnings of the book to not make deals with beings you cannot trust Dream snuk away during the night and pleaded with the creatures to save his brother: "I just want to see him smile, please. I will do anything for you, be anything for you, just please save my brother."

And the creatures did.

But not in the way he wanted.

Nightmare died the next day. And Dream, overwhelmed with grief, shut the manor gates and ignored all attempts the villagers made to fet him out, no matter how much they yelled and threatened. He hoped he might wither away, join his twin in death, but he never did. Even though he did not eat or drink for years. Turning his anger towards the damn creatures that caused this, he stumbled back to the forest after decades of hiding out, and he screamed at them: "This was not the deal!"

"Wasn't it?" The creatures replied, "You said you would be anything. So be someone we can talk to for years to come. We gifted you, you see. You can learn so much from us and us from you."

"I asked you to save my brother. I told you to make me see him again."

"And you will. We just never said when."

Dream heads back to the manor, still shaking from anger. But sure enough, around winter, he finds a small child in the woods, abandoned and about to die of hypothermia. Taking pity, he brings the child home and cares for it until it is well.

When the child wakes up, he asks him his name.

The child blinks. "My name is Nightmare."

(Basically: In this AU, Dream and Nightmare are cursed so that one of them is immortal and the other one reincarnates, and the one who reincarnates always stumbles into the immortal ones life, and yet always dies young.

Dream watches his brother die over and over, having to rebuild their brothership from the ground up because Nightmare doesn't remember him when he comes back.)

[democratthatlovesguns]

The War on DEI

I've stated once and a thousand times ...

Every accusation from republicans is a confession.

With millions of students finishing high school in a few months, those that don't get shot and killed before the school year ends, and many of them headed proudly to Ivy League schools (i.e. Princeton, Harvard, Yale, etc.), I want to remind the nonwhite students that worked themselves nearly to death to get the right scores while doing everything they could to help their families make ends meet ... Never forget, you are the only students that truly earned a place at that Ivy League school.

Because if admissions were solely based on merit, at Ivy League school, white students from privileged families would be a very very small minority at these campuses. Legacy admissions.

99.999% of white adults in ownership or managements positions around the world, are not there because they earned the position - they are there because they are white and because they attended the right church and the right tailgate parties.

Never forget that the biggest hypocrites in America are white Christian adults from privileged families. And they have trained their legacy-admitted children to despise every non-legacy student with every cell in their bodies. Yes, your "colleagues" (your "peers") are going to smile at you when they see you on campus and they'll smile at you when you run into them at parties, but behind closed doors you are nothing more than a "lucky" ni**er, a "lucky" s**ck, a "lucky" ch**k, etc.

Nothing hurts more than the truth, when the truth means you're full of shit.

For all of those white legacy-admitted students, the truth is that they wanted to go to college with their friends from the "right families." And they know that their friends failed to do the bare minimum to get admitted to their Ivy League school of choice. Nothing is more offensive to them than a nonwhite student with low economic resources that manages to out score and out performed their lazy ass friends academically.

If you are nonwhite, going to one of these universities, please know that the white students will be the most vicious assholes you have ever met ... They want you to quit. They want to be able to say, "look these DEI/affirmative action students can't handle Ivy League workloads, they should have admitted my friends instead." They'll know that it has nothing to do with you not being able to handle the workload, and everything to do with how racist and piece of shit they are. The majority of professors too, they hate to see non-legacy students on campus - expect no support from them.

Stay focused and do what you have to do to get your degree. Your grades are going to plummet; keep in mind that every B and C+ that you get are actually As, if you were white and "from the right family."

Better yet, tell them "no thank you" to their admissions offer ... give them what they want. Let them have only white privileged students on campus, so the truth becomes obvious to everyone. Honestly, if you got admitted to one of these schools, odds are you will be successful even if you attend "the worst" college in America. The "Best" schools are a façade, and illusion that white privileged assholes need everyone to believe and respect so that when their children are GIVEN a degree from these schools, it makes "sense" that they are placed in management/leadership/ownership positions.

[mariacallous]

The terrorist attack by the Islamic State on a sold-out concert on the outskirts of Moscow on Friday was the deadliest to hit Russia in almost two decades, killing at least 143 people. Yet for many, the assault on the Crocus City Hall evoked memories of the 2000s, when terrorist attacks—often with soaring death tolls—were a regular occurrence in Russia.

Russian President Vladimir Putin came to power shortly before the turn of the century, as Moscow was waging a brutal campaign to quash violent extremism and separatism in the restive North Caucasus republic of Chechnya. The war propelled Putin to prominence, and he staked his presidency on stamping out the terrorist threat. “We will pursue them everywhere,” he said in the wake of a series of apartment block bombings in 1999. “We’ll catch them in the toilet. We’ll wipe them out in the outhouse.”

Despite Putin’s bellicose rhetoric, militants from the North Caucasus continued their attacks across Russia throughout the first decade of the 21st century, bombing public transit and airplanes as well as laying siege to a Moscow theater. In one of the most violent incidents, Chechen militants seized a school in the town of Beslan, taking more than 1,000 people hostage—most of them children—over three days in 2004. The standoff ended when Russian forces stormed the school, and 334 people were killed. A European Court of Human Rights ruling later criticized Russia for failing to act on intelligence that an attack was planned for the region and for using “indiscriminate” weapons such as tank cannons in storming the school, likely driving up the death toll. 

The threat began to recede in the 2010s, and the Kremlin’s preoccupation with Ukraine came to the fore. But Friday’s attack has revealed Russia’s continued vulnerability to terrorist violence. And it has resurfaced questions about the security services’—and, by extension, Putin’s—ability to protect citizens from it. 

Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB) is responsible for domestic security and intelligence. It also serves as the Kremlin’s primary intelligence service across the former Soviet Union and played a prominent role in planning the invasion of Ukraine. 

“The reason the FSB didn’t see this coming is not because the FSB is incapable,” said Kevin Riehle, who spent three decades working in U.S. intelligence and is the author of a new book on the history of the FSB. “The reason is that they’re looking elsewhere.”

As the Kremlin has steadily cracked down on dissent and civil society over the past decade, the FSB’s remit has ballooned. Russian courts have branded more than 14,000 people and entities as extremist, including opposition movements; Jehovah’s Witnesses; Facebook’s parent company, Meta; and, most recently, the “LGBT movement,” putting the organizations on par with groups such as al Qaeda. And it’s the FSB’s job to keep tabs on all of them.

This expansive workload has likely stretched the agency’s resources, said Andrei Soldatov, a Russian journalist and an expert on the security services. It also speaks to the FSB’s long-standing role in monitoring not only conventional security threats but also perceived challenges to Russia’s leadership. “The demand that the FSB be loyal to no one but the president has been in existence since before Putin came along as president,” Riehle said. “That was the demand of [former President Boris] Yeltsin in the 1990s.” 

Politicization of the security services can also impede their ability to report unflattering or inconvenient truths to senior officials. 

The United States sought to warn Russia about intelligence it had of a planned attack in Moscow targeting large gatherings, including concerts, according to a statement issued by the White House in the wake of the attack on Friday. Three days before the attack, Putin publicly dismissed Western warnings as “blackmail” and an effort to destabilize the country. 

“Think about an officer of the FSB who got this warning and now it’s his job to pass it on to his superiors,” Soldatov said. “First of all, he would be thinking about his own safety, that he would not be accused of being a traitor or too close to the Americans.”

In the wake of the 9/11 attacks, Putin was the first world leader to call U.S. President George W. Bush to offer his condolences, pitching Russia and its fight in Chechnya as part of the wider war on terrorism. But former CIA officers note that cooperation on counterterrorism between Russia and the United States has always been poor and riven with suspicion. Douglas London, a retired CIA senior operations officer, recalled in an interview that Russian officials would accuse the United States of inventing the Islamic State during meetings. 

Experts and former U.S. intelligence officials described the FSB as a blunt-force instrument that has had its uses for the Kremlin over the years but may have impeded it when it came to the more delicate aspects of intelligence gathering and counterterrorism efforts. “The idea of patiently cultivating insiders and agents is not how they go,” London said. 

Now, having failed to stop Friday’s brazen attack, some in Russia are openly questioning Putin’s vast security apparatus. “What happened is unique in that for the first time in Russia, during a terror attack of this scale, security forces were unable to prevent the terrorists’ action in any way: they freely entered the building, killed and wounded scores of people, and calmly left the scene of the massacre,” political analyst Vladislav Inozemtsev wrote in a commentary. “Years of tightening security and trillions of rubles were spent in vain.” 

Maria Pevchikh, an associate of the late opposition figure Alexei Navalny, accused the security agencies of being “too busy fighting politicians, activists, and journalists, so they didn’t have time left to deal with terrorists.”

U.S. officials have attributed the attack to a branch of the Islamic State based in Afghanistan, known as the Islamic State-Khorasan, which claimed responsibility and released video purportedly taken during the assault by one of the alleged perpetrators. The Sunni group’s propaganda arm has set its sights on Russia in recent years due to the Kremlin’s deepening ties with Shiite Iran as well as Moscow’s role in the Syrian civil war, pounding Sunni enclaves with airstrikes as Russia came to the aid of President Bashar al-Assad. The Assad family is Alawite, an offshoot of Shiism. 

The Islamic State “perceives Russia as the vanguard of Shia Islam at this point,” Colin P. Clarke, the director of research at the Soufan Group, said during an FP Live event on Tuesday. “The Russians have also been accused of spilling a lot of Muslim blood going all the way back to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, from 1979 to 1989, and then the brutal wars in the North Caucasus.”

Russia is “extremely vulnerable” to further attacks by the group, said London, the retired CIA officer. Four men charged with carrying out Friday’s attack are Tajik citizens, according to Russian state media. Tajikistan shares a lengthy border with Afghanistan, and the Islamic State has sought to recruit militants from local extremist groups in the country as well as in other Central Asian countries. 

Citizens of Tajikistan can travel to and stay in Russia visa-free for up to 90 days, and the country is host to a large diaspora of some 1.3 million Tajiks. Many are now bracing for a backlash from both the authorities and Russian citizens in the wake of Friday’s attack. 

“The FSB is not going to handle this with more finesse than it handled those early 2000s attacks. And it’s going to create some frightened and angry people who will be vulnerable to recruitment,” Riehle said. “It will make things worse.”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XXVIII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: You meet with some of your injured classmates.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: me when we are officially in the last few chapters…the end is near y’all 😭

“I’m so glad you convinced the L/N healers to help us,” Ieri said, tilting her head back, a cigarette hanging loosely between her teeth. Smoking was one of her vices, and though you had mentioned before that she should quit for her own health, she was never really able to.

“It wasn’t exactly convincing in the traditional sense,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “But you’re right that it definitely feels nice to know that they’ll be the ones chipping away at most of our workload. It means we can focus on the people that actually matter.”

Shortly after you became the head of the L/N clan, you and your mother had joined Ieri, Ijichi, and the rest so that you could get to work. Upon discovering that everyone had pretty much been living off of random convenience store snacks — neither Ijichi nor Ieri had the time and skills required to make any actual food — your mother appointed herself as the head chef and quickly got to work, even though all of you had told her she didn’t have to.

This is how I’ll be useful, she had said before all but sprinting off to the kitchen. You all are being so gracious in taking me in, so it’s really the least I can do.

After that, you had informed Ieri about your newfound leadership of the L/Ns, something which she was eternally grateful for. Healing so many people, even if the burden was shared amongst the two of you, would take a massive toll on your bodies and psyches, but having the entire L/N clan at your disposal definitely made things easier.

“What are the worst cases at the moment?” you said. Ieri blew out a puff of smoke.

“We just lost our highest priority patient, so there’s nothing too major that requires immediate attention,” she said. “A few injuries I might have you look at later on, but nothing fatal.”

“What do you mean by lost? The others didn’t mention anyone getting hurt to that extent,” you said. “Nor did they mention anyone dying. Do you — do you mean that Tullia wasn’t the only one?”

You had thought it was strange that Tullia and Gojo were the only casualties of the Shibuya incident that you personally knew, but back then, you had put it down to everyone else being vastly more competent than you were. Still, to hear Ieri tell it, there were more. You had lost others that you weren’t even aware of yet, and you weren’t sure that you could handle hearing who they were. Maybe that was why they hadn’t told you. Maybe they knew that it would be too much.

“Nobara Kugisaki,” Ieri said. “We had her in a stasis for a while, and I tried using my Reverse Cursed Technique on her as much as I could, but it was for nothing. It was that patch-faced curse that Itadori fought a few times; the effects of its technique are beyond the scope of healing. Even Composition likely would’ve failed in that regard.”

“Nobara?” you said. “As in…the first year?”

Ieri nodded. “It’s shitty all around, isn’t it? There wasn’t anything we could do to help her, so we eventually just had to let her go. It was better than keeping her alive in that state.”

Nobara Kugisaki. You had never even gotten the chance to introduce her to your mother like she had asked. You shouldn’t have put it off. You should’ve taken it more seriously. That was the only thing she had ever wanted from you, and it was a request that was within your power to grant, but you hadn’t done it. Why? Maybe you had found it a little silly, but it had been important to her. You were a terrible excuse for an upperclassman. Maybe if you had done that, maybe if she had met your mother and gotten into modeling like she had dreamt of, she wouldn’t have gone to Shibuya. She would’ve still been alive if you had just done that.

“Is that it, or is there anyone else that I would know?” you said.

“We couldn’t save Naobito Zenin,” she said. You scoffed.

“Good riddance,” you said, even though it was a bad practice to speak ill of the dead, especially when he was your elder and therefore necessitated respect no matter the situation. It was Naobito Zenin, though, so overall you didn’t feel too bad about it.

“And Kento Nanami,” she completed. “Along with several others that have been permanently maimed.”

“Did you say Kento Nanami?” you said. “The same one who recommended me for my promotion and everything?”

“That’s right,” she said, and this time you noticed her eyelashes were lowered. She took another drag from her cigarette. “He was taken out by that same curse. The one that got Kugisaki.”

Kento Nanami, the serious man who had saved you in Shinjuku when you had fallen out of the air after exorcising that flying curse. Kento Nanami, the wise man who had given you your initial recommendation just so that you could get paid more for everything that the higher ups put you through. He was the ideal of a Grade 1 sorcerer; you had aspired to be like him, even, aspired to have his even keel and rational approach to every situation. Nanami was supposed to be as untouchable as he was unflappable. Nanami always lived. Nanami always survived. So how, then, was this possible? How could it be that he was dead?

“One curse did all of that?” you said. “That’s impossible. How strong could it have been?”

“It was just that powerful,” she said. “That’s not the extent of it, either. Todo—”

“No,” you said, cutting her off. “No, that’s not right. Not Todo.”

What would you do without your insane rival? Without his random tangents and outlandish stories? Not even in your worst nightmares had you imagined losing Todo. It wasn’t even a thought that crossed your mind. He was incapable of dying — he was just that kind of man, the insatiable type that could never be satisfied with something as paltry as death.

“He’s alive,” she said. “But…”

The room that Todo was confined to was dark, the curtains drawn, the massive lump on the bed the only sign that there was anyone in there at all. Even when you stepped into the room, careful to keep your footsteps light so as not to startle him, he did not move at all, and you were reminded of Ieri’s warning — that ever since that day, he had been heavily depressed.

“Hey,” you whispered. “It’s me. Y/N.”

A grunt. You poked the shapeless form of blankets in what you assumed to be the back. This was met with no reaction, so you did it again and again until finally, he tossed aside his covers in a huff, sitting up and glaring at you.

“What?” he said, arms folded across his hospital-gown-clad chest. He was trying very hard to look fearsome, but considering you were just relieved that he was alive, you couldn’t find any traces of fear in you.

“Ieri told me,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Saves me the trouble of having to explain it again.”

“Can I see?” you said. He looked at you suspiciously, his eyebrows heavy and dark on his forehead, his eyes flinty with mistrust. Slowly, though, he uncrossed his arms, revealing that one of his hands had been cut off at the wrist, the other’s palm festering with transfigured flesh.

“There you go,” he said.

“Oh, Todo,” you said. “You’ve lost your Boogie Woogie.”

A sound you’d never thought you’d hear from him escaped his mouth just then. He was crying, but it was not the over-the-top crying he’d do when he was being dramatic; rather, it was a small, soft whimper that built into a sob. The indomitable Todo, the man who had once been your greatest competition, was suddenly crying like a small child, hiccuping and gasping for air.

“It’s gone,” he choked out. “It’s gone for good. I can never get it back.”

Wordlessly, you embraced him, allowing him to bury his face in your shoulder as he cried, using one hand to stroke his back and the other to hold securely onto his burly neck, ensuring that he did not suddenly pull away before he was ready to.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry that that happened to you.”

“That final fight,” he said. “It was the most thrilling thing I’ve ever experienced. You were there with me every step of the way, helping me reach victory, and my brother managed to exorcise that curse, so — so I shouldn’t complain. All told, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m alive. I’m only missing one hand. That’s more than a lot of people can say, I think. I even finally reached that peak of sorcery that neither of us ever could: the Black Flash. It was a good way to go out.”

“I’m sure,” you said, not questioning how you had been “helping Todo every step of the way” while simultaneously being unconscious and in the healing ward. It would be better not to.

“Then why am I upset?” he said. “Why does it hurt so badly?”

“They stole something from you,” you said. “Something that was important. It’s only natural that you’re upset by it.”

He extricated himself from your arms, wiping away his tears and giving you a watery smile. You smiled back, though tentatively, unsure as to why he was even smiling in the first place.

“Looks like this is the end of our rivalry, huh? You won. You’re the better fighter, because you’re the only one who still can fight. Congratulations, Y/N. I’m a little sad, because I’ll miss competing with you, but I am proud of you,” he said. “Seriously. If it’s not me, then I’m happy that you’ll be there to lead our underclassmen.”

“Actually, it’s not the case,” you said. “I gave up fighting, too.”

“What do you mean?” he said. “How could you?”

He squinted at you, and then he suddenly paled. It was like he was seeing you for the first time, the enormous scar on your neck, the state of your hands, the bags under your eyes.

“You’re not the only one who had something taken from them. It’s a long story, but I can’t heal and fight anymore. I have to choose one,” you said.

“And you chose healing,” Todo completed.

“I know you’re probably disappointed by it,” you began. He huffed.

“I won’t say I’m not,” he said.

“It’s what I have to do now, though. I can’t lose anyone else, not knowing I might’ve saved them. Maybe if I had chosen to heal earlier, I could’ve used Composition and regenerated your hand. You would still have your technique if that was the case,” you said.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for the choices of others,” Todo immediately protested. “Whether or not you could heal, I’m the one that chose to get into that battle and lost my hand for it. It’s not your fault.”

“Losing your hand was your fault. Not regrowing it was mine,” you said. “Do you see?”

Todo clicked his tongue. “It’s a dumb type of reasoning, but fine. I see.”

“If it makes you feel better, I am the head of the L/N clan now,” you said.

“How’d you pull that off?” he said, obviously invigorated by the news. “I always knew you could.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling shy in front of Todo, not wanting to confess to what you had done. Looking back, you had definitely been harsh on the rest of your clan, and even if they had deserved it, it was embarrassing to look back on that moment of your rage. You couldn’t believe that you had made your uncles beg for mercy, your father kneel at your feet and your cousins cry and piss themselves.

“Um,” you said. “I mean, I kinda just beat them all up until they agreed to it.”

This time, when Todo laughed, it was his old kind of laughter. He squeezed you into a hug, and for a moment, it felt like you two were who you used to be, back when your biggest worries had been beating one another in the exchange event.

“That’s the sorcerer I know,” he said. “That’s the kind of thing the ideal woman would do.”

“After everything, you really still think I’m the ideal woman?” you said. He ruffled your hair.

“Okkotsu’s still in love with you?” he said.

“Somehow,” you said. “I didn’t think he would be, but it seems like he is.”

“Then you’re still the ideal woman,” he affirmed.

“Even if I’m not beautiful anymore?” you said, showing him your palms, lifting your chin so he could better see your neck. “Even if I’m all messed up like this, you think that?”

“My dear rival,” he said with an air of finality. “Beauty has nothing to do with it. You’re not the ideal woman because of something as shallow as what you look like; it’s who you are that determines it. And who you are is the kind of person that anyone would be lucky to have by their side.”

Your conversation with Todo left you feeling a little better about things. Even if the state of affairs was dire, he could always be counted upon to cheer you up, and today was no different. Although you were partially at fault for the loss of his technique — yet another failure of yours by choosing Dissection over Composition — he did not blame you for it. He still thought you were the ideal woman, whatever that meant.

It heartened you a little bit, but as you approached the next room, your good mood began to fade. Seeing Todo without a hand had been bad, but this was going to be that much worse. Because he deserved it the least; after all, he hadn’t even been fighting. He had been evacuating citizens when Sukuna’s slashes reached him, so none of it had been his choice. There had never been a moment for him to accept what was happening to him.

“Toge,” you said. He was sitting by the window, his laptop open in front of him, a paused ‘Try Not to Laugh’ compilation on the screen. Despite the humorous nature of what he was supposedly watching, he seemed sad, lips settled in a frown, violet eyes downcast as he stared out through the glass. His chin rested in his hand, and there was a vase of dying sunflowers in front of him.

When he heard your voice, he leapt to his feet, racing over towards you but then pausing when he noticed you had come alone. He peeked around you before ducking his head out of the room and scanning the long, empty hallway.

“Salmon?” he said.

“No, it’s just me,” you said. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged as best as he could with only one arm, following after you as you sat in the chair across from where he had been. Taking out a pen and notepad, you slid it over to him, knowing that he’d probably appreciate being able to communicate with more than one-word answers.

I’m okay. I mean, it’s weird to not have an arm anymore, but it doesn’t impact my cursed technique any, so it’s whatever. Yuta and Ieri both agreed that I shouldn’t fight for a while, though. Apparently, I need to recover, even though that makes no sense. Like, how is my arm supposed to heal? There’s nothing there to heal.

You snorted. “That’s not how it works. You’ve undergone a massive change; it would be unreasonable for them to expect you to fight again, let alone so soon. Besides, you need to recover mentally, too. Losing your arm like that…”

He was a little different now. Even though he was joking in his normal manner, it was false, hollow, like he was putting on a performance. His charming grin didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t laugh, only exhaled through his nose in feigned amusement. His collar was down, the snake-eye seals on the corners of his mouth standing out in relief against his skin, which was oddly whiter than usual.

Sometimes, I think it’s still there. I’ll try to use it, and I get frustrated when nothing happens, but then I remember that I don’t even have an arm anymore. I can still feel it, too. It hurts all of the time, which shouldn’t be the case. There isn’t anything to hurt, but it still does.

“It’s common for that to happen with amputees,” you said.

I wish I was a special case.

“Is it that awful?” you said. He swallowed.

It’s not as bad as what the others have gone through. I’m just complaining for the sake of it.

That wasn’t true. It was as plain as day; he was really in a lot of pain, but he was putting on this brave face for you because he knew what you had seen. He knew Maki had been burnt all over her body. He knew Todo had lost his technique. He knew Megumi had been beaten almost to death. He probably thought it in poor taste to complain, but you thought it anything but.

“Just because others got hurt doesn’t mean you didn’t,” you said. “No one has a monopoly on pain; more than a single person can feel it at the same time. You lost your entire arm, Toge. It’s not complaining for the sake of it. It’s entirely justified for you to feel this way.”

Thanks, Y/N. Anyways, why are you alone? I thought the others would come visit with you.

“Maki, Yuta, Panda, and the first years have entered the Culling Games,” you said, summing up the plan for him. He nodded and hummed in agreement when appropriate, but when you finished, he still looked a little confused.

What about Tullia? I’ve been waiting for her to come see me, but she hasn’t yet. I tried asking Ieri, but she was too busy to answer.

“Tullia?” you said. Had no one told him yet? He blinked at you and then frowned, continuing to write at a furious pace.

Yes. You know, our classmate? The one who drinks poison and has a blood contract with you? That Tullia.

“Do you mean to say that you haven’t heard the news yet?” you said.

What news? Did she join the Culling Games too? You should’ve mentioned that earlier.

“No — no, she didn’t do that,” you said. He cocked his head at you.

Then what? Is she mad at me for something? It’s fine if she is, but if that really is why she hasn’t come, then can you please tell her I’m sorry for whatever I did? And tell her I’ll apologize a million more times in person, too. I just want to talk to her. I miss her.

This wasn’t fair. You had barely been able to handle her death the first time. Telling it to Toge would confirm it, would make it certain that she was never coming back, and it would also definitely break his heart. How could you do that to him? How could you be the one who had to say it?

“Toge…” you trailed off in defeat, burying your face in your hands. You heard him writing, but you couldn’t stand to look up and read it. He shook your shoulder, trying to get you to see it, but you screwed your eyes shut so you didn’t have to

“Tullia,” he said, haltingly, carefully. It was the first thing you had heard him say that wasn’t a cursed speech command or something from his ingredients-based dialect. “Where — is — Tullia?”

It wasn’t his cursed technique. He was just asking. He had broken his sacred rule to ask that question. When you cracked your eyes open, he looked distraught, expression pleading. You weren’t sure what he wanted, though. For you to say it? For you to stay silent? Because he had to know by now. He wasn’t an idiot, so he had to know what you could not vocalize.

“She’s dead,” you burst out, all at once, before you could back out. “Toge, she’s dead.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he was trying to work up the nerve to say something but couldn’t. You watched him, fighting back the urge to cry and finding some measure of success in the endeavor — until you saw it.

Rolling down Toge’s cheek — Toge’s, the same Toge who always laughed and never cried, who was always happy and mischievous, never sad — was a single tear. It splashed down onto the notepad where he had been writing, the black ink spreading, the paper crinkling.

Don’t say she’s dead. She can’t be dead. That’s not what you mean, right? Right?

That was what he had written. That was what you had refused to read. Tears of your own burnt your skin, and this kind of scalding was worse than anything Jogo had ever done to you, because these tears were borne of your own body and designed specifically out of your own aching. Every ounce of pain, every milliliter of grief, all of it poured out of your eyes and onto your hands.

“She’s dead,” you repeated. “That curse — he burnt her, and then she used the last of her poison to let me defeat him, but that meant I couldn’t heal her, so I — I brought her to my family but they refused to heal her — they refused, Toge, they refused! They said they wouldn’t heal her, so I brought her to Sukuna instead, and he killed her! He cut her into a thousand pieces and said he couldn’t heal someone who was already dead!”

Toge inhaled sharply, and then he, too was crying, but he could not brush away his tears as swiftly as you could, not with only one arm, so he just gave up, hunching over his notepad and writing something, the edges of the letters fuzzy from the copious amounts of salty water seeping into the paper.

What were her last words?

“She wanted to go trick or treating. It was Halloween that night, you know, and she said she had so many costume ideas…I told her that we could go the next day and she said she’d like that,” you said before thinking back to another moment. “Oh. And while we were in Jogo’s Domain, she said…she said that she couldn’t die quite yet. She still had to tell someone she loved them.”

You both knew who she had been talking about. Toge stared at you in horror for a moment before slamming his head against the table, completely breaking down, clutching the pen in his hand so tightly it burst. Ink spilled all over his hand and down his sleeve, but he paid it no mind as he bawled like a small child.

Tullia never got to tell him she loved him herself. You were the one who had to pass those words on. What kind of a terrible joke was that? You had to sit across from Toge and watch him lose his composure so thoroughly over a death that was your fault. You had to sit across from him and know that it shouldn’t have been you saying that. It should’ve been her.

He pulled out a pencil from his pocket, staining his grey sweatpants irreversibly, and then he hesitantly began to write, his words gouged into the paper from the force with which he pressed the pencil down.

I love her too.

The world was just a blurry mass of objects now. You swiped at the tears forming in your eyes anew with no small measure of irritation. You owed it to him to read what he wrote. You were the only one who would understand what the words meant, after all, the only one who could comprehend the gravity of them.

I always thought we had so much time left. I didn’t want to rush into anything or make her feel uncomfortable, so I tried to be as slow as I could about it, thinking that we had the rest of our lives to get together. I was planning on asking her out. I even — I even wanted to marry her one day. Why did I wait? Why didn’t I just tell her from the start? I liked her for so long, so why didn’t I just say something to her? Now I never can. Now she’ll never know.

“She does know,” you said. “I’m sure of it. Even if you never said it, she knew.”

Toge did not write a response to that. He just closed his laptop and returned to staring out of the window — a silent dismissal all on its own.

There was no one else you dared to visit, and you didn’t feel up to using Composition on anyone’s minor injuries, so you decided to head to the kitchens and see what your mother was doing. She was a safe person, one who you had managed to protect — albeit belatedly — and one who hadn’t lost anyone she loved. Spending time with her wouldn’t make you cry. Spending time with her might even be fun; well, maybe not fun, but it had been so long since you had talked to her that you believed you ought to.

Who was she, the enigma that was your mother? Who had she been before she had married your father and given birth to you? You had heard that she had been a model, but what else? Had she had many friends, or had she been lonely? Had she ever fallen in love? Not what she thought she had with your father, but a truer version of the emotion, closer to what you felt for Yuta than anything else.

“Y/N! You’re just in time. Try this!” she said, shoving a spoon in your mouth before you could even greet her. You swallowed promptly, savoring the taste before beaming at her.

“It’s really good!” you said.

“Do you think so?” she said.

“Anything’s better than the crap they give us in the dining halls,” you said. “So maybe I’m a little biased. But I do think it’s excellent, yes.”

“Will the others agree, in your opinion? You know them better than I do, after all,” she said. “I don’t want to make a ton of something and then find out that everyone else hates it.”

“Ieri will eat anything if she can have a drink with it, and I’m pretty sure Ijichi brought a ton of alcohol for just that reason, so we’re covered in that aspect. I don’t think anyone else will complain, either, so you can go ahead and make it in bulk,” you said.

“That sounds good. Did you need something?” she said.

“Huh? No, I didn’t. What about you? Do you need any help getting all of this made?” you said, motioning towards the kitchen.

“I don’t need it, but if you have nothing else to do and want something to occupy your time, then I could find a few jobs for you,” she said.

“There’s nothing major to heal at the moment, so I’m free,” you said. “It’s why I came here at all. Put me to work.”

You perched on a stool and cut whatever she handed you, taking out every bit of anger you had on the poor vegetables, which hadn’t done anything wrong but were convenient targets for your fury. Your mother, for her part, did not comment on the particularly aggressive way with which you chopped them up, only thanking you whenever you slid the results into the bowl she had designated for them.

“Is there something on your mind?” your mother said. “You’ve never been one to cook, so there must be a reason you’re spending your free time here instead of anywhere else. Do you want to talk about what’s troubling you?”

“Yes,” you said, stunned at how quickly she had read you despite your distance. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve already lost Tullia, and now all of my friends are in this ridiculous Culling Games. What if Maki’s next? Yuta? Megumi? What will I do then?”

“Maki Zenin, right?” my mother said.

“Yes. Now that Tullia’s gone, she’s my one and only best friend,” you said. “If she dies, I will as well. And not to mention Yuta…”

“You love him,” your mother completed. “It was as plain as day to anyone that didn’t want to see something else. The higher ups, the L/Ns…they all wanted you to be in love with Noritoshi, so that’s what they saw, but the rest of us, people like Satoru and I, we likely knew before even you did. I didn’t want to say it because I thought acknowledging it might wound you more, but I’ve been aware for quite a while now.”

“It’s like that,” you said. “That’s why I could bring him back to life. I loved him so much that I was unable to watch him die, but mother, I’m not there anymore. If something happens to him, I won’t know until it’s too late. How will I save him then?”

“It’s easy to worry, but he’s strong, isn’t he? Your father mentioned that he’s one of only four special grade sorcerers. He’s not going to go down that easily, and you have to trust in that,” she said.

“I do trust him, but that doesn’t mean I can stop myself from worrying,” you said.

“You’ll likely always worry about him. That’s just what you do when you love someone,” she said.

“Did you worry about my father, then?” you said.

“No, never,” she said. “There was someone, though. I worried about him for a time.”

“I see,” you said.

“Anyways, who’s Megumi? Is she another one of your friends who I haven’t met yet?” she said, quickly changing the subject.

“Ah, no, Megumi’s a boy,” you said. “He just has a girl’s name, but I think he’s sensitive about it, so I haven’t ever asked why.”

“Interesting,” your mother said. “And what is this boy to you?”

“He’s my underclassman,” you said, scrunching your nose as you thought about what role Megumi had in your life. “But he’s more like an annoying little brother than anything.”

“Annoying little brother?” she said.

“You know, one time I went to help him on a mission, and I took care of that ridiculous situation he got himself into — with style, might I add — but when Gojo came to make sure everything was alright, Megumi had the nerve to snitch on me, which made me look so bad in front of Gojo! It was embarrassing, and I had to clear up the dumb misconceptions he created before Gojo began to think I was just a useless liar,” you said. Your mother giggled. She sounded sweet when she did, like there was still a trace of girlhood left in her.

“That does sound like a typical younger sibling,” she said.

“He’s dependable, though,” you added. “And he actually listens to the advice I give him, so I guess he’s not terrible. Yeah, I’d even say I like him.”

“That’s good,” she said. “It sounds like you two get along well.”

“We do, which is a surprise, to be honest,” you said.

“Why is that?” she said. You rolled your eyes.

“For a while there, Gojo was trying to set us up. Not that he ever introduced us until Megumi officially enrolled or anything, but he would bring it up constantly,” you said, remembering just how adamant Gojo had been that you and Megumi deserved a chance or something.

“That’s in character for him,” your mother said affectionately. “He always was such a troublesome boy.”

“Megumi wasn’t keen on it, though,” you said. “On the whole, he’s not really into the whole dating and romance scene. He’s a lot like Maki in that sense, actually, which I guess isn’t a surprise, since they’re cousins and all.”

“He’s a Zenin, too?” she said.

“Kind of. His father left the clan, so he has a different last name, but since he got their inherited technique — the Ten Shadows — he became the head after Naobito’s death,” you said. Your mother froze in the middle of stirring the dish she had simmering on the stove.

“His father left the clan? By any chance, do you…happen to know what his family name is?” she said.

“Fushiguro, why?” you said. At that, your mother dropped her spoon. “Mother? Are you alright?”

“I can’t believe it worked out like that,” she muttered, laughing breathlessly. “I really can’t.”

“Did something happen? Do you know his parents or something?” you said. Megumi had never shared much about his personal life or past, but you had learned a little bit about him in the few months you had spent with him. According to him, his own mother died when he was very young, and his father soon remarried to the mother of his beloved step-sister Tsumiki. Both his stepmother and father abandoned them both when they were still children, though, so he mostly held nothing but resentment for the two. What did it say about your mother if she was acquainted with that kind of person?

“You could say I knew his father,” she said. “Though I never really understood him, not at all. He wasn’t a person that someone like me could ever understand. Of course, that didn’t stop me from trying.”

“You loved him,” you realized. “He was the one you worried about.”

“I did,” she said, smiling ruefully. You set aside your knives, imploring her to explain more. She picked up the spoon she had dropped and ran it under the tap water, scrubbing it with a sponge and some soap as she did. “Or at least, I was a girl who believed herself to know what that meant.”

“You can’t just leave it at that!” you said. “You were in love with Megumi’s father? Why’d you end up marrying mine, then?”

“It’s a long story,” she said.

“We have time,” you said. She pursed her lips before nodding.

“That we do. Alright, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to keep working on those vegetables,” she said.

“I’m on it!” you said. It was the first excitement you had felt in some time, an excitement completely unrelated to violence and cruelty and fighting and healing. Here was a rare chance to learn about your mother, to begin to lessen that chasm which spanned between you two in place of a real relationship.

Her eyes shimmered with fondness and nostalgia as she began to tell the story — the one of her youth, of the person she had been before she was nothing more than Mrs. L/N, of the time when even she, too, had known what it meant to love and, in some strange way, to be loved in return.

[aparticularbandit]

(Am I) More Than You Bargained For (Yet) (II)

Chapter Summary: She presses a thumb against Junko’s forehead, right where it hurts, and Junko flinches.  “You hit your head,” Haruhi says, but it sounds like maybe that’s not the whole truth.  “It’s all swollen, and the school nurse didn’t know what to do.”

“H-H-Haruhi,” Mikuru interrupts, “you didn’t take her to the school—”

“Hush.”

Brought to you by a discussion @tobiasdrake and I had about what it would look like if Junko and Haruhi ever met.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Now, the school’s cultural festival is a big event.  Some might suspect, based on events in another timeline, that Haruhi decided to make a movie purely out of boredom with her own class’s goings on.  Those same people might also suspect that in the absence of a certain Ryoko Asakura, there would be no one who would pick up her slack or lead the class in one direction or the other, and then they might further suspect that as a result, her class will end up doing nothing more than a boring survey, which no one really wants or likes.

There are three things wrong with this assumption:

In a world where Junko and Haruhi are in the same class and the class representative, for some unexplained reason, suddenly and abruptly moved to Canada with no warning and no way of contacting her, Junko herself would take the lead and suggest something else for the cultural festival because Junko herself would be so bored with even the idea of a survey that she would lead the charge for something a little less boring.

In a world where Junko Enoshima, an internationally acclaimed model, is one of their classmates, her very existence itself would lead someone to suggest some sort of fashion show, even though it would likely require her to make all of their clothes on her own time with no real compensation.  (This is feature, not a bug.)

Ryoko Asakura hasn’t disappeared or suddenly, abruptly, and with no explanation moved to Canada, and so there is no vacuum of leadership that leads to the aforementioned situation where a survey might even remotely be a possibility.

Unfortunately for Junko, Asakura herself suggests the fashion show, to the overwhelming support of their classmates.

Now, Junko doesn’t sleep on a good night.  She can’t get herself to relax without going so hard that she knocks herself out from sheer exhaustion.  This is a dream.  With the workload of designing and making Mikuru’s general Brigade costumes plus designing a whole host of different outfits for the fashion show (most of them variations on themes she’s already played with, which just means she’s undoing and redoing and improving on clothes Junk Co. already has in production) plus the very brand new handcrafted original pieces that she and Haruhi will be wearing plus all of the costumes Mikuru and Koizumi and Yuki are meant to wear in Haruhi’s movie—

It’s a lot.

It’s more than a lot.

What is sleep when there is all this work to do?

~

One afternoon, Haruhi storms into the clubroom a little later than normal.  “That idiot!”  She slams the door behind her.  “I don’t care!”  Then she crosses her arms, expecting Junko to ask her what happened and not even noticing she doesn’t as she whirls around on one heel and continues, “Asakura wants to change our outfits for your fashion show!  And she stopped me like—”  She stops abruptly and stares at the sight in front of her.

Junko.  Not paying attention.  Not moving.

Which is the weirdest thing she’s ever seen.

Junko’s just sitting at the table with a needle just pulled through fabric in one hand, her other arm resting on the table like she could keep sewing any minute, except…except she isn’t.  She’s just frozen, chin against her chest, swaying softly.

(Okay, it’s honestly not the weirdest thing Haruhi’s ever seen because she’s done a lot of things that people would probably call weird if they saw it—

It’s just not weird to her!  It’s just the way that you draw actual weird things to you!  She’s trying her hardest, thank you very much, and it’s not her fault that the supernatural is just too smart to fall into any of her carefully laid traps!

…other than that ghost girl that one time.  But that was one time!  And besides, that should probably be a lot weirder than this!)

Haruhi smacks Junko upside the back of her head with a flat palm.

This does nothing.

Haruhi’s brow furrows, and she tries again.  Harder this time.

This still does nothing.

Haruhi scowls.  Fortunately for her, Junko refuses to wear a normal school uniform; at first, she wore a modified version of the girls’, and then she wore a modified version of the boys’ one, with the occasional comment from Asakura, as student representative, that maybe she should stick to her normal uniform.  This led to Junko questioning what she meant by normal, and now Junko mixes and matches pieces from each until there isn’t so much one solitary uniform for both genders, just Junko’s uniform.

The point of all this is that today, Junko is wearing a tie.

Haruhi grabs the tie around Junko’s neck and tugs her upward into a standing position.  The needle and fabric drop from Junko’s lap – the needle with a clatter, the fabric without much of a sound at all – but the sharp yank seems to have done nothing to Junko, who just stands there, slightly swaying, eyes fluttering.

I don’t have time for this!

And yet.

Haruhi releases her grip on Junko’s tie, and Junko falls, slamming her forehead on the edge of the table.  Still nothing.  It would be so easy to be convinced she was dead, if she wasn’t clearly still breathing.  She doesn’t even flinch!  Instead, she grimaces and mutters something unintelligible under her breath before curling up on the ground with her head on her arms.

Mikuru is waiting.  She’ll be absolutely no help for this sort of thing.  (Strength – physical or emotional – is not one of Moe’s strong suits.  That’s the entire point!  Moe makes someone want to protect them!  They can’t be strong!)

….

You know what, actually, Junko is kind of cute like that.

Haruhi shakes her head.  Not the point!  She needs Junko to be awake!  They have things to do!

UGH.

Why does everything have to be like this today?

~

Junko yawns.

….

The world is moving.

….

Is it….

Is it supposed to be moving?

….

Okay, sure, yes, the world is technically supposed to be moving, that’s why the day/night cycle exists, that’s why the year exists, that’s why there are breezes and storms and…not tides, funnily enough, which has more to do with the moon and nothing to do with the movement of the world, but she’s not thinking about that kind of moving, she’s thinking about the kind of moving she can actually feel happening around her.

(Think about it.  Have you ever felt the world move?)

(….)

(Earthquakes don’t count.)

Junko yawns, and Junko stretches her arms up above her head, and Junko hits something overhead, and Junko shifts in her seat, and Junko rubs up against someone next to her, and Junko thinks, you know what, if that is what this is, why not play with it?  She cracks one eye open – just enough to note that she is, in fact, on a train (with no explanation for how she got there, except for her neck and her forehead both being very, very sore all of a sudden, and she doesn’t remember either being that sore before) and that Haruhi is, in fact, the person sitting next to her, back to her, focused on – she cranes her ears – a conversation she’s having with Mikuru about something to do with some mobile app that they both really like – and then closes her eyes again and leans heavily against Haruhi.

“It’s no good.  I already know you’re—”

Junko ignores Haruhi, pretends to mumble something unintelligible, and leans even more heavily against her.

Haruhi shifts.

Junko falls forward, only for her head to land in Haruhi’s lap.  When Haruhi puts a hand in her hair, she keeps herself from tensing, expecting Haruhi to twist her fingers through her locks and pull her upwards.  (Tensing would be a good way to affirm what Haruhi already knows to be true, and that would break the ruse and be much less fun.)

But Haruhi doesn’t.

Instead, Haruhi brushes her hand through Junko’s hair.  Rough, of course, because Haruhi wouldn’t understand how to be gentle if it slapped her upside the face, but she’s…something, maybe.  She presses a thumb against Junko’s forehead, right where it hurts, and Junko flinches.  “You hit your head,” Haruhi says, but it sounds like maybe that’s not the whole truth.  “It’s all swollen, and the school nurse didn’t know what to do.”

“H-H-Haruhi,” Mikuru interrupts, “you didn’t take her to the school—”

“Hush.”  (Haruhi is probably shooting Mikuru a glare, but Junko doesn’t open an eye to see that.  She sees enough of it during Brigade activities that she knows the look without needing to see it.)  “I could have taken her before I found you!”

Mikuru probably shifts her eyes, probably looks away, probably shifts her feet together.  “B-b-but you didn’t—”

“You don’t know that!”

Junko laughs, a bright tinkling sound, and Haruhi’s fingers tighten in her hair.  “Wake up!”  She shoves her out of her lap, but Junko catches herself before she falls too far.  When she looks up, Haruhi’s arms are crossed, her nose up in the air, scowl on her face.  “I had to carry you all the way from the clubroom!”

“Good thing I’m a model!”  Junko brushes off her arms.  (There’s nothing there, but it’s the action that matters.)  “I don’t weigh anything!”  She grins at Haruhi, who just sniffs derisively.  Then she glances over to Mikuru, whose honey brown eyes are wide.  (This is normal.  They are always wide.  Except, sometimes, when they aren’t.)  “So where are we going?” she asks her, straightening her skirt before sitting back down.

“I don’t know.”  Mikuru looks away.  “Haruh said something about needing…sponsors?”

“For the movie!  We need a camera!  And—”

Junko barely listens as she finds her bag under her seat.  She raises an eyebrow.  What a surprising amount of thought.  “You don’t need sponsors.  You have me.”  Her eyes widen as she finds the project she last remembers working on, the needle neatly set through the fabric with the thread still attached.  She glances up at Haruhi, who still isn’t even looking at her.

“You’re not going to pay for everything, so we still—”

“I’m an internationally renowned supermodel, Haruhi.”  Junko closes her bag and runs her finger along Haruhi’s jaw.  “Let me be your sugar momma for one movie.”  She gently turns Haruhi’s chin so that she faces her and grins.  “Just tell me what you need,” she croons, “and we can work out some sort of…payment plan.”

Haruhi just glares at her.  “Mikuru,” she snaps, gaze flicking over to her just as Mikuru squeaks, “you’re going to do whatever Junko wants for the next—”

“?!”  Mikuru’s gaze flicks from Haruhi to Junko and then back again.  Then it drops, and her fingers fidget together in her lap, knees turned inward, shoulders hunched forward.  She glances up one last time, furtively at Junko, just as Junko drops her fingertips from Haruhi’s chin.

And again, Junko ignores her.

If you can’t stand up to Haruhi, you can at least stand up to me.

Take care of it yourself.

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

Is 6.5% enough- Part II

This is a bit of a follow up to the post I wrote yesterday about the 6.5% rumoured pay offer for teachers. In that post, I alluded to the fact that pay isn’t the only issue, and whilst I do think pay has a significant impact on recruitment, I don’t think low pay is the main driver of people leaving teaching.

Most teachers don’t leave because of pay, although pay you can’t afford to live on doesn’t help, and many schools in expensive towns struggle to recruit more than those in cheaper parts of the same local authority. Most teachers leave because of “workload”.

But what is “workload”? Many schools have taken real strides to address the problem of workload in the last 5-10 years. They’ve got rid of bizarre, excessive marking policies. They’ve centralized planning, so you hopefully aren’t planning from scratch, at least up to KS4. There haven’t been major changes to the exam spec recently, so we aren’t having to rewrite all our schemes of work yet again. I know there are schools which are the exception to this, but they aren’t the norm any more.

That said, teachers are screwed by a part of our contract which states that we have to work enough hours to discharge the duties of our job. Legally, there’s no such thing as an unreasonable planning or marking load, even if there is a (theoretical) limit on the amount of time schools can have us in meetings or parents evenings.

In many schools, a part of “workload” is covering for absent colleagues. These could be unfilled roles within the school, or people who are off sick, or on a planned absence, such as maternity. It is very difficult to find a teacher to take on a maternity cover these days, let alone a temporary position that only lasts for, say, a term. There’s a shortage of supply teachers, as well.

This affects teachers in a few ways. One, physically “covering” the class, i.e. supervising them during a “non-contact”. But, the bigger, more insidious way, is that the remaining teachers in a department often have to take on the planning and marking for these classes. In a large department, split between several of you, it’s a killer. In smaller departments, it’s almost impossible. And often, it pushes other people over the edge into leaving, putting the school into a downwards spiral.

The worst, though, is when the school can’t make cover work that day, and so the remaining three or four teachers are sent to the hall or the library, to teach 5 or 6 classes at once. This is incredibly draining, and worse, you know the students are getting nothing out of it, so it’s putting your classes “behind” as well.

In many schools, this has been happening for at least the past few years, and, combined with covid, means you have classes entering Y11 and Y13 with major gaps. Because teachers care about their students (and because poor grades can sometimes prevent you progressing up the pay scale) teachers often run revision sessions for students after school. This is extra work, extra planning, often involves buying extra resources, and then all too soon becomes expected. Whereas in the past it might be revision or a club, it can become “revision and a club and targeted intervention”- taking up three hours a week. Technically, you can say no, so it’s not included in “directed time”, but saying no to these things is very hard.

There’s also issues around lack of “support staff”. Support staff aren’t just the teaching assistants, who do an amazing job. It’s also people like the absence officer, who chases up students who haven’t turned up to school and their parents haven’t given an explanation. Or perhaps pastoral support workers, who help students with challenging home lives. And many of the duties these people might have done get pushed on to teachers, who now, after their teaching day is over, may be ringing parents to find out why their child wasn’t in school. Senior leadership always told me this was a five minute job, but they weren’t the ones ringing home and finding out that this family had been evicted, or this parent had been a victim of domestic violence, or that a grandparent had unexpectedly died. And all these phone calls would then generate an hour or more’s work trying to find appropriate support for the student.

The truth is education isn’t the only service in this country that is crumbling. But it is the only one where we see young people day in and day out. Councils can cut youth workers. The NHS can extend waiting lists for everything from mental health support to autism diagnosis. Social services can raise the threshold at which they intervene or offer support. Or, even in a crisis, just say no-one is available, because they aren’t the ones with a crying child who’s got nowhere to go in their office.

But schools and therefore teachers have been forced to take all of this on. Schools run food banks, wash the clothes of children who don’t have enough electricity at home, try to sort out social problems like homelessness. Schools have brought counselling services in house (with all the problems that involves) and try to manage students with undiagnosed special educational needs as best as possible. All of this creates extra work for people, and it also creates extra stress- especially when it goes wrong.

If we want schools to do all of this, and in some ways, it might make sense to make a school or college a one stop shop for all the needs young people might have- then it needs to be funded. It needs to be appropriately staffed. Because trying to be teacher and social worker and counsellor to young people is breaking a lot of teachers, and soon there will be no-one left, no matter how high the pay is.

[skeleton-in-a-hoodie]

The more I think about what DDMG Splinter was like whilst alive, the more I think this man was a terrible fit for the heir of a ninja clan.

Under a readmore due to length and cause I have trouble figuring out what stuff to do with DDMG Hamato Yoshi does and doesn't count as a spoiler.

Not skill wise, this man was a ninjutsu prodigy and the best ninja of his generation. There's an argument to be made that he surpassed his uncle and sensei, which is no mean feat.

He was also an good teacher, and ended up being given the difficult students, because he had the skills and patience necessary to help them. Sometimes his students were just struggling with ninjutsu and were learning slower than the other instructors wanted, others had problems at home or undiagnosed disabilities/ mental health issues, so half his job as a sensei was teaching them ninjutsu, and the other half was helping them work through whatever was happening to them.

There are a lot of people who, despite all the lies said about him after his death, still have fond memories of him. More than a few do not believe the things said about him, because it doesn't fit with the achingly kind man they knew.

So the issue wasn't that Splinter wasn't skilled enough, or was bad at ninjutsu. The issue was that he was a massive softie, who ultimately chose his wife and daughter over the clan.

Splinter and his father both were given very similar choices: put their families first, or the clan.

DDMG Yuuta was a terrible father, but he did love his kids. That's not me trying to justify the things he did, or what he put his sons through, it's just a fact. Hamato Yuuta loved his children, but that did not stop him ripping them apart in service of the Clan. He loves his sons, but that love wasn't enough. He loved his sons, but they weren't more important than the Hamato Clan. When given the choice between putting his sons' wellbeing before the Clan, he prioritised the clan and assumed that one day they'd understand. He assumed that Yoshi, his youngest and heir, would do the same.

When given the same choice, I think Yoshi initially tried to balance the two, especially because at the time Yuuta was terminally ill. Yoshi wanted to be a present father for Miwa, whilst also making sure the Hamato clan endured. His entire family history was connected to the clan one way or another, even his mother's family, who weren't ninja but had been allies to the Hamato's for generations.

Initally, the clan began to win out, not because Yoshi didn't love his daughter or Shen, but because the sheer workload of doing his duties + his fathers + dealing with the clan leadership wanting the same relationship with him as they had Yuuta took up most of his time.

After an argument with Shen, during which she pointed out that she didn't sign up for Miwa having an absentee father, I think Yoshi sat down and really thought about what he wanted.

He wanted the clan to keep going, yes, but not at the expense of his wife and child. Shen and Miwa deserved more than that, and he could remember what it was like being the child of the clan head, having a father, but not really. Throughout much of Yoshi's childhood, Yuuta was a stranger who only occasionally dropped by to punish Yoshi for some perceived wrong doing. Yoshi wanted to be part of Miwa's life.

Yoshi also realised that he had no interest in being head of a ninja clan. If he was in charge of the Hamato Clan, it would more closely resemble a ninjutsu school. Essentially, he was more interested in being a teacher than he was Hamato Yuuta's heir, which the clan leadership would not be happy about.

So he decided to consciously prioritise his wife and daughter. If the clan leadership wanted to talk to him, it had to be whilst he was at the dojo, and he would leave at the time he said so he could be home at a decent time for his wife and daughter. He'd also redirect them to Saki, who was also more than capable of solving the problem, and also showed more interest than Yoshi in being a ninja clan leader. They could call Yoshi after work, but it had to be a genuine emergency. He took days off, mainly so he could catch up on lost time with Miwa.

One night he sat Shen down, and asked if she was still thinking about moving to New York, because he had some suggestions about places they could look at and potential jobs he could apply for, if she'd have him. She was... extremely happy to hear that. I don't think DDMG Shen would have moved to New York without him, but she would have broken up with him if she decided he wasn't going to be a good father to Miwa. Shen loved the bones of that man, but Miwa was her daughter and had to come first, especially as she'd grown up with absentee parents and wasn't going to put Miwa through that too, no matter how well meaning Yoshi was. So seeing him putting Miwa first convinced her to stay with him, but him bringing up moving cemented the fact in her mind that he was serious - this wasn't a man changing for a few weeks and then the problem repeating, this was a genuine and sustained effort. When he died, they were already packing to move.

If anything, I think the decisions Yoshi made leading up to his murder are why Yuuta won't visit Splinter post-death. Kinda like Yuuta sees Yoshi as having abandoned their family and heritage for some woman, because he doesn't want to admit Yoshi did everything he did to be a good husband and father.

This man was a giant softie who enjoyed teaching, and decided his child was more important to him than the clan. He didn't know if he was good enough to be both a teacher and a father, but he wanted to try. He didn't care about honour - seek victory, not fairness - but he'd never been a vindictive man, and Shen loved that about him.

Meanwhile, the Hamato Clan of DDMG definitely had blood on their hands, even excluding their fued with the Foot Clan. They were active during WW2, which is all I'll say on the matter due to lack of research on my part regarding Japan's military in WW2 (though if anyone has any books or articles they'd recommend on the subject, feel free. I can never have too many research topics). Also this post is longer than I thought it was going to be, and a post on the exact nature of the DDMG Hamato Clan will have to wait for another day, as this was supposed to just be about what Splinter was like whilst alive.

So, I don't think he was necessarily a good fit for being the head of a ninja clan, or at very least the one he'd been raised in. He had a good heart, loved his wife and daughter with every ounce of his being, and wanted to be a teacher and father more than anything.

And I think there's an argument to be made that it contributed to the circumstances surrounding his death, which is also another post for another day.

[itsav]

ATHASHA VITUG XII-KANT

As I reflect on my journey through senior high school, it’s hard to believe how much has changed since I first walked through those daunting school gates as a timid Grade 11 student. Back then, I felt like a nobody, just another face in the crowd, unsure of where I fit in or if I even belonged. Little did I know, my journey was about to take me on a transformative path, leading me to unexpected friendships, personal growth, and unforgettable memories.

Grade 11 was a year of discovery and adaptation. I remember feeling overwhelmed by the workload, the new environment, and the pressure to excel academically. I struggled to find my place within the bustling hallways and noisy classrooms, often retreating into the safety of solitude to avoid the unfamiliarity of social interactions. However, amidst the chaos of adolescence, I found solace in the pages of books and the quiet corners of the library, where I could lose myself in the worlds of literature and escape the anxieties of reality.

Despite my initial reservations, fate had other plans for me. It was during a group project in my English class that I first crossed paths with a diverse group of classmates who would soon become my closest friends. Bonding over shared interests and mutual struggles, we formed an unlikely alliance that transcended the barriers of cliques and social hierarchies. Together, we navigated the ups and downs of high school life, supporting each other through academic challenges, personal crises, and the occasional teenage drama.

As the months passed, I began to find my voice within our tight-knit circle, shedding the layers of self-doubt that had held me back for so long. Encouraged by the unwavering support of my newfound friends, I gradually emerged from the shadows, embracing opportunities for leadership and self-expression. Whether it was volunteering for class projects, participating in extracurricular activities, or speaking up in discussions, I found myself stepping into roles that I never imagined I was capable of fulfilling.

By the time Grade 12 rolled around, I had undergone a remarkable transformation. No longer the quiet observer on the sidelines, I had become a confident and proactive member of our classroom community. Elected as the unofficial “classroom mayor” by my peers, I took on the responsibility of representing our collective interests, mediating conflicts, and fostering a sense of unity and camaraderie among our diverse group of personalities.

As the final weeks of senior year approached, I found myself filled with a bittersweet mix of anticipation and nostalgia. While I looked forward to the adventures that awaited me beyond the confines of high school, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving behind the friends and memories that had shaped my journey in ways I never could have imagined. From the timid nobody of Grade 11 to the confident leader of Grade 12, my senior high school experience had been a rollercoaster ride of self-discovery, growth, and transformation.

As I prepare to embark on the next chapter of my life, I carry with me the lessons learned and the friendships forged during my time in senior high school. Though our paths may diverge and our lives may take us to different corners of the world, I know that the bonds we formed and the memories we shared will always remain a cherished part of who we are. And as I look back on my journey from nobody to classroom mayor, I am grateful for every moment, every challenge, and every triumph that shaped me into the person I am today.

[deepcutbrotank]

I needa rant a few things out yall. This is surly mostly for me just to process in words so: TLDR Fuck Corporate America. I’m awesome, they suck.

If you’ve been following my work saga it’s been a tough year or so and last winter during the worst of it I applied and was accepted into grad school. So I’ll be starting in the fall and I’ll give my notice in the next couple months that I’m leaving.

I was overworked and underpaid and being supervised by a rancid witch and so I made moves to leave. I was managing two cafes for 6% more than I was making before while just managing one. I worked 6 or 7 days a week often 50+ hours, while salaried. When I was offered the “temporary assignment” (specifically not promotion) I was basically told I could manage both cafes in this city or my cafe would be closed and employees laid off. In negotiating my salary I was asked if I would still take the salary I’d initially refused if it would save my employees their jobs. My boss was constantly up my ass (not in a sexy way) about any minor thing, like it had to be by the book or she’d freak. I asked for time off once and she basically threatened me with not approving future requests if the cafes couldn’t run well for my time away. Very relaxing.. We had my annual review and she told me I was underperforming across the board, but also that she could tell I was doing my best and that the situation I was placed in wasn’t fair to me. Meanwhile the cafes ran, we were always open and getting positive customer feedback and like.. just doing it. It wasn’t perfect but we (I!) was managing.

Now my new boss is delightful and my workload matches my compensation but I’m still conflictingly flattered and frustrated when I hear things like “I really appreciate you and your leadership style and commitment as of late” from my new boss. Like thank you but, my dude, you’ve known me for 4 months. I’ve been fucking killing this here for years. This is my third boss in the 3.5 years I’ve managed; They keep bringing in outside hires who know less than me and whom I then have to prove myself to anew. I just did the bar certification we have all our baristas do before they’re cleared to serve espresso drinks and I got a 112% (extra points awarded for speed). My cafe is the highest grossing in the market (we’re paired with DC) and we just broke our own all time sales records the last 3 weeks. All my staff adore me, I have some employees that I hired 3 years ago still working for me.

Idk how to wrap this up but like damn they’re gunna miss me when I’m gone.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi! INFJ. Thanks for this very useful blog. I wanted to ask, as I am considering to what extent I will make sacrifices to attempt to go into academia - what was your personal reasoning about an academic career?

I could be misremembering but I believe in saw in your prior posts that you studied at the graduate level in philosophy or psychology, and then held roles in education and finance.

On one hand, I love the freedom academics seemingly have to keep learning and work on projects with no obvious near term financial payoff. On the other hand, the faculty workload and financial opportunity cost (depending on the field) seem high, and I value a healthy lifestyle above everything else. And it's obviously very hard to get an academic job.

I have reasonably well-developed industry plan, but I may eventually hit a wall with my learning in industry. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on the academic lifestyle and alternative ways to still pursue lifelong learning, which you clearly have done.

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You said you value healthy lifestyle above all else, so use that as your guide. But then you talk about other things you also value. In real life, with its practical limitations, you can't value everything equally. You have to make trade-offs, otherwise, you'll get stuck in indecision or bite off more than you can chew.

Experiences of working in academia vary widely based on factors such as: field of study, faculty support, school expectations, and personal factors. Some fields of study are much more competitive than others, which might demand more sacrifice from you. Being part of a faculty means dealing with office politics, so faculty leadership makes a big difference for handling difficult environments. Some schools are certainly better than others, which can determine what constraints are put upon you.

What about personal factors? Are you an overthinker? If so, it might mean you doubt your capacity for handling adversity. Are you an overplanner? If so, does it mean you have a general mistrust in the world? Are you the kind of person who can only ever see one path ahead? If so, it might indicate lack of adaptability. Every job has its downsides to deal with. Life is going to keep throwing challenges at you. If you spend your life always trying to get ahead of every single negative possibility you can imagine, you'll live a very harried life.

Why not simply trust the process, enjoy the journey, and be open to changing course as needed? That's how I roll. My feelings guide me through life and I trust them 100%. If I don't feel like something's for me, then it's not for me and I'm not going to do it. I've never been married to any job or any career path. It's not my priority. You ask me for my "reasoning" but I have nothing to offer you except the feelings that guide my preferences.

If you don't trust your feelings, then I'm not the right person to ask. Perhaps the people you should ask are the ones already working the jobs you are considering. For instance, talk to all of your professors, especially the ones who have worked in more than one institution. Ask them about the pros and cons and work-life balance, etc.