#this is objectively true but it is also ok to acknowledge that white women have also been seen as property for hundreds of years

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

wow I hate everything abt the world

[justalittleconfusing]

I take personal offense to all the hate Taylor is getting and I have no where to spew this so here goes un edited.

1) she is not political enough post Ms America documentary.

Response: this woman performed soon you get better during CoVID. She cast a trans Man as her love interest in the track one music video of midnights!!! She donates time and money to causes (with and without publicity). She is political through her ACTIONS not tweets.

2) she is too successful to be hinder being a white woman

Response: this one is hard for me. I am a successful white woman. I was actively hindered. I didn’t know I was good at math (as someone with an advanced degree and 15+ year career in data analytics AND IS AN MBA PROFESSOR TEACHING DATA) until I was 37. Let that sink in. My entire 1990s-2000s existences so much of my life models were ditzy girls who were hot or brainy nerds who had no social interaction skills and nothing in between. For every Elle Woods we had the American Pie franchise. We were told we had to “have it all” with no road map how to be the manic pixie dream girl, size zero, interesting but not intimidating, play in your space but never the men’s space, mother and counselor while never admitting our pain and every other version we are trapped in.

The deck is stacked. We can be ahead of the curve and then the curve suddenly becomes a sphere. And she gives us space to figure out how to do and create for ourselves and not just others.

3) she only talks about her exes and makes her money off tarnishing others reputations

Response: people hurt people. Women of my age don’t always have permission from society to acknowledge that hurt. Those of us who are the “pathological people pleasers” those of us who have conditions on being loved with how we act, what we produce, what we give others. We don’t have much of a voice. Why is Taylor so popular for me? Because she tells me being alone isn’t the worst thing in the world. Being “on your own kid” and making mistakes that make people leave you, you can still be true to yourself.

Also, her obsession with girlhood. How many of us grew up during the purity ring craze. Where exploring our sexuality and urges was just for men. Where we were madonnas or whores. Where men had to “trick us” into engaging in sex and if we wanted it we were objects to be used.

Give me back my girlhood. This idea is innocence and being unclean. Surviving sexual assault and recovering what love looks like after. Women our age didn’t grow up with the idea we don’t have to consent. And if we don’t consent and things happen that is sexual assault. We didn’t have words to put the feelings of being gaslit or abused in place. Taylor gives us that vocabulary. She teaches us to explore the feelings of being hurt and how to heal. She teaches us to feel wide ranges of emotions and say what those feelings are. And it’s ok. Sadness and Joy can be friends.

Overall feelings synopsis: sometimes, we forget, that white women of a certain age, while we do have a lot of privilege, we still have societal expectations stacked against us. A Karen had morphed from being a racist woman who uses white privilege to call the police to hurt people of color to a woman my age who has blonde shorter hair who is annoying to men. We are belittled for feelings beyond being happy. We get mansplained when we try to say we are angry, disappointed, hurt, violated, so many more feelings!

Taylor represents us. She represents our glitter and fountain pens. Our love of frivolous and deep pain. We can embrace all facets of ourselves and still be brilliant minds.

I adore her and am eternally grateful for every word she has written, sung, advocated for, and performed. She taught me to accept myself, advocate, pursue a sexual assault case, USE MY VOICE.

Also, as a sexual assault survivor, watching half the country elevate people like Kavanaugh and Trump. She is my hope.

To Taylor!

[morgansmoreid]

Do You Still Love Me • Derek Morgan • Chapter Nine

Chapter Name: " Reasonable"

Fic Masterlist

Italic writing stands for flashbacks.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Parental Abuse, Drugs Mention, Homophobia

Bold Writing stands for what happened at the station while Y/n was not present

---

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Four.

Y/n's feet clacked against the concrete floor.

Rubbing the palm of her hand against the outline of the pills, Y/n moved along the cars as she slowly walked to the station, this time her mind as empty as an open field.

The station was in her view quicker than anticipated. She pulled open the front door, the bell above it causing everyone who was in ear's views to turn their heads. Scanning each face carefully, relief swayed through Y/n as no face was anyone she dreaded to talk to.

Her relief was cut short as Aaron walked down the hall to her left with the team, her father, and James.

"That was all we needed to know," She heard him say as Aaron shook her father's hand.

James was the first to see her, alerting the rest of the people surrounding him by clearing his throat. Y/n made eye contact with James, her breaking first as her eyes fell to her feet. Thoughts of turning around and sprinting on her heels again popped in Y/n's head, but she ignored them and just looked to the floor.

"Y/n Y/L/N-Fields, please come with us." Emily moved from the center of the group and to Y/n, reaching out her hand to lead Y/n the way of the interrogation room. Y/n took it, keeping her head down as they walked past the group, eyes burning through her back as the pills in her pocket scream her name.

Emily opens the door and lets Y/n take a seat before heading outside again. Everyone is looking at the young female through the one-sided window, their eyes still leaving the same burning gaping hole.

Aaron and David come in, both faces stoic and tense. In hand, Aaron has a yellow pad and a pee cup while David has a blood test. Y/n's eyes grow wide at the objects placed in front of her before she sits up straight and lays her hands on the table.

"You aren't drug testing me." She says, her tone assertive but calm.

"But we are," David replies, looking over to Aaron.

"You understand that this is a federal investigation now? If you comply, these samples will not go on record but will be used for further inference. If you don't, they will go on your job record and you will be on leave effective immediately." Aaron threatened, leaving Y/n no choice.

"I'm clean." She mumbled as she rolled her sleeve for the blood test. Even if she wasn't, it wouldn't show for another 2 days, so it would be negative anyway.

Aaron said nothing as he opened the blood kit and wiped Y/n's inner arm with a sanitary wipe. Y/n winced at the needle entering her arm, the pain lasting as blood filled four tubes. Placing a bandaid on her arm, Aaron disposed of the needle in a different bag before opening the door and handing it to a hand outside.

Y/n may have not seen the person who took the bag, but she saw Derek. He was leaning against the wall across from the door, arms crossed. They made eye contact, this time neither one breaking it, just before the door closed.

"Do you need water?" David's voice pulled Y/n out of her thoughts.

Yes. Her throat was dry and scratchy.

Yes. Water would go well with the pills in her pocket.

"No thank you," Y/n looks up to David. He gives her the look of pity and sorrow and she feels herself hanging on by a thread.

"Come with me then," David holds the look as he turns around, cup in hand, and opens the door for Y/n.

Walking out, Y/n and David turn to the right from the small room while the team and others are on the left. David stands outside of the unisex bathroom as Y/n pees in the given cup. Washing her hands, Y/n stares at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes are red and her arm is now in pain. She feels like she's in one of those bad teenage romcoms, where the main character fucks up her life and in the end, it gets better. She's just waiting for her cue.

The silence lasts in the bathroom as Y/n bags her cup and places it on the small window ledge. She could run right now if she wanted to, but it wouldn't be worth it. Y/n turns on the bathroom faucet again and pulls out the baggie of pills from her pocket. 7 white tablets look at her as she takes one into her hand and shoves the rest back into hiding.

Just before she could bring her hand to her mouth and consume the evil, little miraculous wonder, David knocked on the door causing her to drop the pill in fright. Right into a puddle of "water," the pill went as Y/n hissed at the closed brown door.

"Fuck!" Her words echoed in the small room.

"Y/n? Is everything ok in there?" David's voice is muffled on the other side.

Instead of answering him, Y/n grabs the cup and pushes open the door, slamming the cup into the elder's hand and walking back into the integration room. She passes everyone, this time not bothering to even acknowledge Derek's presence, or his attempt to talk to her.

She slacks down in her seat and waits for the next person to walk through the door. It's Aaron again, with Penelope's laptop and a tape recorder in hand as he carries a file in his armpit.

"Before we start, shall I address you as Fields or Y/L/N?" Aaron precautions.

"Y/L/N, and only Y/L/N," Y/n says, voice cold as ice.

"Ok then, for the record, can you please state your full name, your age, and the year?" The first question leaves Aaron's lips.

"My name is Y/n Y/L/N, I am 29, and it's the year 2008."

Hotch scribbles Y/n's words down and opens the laptop. When he turns it to her, it's already open to a cheer photo from Y/n's sophomore year of high school.

"Please state who you recognize in this photo." Aaron opens the file that was once under his arm.

Eyes read the screen multiple times as the memories resurface in Y/n's head and the names leave her mouth.

"Sabrina Chains, Joanna McCarter, Daisy Miller, Rose Henry, Arianna Anderson, Megan Smith, Daniela Choi, Christina Middleton, and Catarina Paredes."

It's not in order, Sabrina is actually next to Daisy and Joanna is standing next to Daniela, but when Y/n recognized the face, she said the name.

"And who is this?" Aaron hits the right arrow key to move to the next slide. Y/n is horrified by what she sees. It's not another group picture or even a single picture of one of the women, it's a crime scene photo.

It's Arianna's crime scene photo, the only crime Y/n wasn't surrounded by the group for. The hotel room is way messier than others, the behavior completely changed from the last 3. Blood is everywhere, money and jewelry are splattered across the floor and there are no numbers on top of the body or anywhere for that matter. If the other kills weren't personal, this was. Arianna was killed by someone in rage and mixed emotion.

Just how Y/n left the team.

She can only look at the gruesome crime scene for so long until she reaches for the hood of the laptop to shut it off. Aaron is quicker and pulls it out of her sight as he switches to another picture of the crime scene, this time the bathroom.

Two looks and Y/n is ready to throw up. She trained for this, she worked her ass off for the last 5 years on how to keep her composure, yet, she's failing to keep herself together. The bathroom is a mess, clothes are ripped and makeup is smeared on walls, this unsub lost control or this is a new killer. Either way, it's not Y/n and there is no way that the team can possibly deem her that low.

"Please turn it off." Her voice is tense and demanding.

Aaron does shut the laptop and turns it to him. He takes a minute to write down his observations and proceeds with the integration further.

"When you left the Police Station, you were gone for 2 hours and 13 minutes, where did you go?" He asks, writing down the question as he says it.

"James, where is she?" David asks, handing Spencer a miniature Newton's cradle to calm him down.

Everyone looks at James for an answer. After Y/F/N was questioned, he and James were separated for the sake of the case. James was working on a different case file, wrapping it up on the end of the conference table while the team focused on Y/n.

"I'm not positively sure," James lied, rubbing the back of his neck as his handwriting started to get sloppy against the manila folder and its contents inside.

"Well, where do you think?" Derek spoke, his tone snappy and agitated.

After Y/F/N gave up his truth about Y/n's past and her drug problems, Derek was also questioned, not officially, just about how much he knew and what he wasn't letting on. Derek was honest with Hotch and the team, telling them he had no idea about Y/n's problem. Yes, it was true sometimes it intrigued him when they had date night and she never drank anything besides sparkling water, but when she blamed it on "past issues," he assumed it ran in the family.

He assumed because he trusted her.

And she broke that.

"Michael? The guy that Chief Fields couldn't stand? He lived right over here." James gets up and points to the computer screen. Y/n's last coordinates were still up so he dragged his pen across the screen, measuring out the distance for the team as he landed on the only colorful house in satellite view.

"I thought Michael was who introduced her into the drugs in the first place?" Aaron walks over to James.

"It's not really his fault, I've always told Y/n that she could've said no," James responds, becoming silent from everyone's glare at him.

"Saying no isn't easy," Derek mumbles, so low, no one heard him.

No one could say anything as another policeman came into the room frantically about a new body.

Y/n had only been gone 34 minutes at most. There was no way it could be her so quickly, but that didn't stop everyone's thoughts from going to the deep end.

As the team flies into the SUVs, Aaron orders Penelope to keep watch on Y/n's coordinates and dig very thoroughly of the lives of the 9 women, 5 now potential victims.

"Someone has it out for these women, and I wouldn't put it past that Y/n is the glue." He said, tightening his holster.

"I just walked around, took time to clear my head." Y/n lied.

Everyone knew where she was, but Aaron didn't call her out on her false truth and asked the next question.

"When was the last time you purchased any narcotics of the sort, Opioids, Cannabinoids, Hallucinogens, and or Stimulants?" Aaron asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer himself.

"Last time I was in town, 5 years ago." Y/n lies again.

This time, half of the team is unsure if it's true. James knows deep down it's a lie, but the rest of them don't want to believe it.

So Aaron doesn't push.

"And the last time you consumed any of the narcotics listed before?"

This question, everyone wants the truth, everyone is determined to figure out if they let another team member sink into their addiction before their eyes or if Y/n truly did put her life here behind her.

"As I said, last time I was in town, 5 years ago," Y/n says, her tone changing. It speaks of truth, which tells everyone, even her father that she lied about the last time she bought drugs and where she was, but they don't care about that at this moment.

All they care about is her sobriety, they were still her family after all.

Aaron smiles internally as he writes Y/n's answer on the yellow pad, then ripping the sheet off and sliding it underneath the cardboard. When he does this, the next yellow sheet visible is not blank, it's all of Y/F/N's previous questions. The horrible lights make it hard to see all of them but it still shines bright on the first one.

"What was discipline like as Y/n grew up?" Aaron asks his first question.

The question throws Y/F/N off guard. That had nothing to do with the investigation, what did the FBI want to know about his parenting?

"I believe you were asked a question," David says beside Aaron, arms crossed.

"This has to do what with the investigation?" Y/F/N asked, finally understanding the concept of what he was being asked.

"Agent Hotchner, are you implying that I abused my daughter?" He accused, now not feeling so compliant.

"I didn't say anything to imply, did I, Agent Rossi?" Aaron says loud and clear, bringing the tape recorder to him.

"Not at all, but I think you should repeat it, someone seems confused," Rossi taunted.

"Y/F/N Fields, what was discipline like as Y/n, your daughter grew up?" Aaron demanded an answer.

"Reasonable," Y/F/N said.

"Reasonable how?" Rossi pressed.

"If needed, I taught my daughter wrong from right," Y/F/N replied confidently.

"Did you at any given point in time, use your power as a parent to hit Y/n as a punishment?" Aaron asked bluntly. He hated abusers, it was something about finding pain and taking it out on others that he just could never understand.

"I did. But like I said when it was reasonable." His mouth forms into an undeniable smirk.

Y/F/N's hand went across Y/n's face.

"I said I was sorry!" The girl cried, she was only trying to show her dad an A+ she got.

"You're always sorry, there was no reason for you to knock that down." The angry male pointed to the empty cup on the floor.

Out of excitement, Y/n's elbow hit the plastic cup and knocked it down, but she was backed into the wall before she could pick it up, dropping her graded test midway.

"Reasonable," Y/F/N mumbled to himself.

Anger filled Y/n as her eyes went over the word reasonable.

Never once was Y/F/N reasonable.

Never.

Clenching her fists, Y/n sits up straight and zones back into her conversation with Aaron.

"Can you ask it again?" She says, making straight eye contact.

"Your relations to Daniela Choi?" Aaron asks.

Y/n doesn't know how to reply, she knows Derek is watching so she has to careful with her answer.

"I was-," She gathers her thoughts. "We were pretty close."

It's not a lie. They were close, extremely.

"Who would you say Y/n was closest to?" Aaron asks James.

The team started the investigation from the very beginning, so now everyone was a suspect.

"I've got a funny feeling about that dude, Hotch," Derek says, but his judgment is clouded, he's angry and hurt so to make him feel better, Aaron took James in for questioning.

"Daniela." James's answer is short.

"Why?"

"They dated, for a long time, blew up our whole group," James explains.

"What group?" Aaron flies through the files that he brought in.

Instead of answering, James takes out a picture.

"He's prepared." JJ points out.

The picture is a cheer team, James is nowhere to be found but the first person to catch Aaron's eye is the babyface of Y/n, she in middle, engulfed in a hug by a female with curly mixed hair- Arianna he later finds out. He wants to question why James has this but James continues to talk.

"Not everyone was supportive."

"What?" Rose asked.

"I'm dating Y/n," Daniela said slowly, it was time the two told their friends, the thought of banishment slipping their minds.

"You and Y/n? But your both girls!" Rose exclaimed, as the pastor's daughter, she was raised to what she thought was right.

"So? My mom said it doesn't matter and we both know Y/F/N won't bat an eye." Daniela spoke for both her and Y/n.

"Guys! Help me out here, tell them it's wrong." Rose looked around the booth, empty cups filled the large table as her high pitch voice filled the empty diner.

"How is it wrong?" Caterina scoffed, she could never have the courage to do what Danny and Y/n are doing but she'll stand by them no matter what.

"The bible-" Rose protests.

"For the last time, not all of us live by the damn bible!" James slammed his hand on the teal table before them.

Everyone loved each other, no one cared for anyone's flaws, like Rose's, who always ignored everyone when they try to tell her they don't want to hear bible quotes, or Y/n who always inserts herself into drama.

They were each other's little family and until now nothing has torn them apart.

"I refuse to be around them and their sins," Rose shoved her finger into Y/n's, finally the young girl to stand up.

"And we refuse to be around you." Y/n's tone is cold and tense.

"We all do." Arianna stood up.

"Christina?" Rose looked at the oldest for help.

"You heard them, you can't hate one without hating all of us." She said.

Christina's word was final. If she said someone was out, they were out, no discussion. She just had to say the words.

"Rose, are you staying or leaving?" She asked.

"I'm leaving, my dignity lasts." Rose proudly held her head high.

"Bye then. You longer are allowed to hang out with us." Christina said with much more pride.

The 10 at the table watched the first walk away.

"Not everyone agreed." James rephrased his sentence, fists clenching in anger.

As James told Aaron how the day that Rose left the group went, his fingers dug deeper into his hand, and when he finally let go, crescent marks left their place.

"When you say close, what do you mean?" Aaron wants to hear from Y/n, James is not trustworthy enough right now.

"I had a relationship with Daniela," Y/n admits.

Hearing the words makes Derek turn on his heels and leave the group in the hall. He needs air, he needs to be away from Y/n right now. He told her he was sorry about her friend and she just went with it, in his eyes, she lied to him.

She did the one thing that he always asked not to.

"Derek?" Spencer's voice called from behind him.

"Not now," Derek says, but it's more of a plead. He doesn't want to take his anger out on someone who doesn't deserve it, he wants to take his anger out on Y/n.

Spencer leaves him alone and Derek takes a few minutes to himself. When he heads back to the station, he refuses to join back with the group, he heads back to the table in the conference room and starts working, the way his handwriting fills each paper and picture easing his mind.

As the minutes feel like hours, Y/n's interview is finally done and she feels bare. She hates how much she revealed, she hates how much has been stripped, how her walls came down and she had no say.

She hates most of her answers were lies that found their way into her truth.

But she won't tell them that, they don't need to know.

They don't get to know.

Aaron lets Y/n head to the hotel first, but when she steps outside, it's dark. Her phone is dead and her body is tired, yet her feet take her to the hotel doors, they let her step into the elevator and into her room. Her hands ache but they plug her phone in and they pull her shirt off. Her hands ache but they turn the knobs of the shower and unbutton her pants. Her legs hurt but they step out of the jeans and help her feet kick them to the side. Her body is a temple of pain but as she removes her bra and underwear, as she steps in the shower, as her fingers run over her body and squeeze the soap out of her cloth out, letting it slide down her figure, she finds her self sitting in the middle of her bed, the air silent where she finally lets her self cry.

So many years of bottling up feeling, so many years of trauma, and it took 34 questions to strip her of who she was. Every single question she counted, every single time she felt betrayed, she counted, her life was out there to know, memories she hid taunt her.

A knock on her door pulls her out of her thoughts.

When she gets up, she takes notice of the black shirt she was wearing 24 hours ago. The feeling of Derek's hand run up and down her body in chills as she walks closer to the door.

24 hours ago everything was peaceful.

Now it's a shithole.

Cracking open the door, Y/n is surprised, to say the least. Both people are silent as she opens the door more and lets the person step in.

"Derek-" She tries.

"No. You don't get to talk. It's your turn to listen." He says, meaning every fucking word.

[formulatrash]

Sport is political. Like, everything is political but you can’t look at a sport where 99% of people involved are white, purportedly straight, cis men and be like, “this not political” because otherwise you’re not even looking at the thing. It is what it is and you can choose to be like, “I enjoy this problematic thing” - hell yeah, I do that with the whole of motorsport! 

But also: I would like it to be better and I’m happy to tell it so, y’know. You can look at the thing and be like damn bitch, I fucking love watching overpaid white, straight, privileged men go zoom zoom that shit sends me absolutely feral and that’s like. That’s ok. But if you remove the context of overpaid, white, straight, privileged men then you’re just living in a weird reality where you willingly do not see things as they are.

I was thinking about this this morning cus a charming fellow journalist (allegedly, personally I have never heard of them) sent me some hate mail about And We Go Green and I was like, stick it up your arse motherfucker. Their beef was that by flagging the environmental element of Formula E I was “making it political” well, yeah. Because it is. 

It’s political that we haven’t had major electric vehicle development before, it’s political that it’s considered taboo to bring up the automotive industry’s massive role in global warming. It’s political that it appeared at this point in time. It’s political all the German manufacturers flooded in over diesel gate. It’s political it tries to aim for a new audience because existing motorsport fans are considered too alienated by the idea of EVs, indoctrinated to the church of V12s. It’s not, like, extra political credit to say the planet’s dying. 

It annoys me, from a journalism perspective, that in motorsport everyone vaunts themselves on truth-telling and objectivity while peeling out quotes from PR-observed media sessions given by press-trained athletes with a contractual gun to their heads. Like, that’s barely journalism, that’s more like PR.

Idk why other people become journalists but for me, back when I went into the field (rather than motorsport) it was because I wanted to be a war correspondent so I have all these like, pesky fuckin ethics and shit that motorsport considers very gauche and unprofessional of me. Like hell yeah I’ll say Lando has nice tits and then also that Carlos should not be racist and perhaps it’s fucked up that there are barely any women over the age of 25 employed in motorsport, let alone driving the cars.

I love motorsport so much  and like, it’s fucked up and people in it do fucked up stuff - hell, I’m problematic as shit - and like. That’s kind of ok so long as we’re all like, trying to be better and acknowledging the situation. You don’t have to cancel shit to be like “damn, this thing is flawed but it absolutely does it for me and I think there’s worthwhile stuff to it” but equally if someone says to me, like, yo motorsport is extremely bad because it is basically just cavorting around on what’s left of the atmosphere then I would have to be like “mmm, true but I have somehow reconciled myself to this so I respect your position and understand my own.”

anyway I’ve completely forgotten what my original point was other than people shouldn’t send me shitty emails probably if they don’t want a shitty email back

[ninjazaku]

Windows to the Soul: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own BNHA. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE?!” Ian yelled as he scrambled to put on his pants in the small apartment he and Gabbie had settled into some nights ago.

“IT’S NOT A HARD CONCEPT TO UNDERSTAND, IAN! WE HAVE 15 MINUTES TO GET TO SCHOOL OR WE’LL BE LATE!” Gabbie responded, messily buttoning her shirt and fumbling to tie her red tie and put the pin on the knot.

“IT’S KIND OF HARD TO UNDERSTAND WHEN IT WAS YOUR JOB TO SET OUR ALARMS, WHICH SHOULD HAVE GONE OFF AN HOUR AGO SO WE HAD TIME TO WALK TO THE CAMPUS!”

“I LEFT MY EARPLUGS IN WHEN I FELL ASLEEP!”

“WHICH YOUR DOCTOR HAS REPEATEDLY TOLD YOU NOT TO DO!!”

“DO YOU WANT TO HAVE THIS FIGHT RIGHT NOW, IAN?!”

“I’LL HAVE THIS FIGHT WHENEVER YOU WANT, GABRIELLA!”

The two simultaneously burst out the door with breakfast still hanging out of their mouths. Ian reached back using a large construct of a hand to close and lock their door behind them. The two began to quickly gain pace as they hit the street below them and Gabbie shifted to her intimidating, lycanthropic Hybrid appearance, while Ian used his light constructs to form wheels onto the bottom of his feet so he could pick up with Gabbie’s large strides.

“We’re still not gonna make it at this rate!” Gabbie growled.

“I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?!” Ian responded, still trying to chew his last bite of food.

“Can you still make a hang glider? Like we used to when we were little?” Gabbie suggested

“I’m sorry, do you remember what happened last time we tried that?” Ian scoffed

“We’re nowhere near as high as we were back home. There’s a much lower chance of us passing out from altitude sickness or lack of oxygen.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m too sleep deprived to fight with you.”

Ian reached out and locked arms with his sister, who hoisted him up and sat him onto her shoulders. With one powerful lunge she leaped onto a nearby wall and began to use her claws to scale the building as quickly as she could. With one last push of her powerful legs, the two were launched up and over the skyscraper’s top. Ian looked over their surroundings and spotted the UA campus’ unmistakeable silhouette. He felt Gabbie grip onto his legs and he reached his hands into the air as he began to concentrate.

The translucent objects that began to form over the duo were a light grey color, with a defined firmness to them. The first objects to form were a set of clamps that secured Gabbie’s grip onto Ian’s legs, assuring that the larger of the two would  not fall. Then, immediately after, a harness formed onto Ian’s chest, from which two rods emerged, extending upward towards the sky. Ian grasped the rods and out sprouted a glider; the glider caught the air with a resounding THOOMP and he began to guide the two’s descent towards the campus.

As they approached the campus, Ian circled down and approached the ground. A chorus of boos and cheers came from the ground as they began to approach their landing spot. Just as he was about to brace his sister and warn her of the ground he felt a hitch in his throat and his constructs suddenly dissipated. Gabbie’s fur suddenly began to recede and she returned to her human form. The two of them fell roughly 4 feet before landing flat on their backsides. The two stumbled to their feet and saw the teacher of class 1-A standing on the main walkway, his eyes staring into the souls of the two young students.

“We’re here to shape you into heroes, not circus clowns. If you’re going to use your Quirks irresponsibly, ignore your duties as a student, or all around make UA look like a joke, I suggest you leave the school now and save us teachers some trouble. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The two said, bowing their heads at the long haired teacher. They smiled nervously at each other before walking through the UA Barrier and hurrying to class. They switched out their sneakers for their formal shoes at their assigned cubbies and quickly made their way to their homeroom.

As they slid open the oversized letter-shaped door the two were greeted by a cacophony of sights and sound from the assortment of young men and women within their classroom. They were quickly waved down by Chae-Yeong, whom they had kept in touch with in the brief stint of time between the exam and the beginning of the semester. As they made their way to their assigned seats, Ian looked over their classmates. The first seat was a young man with a large plume of violet hair and bags under his eyes that made it look like he had never known a moment of sleep. Next to him was Nicoleta, and next to her was the vacant seat where Ian would sit. But there was also a girl with piercing white eyes, a set of students with mirrored heterochromatic eyes, a girl with a crown made from tinfoil, a boy with feathers for hair, and a boy who was more entertained by the prospect of brushing the fur on his pitch-black tail than any of the introductory conversations going on around him. And that was just Ian’s first glance around the classroom!

Ian took his seat next to Nicoleta and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, which she acknowledged with a quiet grumble as she continued reading her book. Looking past Nicoleta, Ian continued to be mesmerized by the boy with the tired eyes. As his mind turned, the boy’s eyes shifted from their fixed point at the front of the classroom and suddenly met Ian’s. Ian jumped at the sudden acknowledgement and the boy’s face broke into a sly smile as he chuckled to himself. Ian paused, mumbling slightly and trying to figure out why the boy had startled him so much. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d have to figure it out later.

Gabbie, meanwhile, had already plopped into her seat next to Chae-Yeong and put her feet up on her desk with an exaggerated grunt of relaxation. Chae-Yeong giggled quietly and made the ASL sign for laughter with her right hand. Gabbie grinned a big, sharp-toothed grin. She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and she leaned her head back so that she was looking at the student in the desk behind her (upside down)

“Excuse me b-but…” came the chattering request of the girl behind gabbie. Her hair was blue as were her eyes; a small icicle hung from the tip of her nose and she wore a sweater over her uniform. She was shivering and seemed to be perpetually cold.

“You a-aren’t supposed to put your feet on the d-desk.”

“I guess you’re right.” Gabbie said, sitting up straight and whirling around. “I guess I could just move over to yours. Maybe I could warm you up a bit?”

The young girl squeaked and a small flurry of snow buried Gabbie and her desk. Ian looked over, saw his sister slowly emerging from the situation, saw the distressed girl behind her, and resumed his conversation with Nicoleta. A large feline grunt came from under the snow pile as Gabbie’s tiger head emerged and she undug herself. She used her paws to quickly shovel the snow out the window and then reverted to her human form and grinned.

“Well I guess I might come on a little strong. I didn’t mean to upset you, though. I’m Gabbie.” Gabbie said, introducing herself in earnest with her trademark toothy grin. The surrounding classmates could only stare in confusion at the sudden tonal shift.

There was a large BANG as the sliding door was forced open by a large man who appeared to have eyebrows, a beard, and hair made from burning coal. The rock moved and crackled as he moved to the front of the room, slamming the door behind him. His hero costume was a red jumpsuit with black gloves and black combat boots; he also wore an unzipped black tactical vest over the jumpsuit. He wrote his name on the board in the appropriate kanji and then turned to face the class. His face suddenly split into a soft smile and he spoke gently to the children.

“Good morning, boys and girls. My name is Ryusei Jigoku. You probably know me better as Hellfire Hero Ragna-Rock. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to helping you all along your journey.”

The class sat with jaws hanging open, confused at the living contradiction that had just stumbled into the classroom. Finally, one of the students behind Nicoleta raised their hand. It was one of the twins, a boy with more freckles than one knew what to do with.

“Ah yes. How can I help you...Mister Sasaki? Was it? One of the twins, correct?” Mr. Ryusei asked.

“Yes sir. I just wanted to make sure that everything was...ok. A lot of the pre-exam rumors are very...well...intimidating. They say that the teachers for the Hero program are ruthless and will cut students at a moment's notice. And even you, as a hero… you’re the Hellfire Hero! You stopped an attempted coup on a foreign diplomat on your own with your Quirk before! So...it’s a little off putting to receive such a quiet reception.”

“Well, all of that is true. I did do those things before accepting my position here. And my fellow teachers have been known to cut students if they feel that a student cannot contribute as a Hero. But… I’m not as cut and dry about that as, say, Eraserhead is. He’ll kick one of his students on the first day if he thinks they’re not up to snuff. But this is, first and foremost, a school. You’re here to learn how to be heroes. So I’m going to teach you how to do that. So without further ado...go put your gym clothes on, kids! We’re going to go get a good idea of your abilities.”

And so, like the other classes, the eight physical trials used in the Quirk Apprehension Tests to determine the prowess of the students and their quirks came and went; The 50 Meter Dash, The Grip Strength Test, Sustained Sideways Jumps, etc. They all came and went and the group performed beautifully.

���Splendid. Well done, students.” Cheered the gentle voice of the teacher. He clapped his hands together a few times and then let them fall to his side. “You’ve all earned a day of rest. I’ll see you all tomorrow. And be prepared. This is just the start of your journey.”

And so the week pressed on, and they of course went through actual school topics like all their other peers. Mathematics, History, and English - which Ian and Gabbie, being native speakers, were actually happy to help with. As the next day came they got their first chance to actually use the school lunchroom. The two had brought their own lunches from home, not in the traditional Bento but packed away in their bags nonetheless. They heard a call from across the lunchroom and saw Nicoleta and Chae-Yeong sitting on their own, waiting for the siblings to join them.

The two joined their friends and sighed as they began nibbling away at their meals. Gabbie, of course, was the first to speak up. “You guys hanging in there?”

-It’s been a rough go for me- Chae-Yeong signed forlornly -I’m sorry I keep having to have you sign things to me over and over, Gabbie. Hopefully I can find a language tutor or something here soon!-

“You’re fine, honey.” Gabbie assured her friend, signing as she spoke. “We’ll get you taken care of. I promise.”

“I’m beginning to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop here.” Nicoleta mused between bites of food.

“What do you mean?” Ian asked

“It’s all too happy and peaceful. We’re surrounded by the most powerful, high-profile heroes on the planet. This place is a target. And it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes that.”

The remaining three stared at Nicoleta with concern as she continued to munch on her food.

“What? Too morbid?”

“Little bit.” Gabbie noted, giving Nicoleta a reassuring one-armed hug.

“Oh, DARLING!” Came a thundering voice, accompanied by a thundering march of bootprints. Ian quickly found himself snatched out of his seat and squeezed with the force of a vice grip. As he began to feel his face redden from lack of air, all he could see was a pair of goggles and a mop of hot pink hair.

“Mei…?” Came Ian’s desperate squeak. He was immediately dropped and he promptly began gasping for air. The girl chuckled confidently as he stood back up and he noticed something he hadn’t the previous time they’d met - without her large metal boots, Mei was actually slightly shorter than him. Ian smiled a bit as he took notice of this, but then saw the girl’s confident smirk, and the reticles of her crosshair-like eyes focusing onto his own and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks once again.

“I’m glad you took my advice and made it here, Ian, my darling. It would have been a shame to leave such a gentleman hanging, never get to return the favor.” Mei said, her voice intentionally lingering on every syllable. As she finished the sentence she playfully elbowed Ian.

Gabbie, stifling her giggling, let out an exaggerated cough. “Ian, are you going to introduce us to your friend here?”

“Oh, my god. Are you really doing this?”

“I’m really doing this.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Mei, this is my sister, Gabriella De La Luna. Gabbie this is...oh my gosh I didn’t get your full name I must sound like such a jerk.”

“Don’t sweat the formalities, darling.” Mei scoffed.“ Not among friends.”

Mei plopped down happily next to Gabbie. “Hatsume Mei. Department of Support’s genius inventor extraordinaire and future millionaire, at your service.”

Gabbie grinned ear to ear as Mei sat down. “Where did you find this one little bro? What does a gal like this see in a guy like you?”

“Why do you do this to me?” Ian asked, deadpan

“I have to agree with her. You’re out of your league here, curcubeu” Nicoleta mused with a small smile

-I agree as well- Chae-Yeong signed.

“Wow! Okay! I can feel the love you guys.” Ian murmured sarcastically. “Those two are Nicoleta Damian and Chae-Yeong Moon.”

“Charmed, my dears.” Mae giggled. “Rumor has it that your class is taking on the Battle Trial after lunch. Are you prepared?”

Ian nodded and rummaged through his bag, pulling out his goggles that he had worn the day of the exam. “I’ve got my lucky goggles. They’ll keep me out of trouble.”

Without warning the goggles were snatched out of Ian’s hands by Mei,who scooted in so close to Ian she might as well be sitting on his lap.

“These were what let you see the heat signatures within my boots right? It looks like the different lenses are tinted and shaped differently to allow your eyes the necessary wavelengths of light that they would need to process the specific information. It also looks like there’s a very minor electric charge going into the primary framing that allows for the shaping to remain consistent and not warp back over time. I can simplify this and get you a more simplistic pair, no problem.”

“Wait, what--”

Mei rummaged into her bag, pulled out a tool kit and began fiddling with Ian’s goggles. Sparks flew and pieces began to be thrown left and right, one even hitting Nicoleta in the temple as Mei giggled madly to herself.

“TAH-DAH!” Mei exclaimed as she held up her finished product. She lifted her own goggles and made eye contact with Ian and scooted closer and closer with each finished sentence. “With these upgraded babies no need for a set of bulky goggles with 5 different pairs of lenses. Just one set of lenses that can be dialed into the specific frequency of light by rotating the outer casing on each eye. It’ll change the electric frequency charging the glass, and also slightly change the shape - thus allowing you to have greater control over your optic quirk! Aren’t I fantastic?!”

Ian’s jaw dropped at the small miracle she just pulled off. He could physically feel the shit-eating grin of his older sister boring into the back of his skull, but elected to not turn around and instead proceed with the conversation.

“This is...incredible. I don’t know how to thank you Mei.” Ian murmured.

As he finished his sentence, Mei slipped him a piece of paper with her personal contact info, including her email and phone number. She smiled a sly smile and winked at him.

“Sending me a message every now and then will be thanks enough. Break a leg today, darlings!”

Ian could physically feel the heat rising off of his face. He huffed a small huff and adjusted his glasses. “What just happened?”

“That, little bro, is what we call ��being asked on a date.’” Gabbie chuckled, patting her brother on the shoulder. “Come on. We’re going to be late for class.”

The group packed up their bags and walked to class. Not long after they sat down, the door burst open and an unmistakeable voice thundered into the room. The children looked at the door with raised eyebrows.

“I! AM HERE!” All Might bellowed “In through the door, ha! I got you!”

The teens laughed half-heartedly and a mixed round of applause came from the class. Nicoleta remained silent.

“You’re the last group of the day, so let’s get right to business! You’ll be facing the Trial of Battle today! Today, you shall be receiving your hero costumes that you requisitioned before the school year began and heading into the testing grounds!”

All Might pressed a button to pop the cases which contained the various multicolored costumes out of their hidden panels in the walls. All ranges of fabric and design were contained within, and the murmurs of excitement charged the air.

“Once there, you will be divided into teams of two, and square off! Some teams will be assigned to be ‘villains’, who will be protecting a fake weapon! Others will be ‘heroes’, whose goal is to reach the weapon to disarm it! If time runs out before the heroes can reach the weapon, the villains win! Teams will be picked by lottery! Now head out, and suit up!”

The students all boarded the shuttle and scrambled into the locker rooms at Testing Ground Gamma. Each of them strutted out onto the battlefield with a new sense of pride.

Ian’s suit was a stark white, broken up by a silver belt and a golden stripe on the chest; the silver and gold also lined reflective prismatic disks placed on Ian’s hips and shoulders respectively, placed strategically to allow Ian to amplify his constructs with the prisms. Running all across the suit, up and down the arms and legs, were what looked like translucent gauges ready to be filled. As Ian flexed his hands preparing for battle, the translucent material shone the same color as the light he emitted. On his legs he wore silver boots and greaves to protect his legs.

Gabbie’s suit was simpler and sleeker than her brothers. Her top was a form fitting teal shirt with a white stripe across the shoulders, designed to expand with her musculature whenever she shifted. On her legs she wore tattered blue shorts, short enough to allow her her full range of motion. She wore no shoes as to prevent her claws from destroying them mid-transformation.

Nicoleta’s suit radiated the same ominous energy as the girl who designed it; she wore skin-tight black leather pants and red high heels. She had a black cloak draped over her shoulders and black bandages wrapped around her arms all the way up to her shoulders. On her head she sported a stereotypically witchy hat, red as blood, but as she fiddled with it, she groaned in frustration. Unable to get the hat to fit comfortably, she tossed the hat to the side for now, where it landed squarely on the head of the oblivious All Might.

Chae-Yeong’s suit flowed like water with every step she took. She wore a full-length blue dress and a pair of knee-high open-toe violet boots. The top of the dress was as bright as the sky, but gradually darkened as the dress continued towards the ground. This effect was lost however by the startling juxtaposition of the scarlet corset binding Chae-Yeong’s midsection. Chae-Yeong brushed her long locks of red-and-purple hair behind her ears and smiled a devil’s smile as she walked towards the battlefield.

The lots were drawn and teams were assigned. Gabbie and Ian were on a team, as were Chae-Yeong and Nicoleta. In fact, most of the people in the class began murmuring to themselves about how fortunate they were...before they all remembered that one of their classmates, Asahina Fuku, had a quirk called “Lucky Lucky”...they all silently decided not to bring the lot results to All Might’s attention.

“All right! First up! Heroes: De La Luna Gabriella and Allistair Ian! Versus Villains! Shinsou Hitoshi and Kuroo Ikuto! Young Gabriella! Young Ian! You two have a special bond, being family! Let’s see some good showmanship out there!”

Gabbie and Ian stood at the doorway to the building where their trial was to take place. Ian was adjusting the sizing straps on the new goggles Mei made for him and Gabbie was stretching her legs.

“Ready, bro? This is gonna be the real deal. You scared?” Gabriella teased

“Oh I’m the one who’s scared? This coming from the actual cat person who can’t be in the same room as a mouse.” Ian bounced back.

“You promised that would be a secret.” Gabbie gasped

“I had my fingers crossed.”

“TRIAL OF BATTLE! BEGIN!”

[Begin Battle Music - What I’m Made Of ]

The two burst into the building and began scrambling up stairs, quickly reaching the second floor. As they began darting towards the second set of stairs, Ian felt a tickle in his throat, and noticed the air start to thicken. He dialed his goggles to filter radio waves into his vision and noticed a bouncing set of waves in the distance. He stopped his sister and began signing back and forth with her. She nodded and the two split up.  Ian clenched his fists and pressed into the haze.

“Spectrum Shift: Green Guardian.”

The translucent lines on Ian’s suit glowed a bright green as he held up two green shields to defend himself from the smoke billowing in from all sides.

“You can't really just block out my smoke like that, bud.” came the voice of Ikuto “You’re gonna have to breathe eventually.”

“You’re not wrong.” Ian wheezed. He then reared back his hands and flipped the shields over so that they were attached to his palms. With a single swing he clapped the two constructs together, blasting a large chunk of the smoke away with the improvised move.  As the smoke cleared Ian gasped for air.

There, in the clearing, Ikuto stood. His outfit was fairly simple. He had black combat boots and a pair of military-esque pants with an unnecessary amount of pockets. He wore a black tank top, and on his back was strapped a strange apparatus that appeared to be generating smoke and pumping it through tubes; the tubes were strapped to Ikuto’s arms and allowed the smoke to exit at his palms. He wore a high grade gas-mask on his face to shield his own lungs from his attacks.

“Nice move. But you’re going to need more than one second of visibility to get to me.” Ikuto sneered.

“Wasn’t for me.” Ian coughed, gesturing upward.

From behind Ikuto came a low, bestial growl. His heart sank as he turned to see the towering figure of Gabbie in her lycanthropic hybrid form. Ikuto reached up to spray Gabbie in the face with smoke but she simply gripped his wrist and squeezed, hard enough to damage his equipment, but not enough to hurt him...much. She then took out the capture tape provided to them by All Might and wrapped Ikuto to a pole.

Ian took a few more breaths to cleanse his lungs and gave his sister a thumbs up so that they could move on. She rocketed up the stairway ahead of him and he lingered back, as was their usual tactic. She made contact with Hitoshi, and the “bomb”, first.

Hitoshi’s outfit was more designed for tactics than anything, by all appearances; his face was framed by a headband, and his mouth was covered by a cloth mask. The top portion of his suit appeared to be layered to give additional protection, and the design on it was segmented and angular, making it appear more intimidating. Two sets of straps met in the center of the chest at an “x” buckle, and all of them were lined with pouches for various storage purposes. He, like Ian, wore silver shin guards, but Hitoshi’s were strapped over a pair of black combat boots and a pair of simple black pants that bore the same design as his top.

“Well, well. Looks like you guys weren’t completely incompetent after all. Congratulations!” Jeered the fluffy haired antagonist.

“Oh, is that what you expected? I’ll show you incompetent you smug little--!”

From his hiding space in the stairwell Ian suddenly heard silence. With Gabbie, that was never good. “Gabs? Are you ok?”

A sudden ferocious growl rocked the hallway around him and Ian felt a chill run through his spine. He put up one of his green shields as the wall he was standing behind was blasted to bits by one of his sister’s punches.

“Now I’ve heard of intense sibling rivalries…” Hitoshi chuckled “But this is a little overboard, you guys!”

Ian grimaced and bit into his bottom lip. He formed a pair of headphones over his ears, not knowing if the words Shinsou was saying were the source of his Quirk like was the case with Chae-Yeong.

“Spectrum Shift: Brass Boxer!”

Ian’s shield dissipated and the detailing on his suit shifted color from green to brass. Brass colored gauntlets formed over his arms, as well as extra muscles to enhance his punches. As Gabbie wound up for a swing with her claws, Ian ducked under her swing and jabbed her in the kidney. As the brainwashed catgirl gasped for air, he ducked under her and got a shot in the stomach and a quick palm strike to her chin, completely stunning her. Thinking fast, Ian grabbed her legs and made made for a hail mary; gathering all his strength, Ian threw Gabbie at the bomb.

“What the hell?!” Hitoshi yelled, ducking out of the way as the 8-foot tall lycanthrope slammed into the prop bomb, knocking it over, as well as knocking the girl unconscious.

“Gabriella and Ian win the match!”

Hitoshi sat up quickly and growled at Ian “How could you so willingly punch out your own family like that?”

Ian crouched down next to Hitoshi and held up two fingers. “You made two mistakes. First: Gabbie and I have been sparring partners our whole lives. We’ve given each other far worse beatings than that.”

Hitoshi almost smiled. “Just my luck. Someone who was actually prepared. And second?”

Ian scooted a little closer to Hitoshi and collected his thoughts. As he did, the color on his suit began to change to an...unsettling shade of violet. “You really upset me. I thought you really put my sister at risk. But even when I realized you didn’t, you took away her control. Which is even worse, for her. So don’t do that ever again.”

Hitoshi nodded, slightly disturbed by the deadpan nature of the threat as Ian stood and collected his sibling, gently rousing her from unconsciousness and escorting her back to where the rest of the class had been watching.

As they joined the rest of their class, Ian was greeted with a high five by Nicoleta, and the two siblings were given water bottles and a bout of frantic signing from Chae-Yeong. As Hitoshi and Ikuto followed behind them, the villains received a round of obligatory “good job” murmurs, and pats on the back.

“Good work, young ones! Now, let’s move on to the next match!”

“All Might, why are you wearing Nicoleta’s hat?” Ian asked

“WHAT?”

After Ian secured Nicoleta’s hat, the lots were drawn again. “MOON CHAE-YEONG AND DAMIAN NICOLETA! HEROES! SASAKI MAMORU AND SASAKI NATSUKI! VILLAINS!”

Unlike Ian and Gabbie, Nicoleta and Chae-Yeong decided to use the element of surprise to their advantage. Using one of Nicoleta’s warps, they tore a doorway straight into the second floor and cut their time in half. The two started making their way towards the stairway when the boy of the Sasaki twins, Natsuki, bolted around the corner.

Natsuki’s outfit was fairly simple: they sported a one-piece suit that was predominantly black, and was missing one sleeve. They had one sleeve going down their right arm which was, instead, black. He wore an armored bracer over his right arm and had a pair of combat boots on over the suit; a utility belt with several pouches adorned his waist.

Nicoleta cast down several explosive traps with her Quirk. Seemingly in response to this, Natsuki slammed his fists together and then pounded his right hand into the ground. Red energy pulsed through the ground like a wave and as the wave hit Nicoleta’s traps, the runes crackled and faded away. Chae-Yeong grasped Nicoleta on the shoulder and nodded slightly, gesturing for Nicoleta to go forward. Nicoleta nodded in return and tore open the air next to them, hopping into it and popping out behind Natsuki, then running up the stairs.

Chae-Yeong simply smiled a sly, almost sadistic smile. She took a deep breath and let out a blood curdling sonic shriek that shook the building as it traveled.

Nicoleta, meanwhile, spent several minutes popping in and out of reality, scouting the remaining floors of the building for the bomb. Finally, she found Mamoru and the bomb on the roof, waiting for them. Mamoru was holding her forearms together pointing straight up. Her outfit was the same as her brothers, save for the fact that they were mirror images of each other. The air around her seemed to shimmer for several feet. Nicoleta tried to toss an explosive rune, but it bounced off and hit the concrete several stories below. She tried to pass her hand through a tear in reality, but it could not penetrate the shield.

“I-it’s no use! It’s an absolute defense. Nothing can penetrate it!” Mamoru boasted.

Nicoleta smiled coyly to herself. An ethereal melody came echoing through the stairwell, growing louder with each moment. Soon, the door began to slowly creak open and it reached a climax.

“Are you sure about that, dear?” Nicoleta cooed.

Chae-Yeong walked forward, continuing her melody as she went; the song was followed by an entranced Natsuki, looking for a way to assist the creator of the beautiful song. Chae-Yeong, as she came to a stop, gently gripped Natsuki’s chin and whispered something in their ear. He nodded and then slammed his fists together before running up and plowing his fist into his sister’s shield, disintegrating it. As the shield came crumbling down, Natsuki slowly came too, but before either of the twins could counter, a hand reached out from a tear in space time and gently tapped the bomb.

“Checkmate.”

“AND THE HEROES WIN AGAIN!!!”

And so it went that all the remaining teams performed the battle trial. After several discussions on proper heroics, All Might dismissed the class to return to their normal school day. After the day concluded, the group of Ian, Gabbie, Nicoleta and Chae-Yeong gathered outside the UA Barrier.

“That was pretty intense for our first taste of heroism” Ian began

“Oh really? No, these bruises you gave me on my midsection are peachy.” Gabbie complained.

“I’m sorry, who went running in to fight the one person whose Quirk we didn't know anything about??”

-Mom. Dad. Please stop fighting.- Chae-Yeong signed sarcastically

“If you two keep this up all year I am going to shave Gabbie bald in her sleep.” Nicoleta groaned.

“But--” The two both began

-HUG AND REMEMBER YOU LOVE EACH OTHER- Chae-Yeong signed angrily.

The two siblings flinched and hugged each other tight. After a beat the group all sighed.

“So. I guess this is the start. What do you think the year has in store for us?” Ian asked

That evening…

On a rooftop somewhere in the night, two figures watched over the city as it slept. One was large and imposing, their face shrouded by the night. The other was smaller and sat with their legs tucked under them, looking up at the larger individual.

“You got that message from Daniel, a few weeks back, yeah? Bout those kids he wanted us to keep an eye on?”

“Yeah. Watched their UA auditions. I think they could be...helpful.” the larger figure replied.

“He said he didn't want his kids gettin’ mixed up with his old crew.”

“He said he wanted it to be their choice. So, we’ll let them choose.”

At the same time, in the underbelly of the city, a loathsome group sat in comfort, surrounded by trinkets of unspeakable deeds. One of them sat in a chair adorned of gold and sipped a glass of wine. They gestured to the feminine figure in the shadows and they stepped forward.

“I hear you have family in town, my dear.” The shadow spoke.

“It is of no concern to you, sir. I can--”

The shadow rose a hand to silence her.  “We are your family too, my dear. Your business...is our business.”

Chapter end.

[geeky-galpal]

I'm taking you up on your offer. You say that it's more difficult for Lana to succeed because she's a Latina. Ok, I agree. But here's the thing. Other (white) actresses in similar position as Lana (one successful not so good show, in their 40s...) went on to guest star, they weren't cast in lead roles. But Lana, who we agree has an even harder time, will somehow defy all odds and get a lead role again and again and again?

Hey nonnie!

Get prepared.. this turned out longer than I intended…

I agree that, looking at past examples, there are other similarly placed actresses who have not all gone on to have lead roles once their show ended for the rest of their lives. There are also actresses who went on to succeed at similar or higher heights. Some have, some haven’t– I think we can all agree that life can be a crapshoot.

I have never said Lana “will somehow defy all odds and get a lead role again and again and again”. I would appreciate it if you don’t put words in my mouth.

I can’t speak for anyone else on Tumblr as I am not on here all the time, but I have not personally seen a reasonable fan of Lana’s who has advocated for the point you are raising here. If they did, that would seem as foolish to me as the anti-fans currently trolling inboxes last night and this morning. Why? Because none of us can predict the future. Especially not in an industry as volatile as television.

Oh, and before I move on, quickly– if we are going to talk about Lana’s future career prospects, then we must acknowledge that we are all talking major long-term hypotheticals. OUAT has not been cancelled this year or next year that any of us know for fact. I will grant you that rumors/ evidence are swirling this year just as they have every past year. But, really this is all reading “tea leaves” because none of us are ABC employees who are working on current contracts. And, there has been even less outside “evidence” that Lana is independently leaving the show than the already thin evidence of the show’s cancellation.

OK, so those points out of the way…

Why do I have hopeful confidence in Lana moving forward?

1. Leading in to OUAT, Lana had a string of successful pilot pick ups. None of those turned into hit shows, but that’s the luck of the draw in Hollywood. The fact that she was hired again and again speaks to her ability to connect with show runners and casting agents. That’s key moving forward as the potential parts would become admittedly more staggered.

2. Speaking in very broad generalities, the parts that Lana is about to “age into” (especially by the time OUAT wraps in the next few years), will be what those who follow the industry call “District Attorney” aged or maternal roles. The middle-aged tough, often cold business woman (think- every detective and lawyer on Law & Order, etc, but also “Head of Surgery” type roles on hospital dramas such as Grey’s or ER) or the middle-aged mom in a teen/family soap (see- Parenthood, the Fosters, etc). The good news here? Lana’s current part in OUAT sets her up really well for both of those future career prospects. She has a body of work and experience she can point to that will play into those strengths moving forward.

3. Related to the above point, Lana has previously discussed her difficulties of being cast due to her “ambiguous” racial appearance as a white Latina. When she had long, naturally curly hair, for instance, she wouldn’t get cast in white roles. But, casting agents also didn’t feel she looked “Latina enough” for Latinx roles. What did she do? Cut off her hair, evened out her accent. She played into her own mixed race heritage, which allowed her a wider variety of options. I expect her to maneuver similarly when she’s back on the market. 

4. Evil Regals. I spoke about this a bit earlier in response to one of F3′s asks, but Lana has spent significant parts of her hiatus and social media life cultivating her fanbase. This will seem crude, but having that little social army matters. Lana Parrilla is not a household name, but she is significant in certain niche and cult markets. Building up her base solidifies her brand. Being a “brand” is as important, if not more important, than being extremely well known– especially for WOC actresses who already won’t have the same mass-market appeal. I’ve previously recommended to friends that when looking for role models for Lana’s career, don’t just look at similarly placed white women, but look at Kerry Washington and Eva Longoria. Both of whom have invested deeply in diversification of their brand early on .

Consider: Kerry’s early film career when she made majority black films and was not yet a “crossover success”, Eva Longoria’s Latinx and Chicanx activism. It was Kerry Washington who independently suggested that the cast of Scandal “live tweet” their episodes before that was even a thing yet, because she knew she had already built up a fan base of millennial black women from her movies who she could depend on for engagement. Those live tweeting sessions not only gave Scandal the bump they needed for a second season renewal, it changed the way we watch television across a variety of shows. Eva Longoria went back and got a Master’s degree in Chicano Studies while working on the set of Desperate Housewives– there are photos of her writing her thesis on set– and turned that degree, plus her earnings, into a 501©(3) advocacy organization and a production house. The advocacy organization made Longoria a respected household name for many Latinx people. That earned respect feeds trust in her production house. Which in turn has kept her in the media, and spurred 2-3 other shows.

I think that Lana has been modeling her career as a hybrid between those actresses (she’s a known friend of Longoria) and the work of say, Kate Mulgrew/ Lucy Lawless/ Jaime Murray – all three of whom are incredibly popular genre actresses who went on to have long, successful careers that carried them through their middle age. She focuses on diversifying, advocacy, and building a fan base. 

There are worse role models to have in that regard.

5. You will notice that I did *not* *mention* *talent* on this list. And there is a reason- we all know Lana is talented, but talent will only get you so far. That is also true about “quality of show” that you are currently employed on. Both of these are subjective, and honestly, matter little to networks. A casting director may want to know- can this person act? The answer will be “yes”. The network executives will want to know- can this person turn us a profit? Lana has done everything she can to prove that she can do that as well. (There’s a reason we have been seeing so much EQ in the general on-air advertisements of the show— both leading into 6A and now again during 6B. The promo people at ABC believe she is a draw, while we as fans are not privy to the “hard data”that they have, we can look at the choices that they are making objectively.)

OK Nonnie! 5 reasons and book length essay on why I have confidence for Lana Parrilla moving forward. Thanks for listening!

[thisdaynews]

'It’s a farce': Dems livid as Hope Hicks dodges questions

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/its-a-farce-dems-livid-as-hope-hicks-dodges-questions/

'It’s a farce': Dems livid as Hope Hicks dodges questions

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Trump’s former longtime confidante met with lawmakers behind closed doors to discuss the president’s alleged efforts to thwart Mueller’s Russia probe.

HouseDemocrats erupted Wednesday at the White House’s repeated interference in their nearly eight-hour interview with Hope Hicks, a longtime confidante of President Donald Trump who was a central witness in special counsel Robert Mueller’s obstruction of justice investigation.

Several House Judiciary Committee members exiting the closed-door interview said a White House lawyer present for her testimony repeatedly claimed Hicks had blanket immunity from discussing her tenure as a top aide to the president, including during the presidential transition period. Democrats said she wouldn’t answer questions as basic as where she sat in the West Wing or whether she told the truth to Mueller.

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“We’re watching obstruction of justice in action,” said Rep. Ted Lieu (D-Calif.).

“It’s a farce,” added Rep. Pramila Jayapal (D-Wash.), who said Hicks at one point tried to answer a question about an episode involving former Trump campaign manager Corey Lewandowski only to be cut off by the White House counsel.

Hicks’ appearance was the first time a current or former Trump administration official testified before the Judiciary Committee as part of its obstruction of justice investigation, which began in March. But it’s unclear whether her testimony — which did not touch on her White House service — will advance the panel’s probe, which focuses on Trump’s conduct as president.

“She made clear she wouldn’t answer a single question about her time unless the White House counsel told her it was OK,” an exasperated Rep. Ted Deutch (D-Fla.) said in an interview. “She couldn’t even characterize her testimony to the special counsel.”

Deutch added that the White House was not formally asserting executive privilege to block Hicks from answering certain questions; rather, the lawyer was referring to White House Counsel Pat Cipollone’s Tuesday letter claiming that Hicks was “absolutely immune” from discussing her tenure in the Trump administration.

Judiciary Chairman Jerry Nadler (D-N.Y.) dismissed the White House’s immunity claims and said his committee would “destroy” those assertions in court if he chose to file a lawsuit to enforce the panel’s subpoena that was issued to Hicks earlier this year.

Lieu said the White House lawyers were “making crap up” to block Hicks from testifying. He said she answered some questions about her time on the Trump campaign that provided new information, but Lieu and multiple other lawmakersdeclined to characterize her comments. A transcript of the interview could be released within 48 hours, aides said.

Jayapal said lawyers even objected to Hicks discussing episodes that occurred after she left the White House — and that Hicks went along with it.

“She is making a choice to follow along with all the claims of absolute immunity,” Jayapal said, adding: “Basically, she can say her name.”

Rep. David Cicilline (D-R.I.) said Hicks answered some questions about alleged hush-money payments Donald Trump directed to women accusing him of extramarital affairs just before the 2016 presidential election. But Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-Texas), who described Hicks’ testimony as a “building block,” said, “we’ll have to move toward court proceedings to delve into those questions more deeply.”

Cicilline also said Hicks answered questions about campaign meetings during which Wikileaks was discussed, but said lawmakers gleaned little new information.

He added that Hicks, in the first hour of her questioning, expressed no regret and did not acknowledge that any of her public statements during the campaign were false — despite clear evidence to the contrary, including her admission to the House Intelligence Committee last year that she sometimes told “white lies” on Trump’s behalf.

Democrats were bracing for a long day of fighting with the White House over executive privilege and claims that Hicks doesn’t have to answer questions about her time in the West Wing or on the post-election transition period.

Republicans on the Judiciary Committee said the fact that Hicks was appearing at all was evidence that Democrats have been overzealous in their decision to issue a series of subpoenas and accuse the White House of blocking access to information.

“There’s nothing new here,” said Georgia Rep. Doug Collins, the top Republican on the Judiciary Committee. “We took eight hours to find out really what most of us knew at the beginning.”

Rep. Steve Cohen (D-Tenn.) agreed, telling reporters he learned “nothing new.” Cohen and a majority of Democrats on the Judiciary Committee have been agitating for the panel to launch impeachment proceedings.

Trump also expressed his displeasure that Hicks was testifying, writing on Twitter Wednesday: “So sad that the Democrats are putting wonderful Hope Hicks through hell, for 3 years now, after total exoneration by Robert Mueller & the Mueller Report. They were unhappy with result so they want a Do Over. Very unfair & costly to her.”

Hicks’ name appears 184 times in Mueller’s blockbuster report, and the interview marked her first appearance before lawmakers since the report became public.

The closed-door hearing deprived Democrats of the high-drama, made-for-TV moments they have been seeking in order to beam Mueller’s damning findings into viewers’ living rooms. But it represents a symbolic victory in their effort to pierce Trump’s blockade of current and former White House officials from testifying in the Democrat-led obstruction of justice investigation.

Hicks’ refusal to discuss her White House tenure likely prevented any dramatic revelations about potential obstruction because Mueller’s two-year investigation occurred entirely during the Trump presidency. The White House has urged former officials to decline the Judiciary Committee’s demands for testimony and documents, claiming that they’re all subject to a broad claim of executive privilege.

Hicks’ attorney indicated she was prepared to provide documents to the committee related to her time on the campaign, but not in the White House.

Mueller concluded that the Trump campaign welcomed that help and strategized about how to capitalize on it. Yet Mueller also found that he lacked sufficient evidence to charge any American with knowingly conspiring with the Russian effort.

Hicks’ appearance on Capitol Hill was not her first time testifying to lawmakers as part of the Russia probe. She testified to the House and Senate intelligence committees in early 2018 about her time on the campaign and on the post-election transition team.

At the time, Democrats on the House panel were infuriated that Hicks wouldn’t discuss her White House tenure, and Rep. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.), now the committee’s chairman, called on Republicans to subpoena her and possibly initiate contempt proceedings.

But Hicks was more forthcoming with Mueller. Mueller’s report indicates his team interviewed Hicks at least three times — on Dec. 7, 2017, on Dec. 8, 2017 and on March 13, 2018 — two weeks after her appearance before the House Intelligence Committee. Her testimony focused on firsthand details of Trump’s repeated efforts to constrain or end the Mueller investigation.

She described how after providing a false statement to reporters claiming there were no contacts between the Trump campaign and any foreign entities, she asked other senior campaign officials — Kellyanne Conway, Stephen Miller and possibly Jared Kushner and Steve Bannon — whether the statement was accurate. None of them pushed back, she said.

Hicks also provided evidence that Trump’s hostility toward the Russia probe stemmed from personal insecurities about whether Russian interference rendered his 2016 victory illegitimate. She also testified that President Barack Obama had warned Trump about security concerns regarding incoming national security adviser Michael Flynn’s contacts with Russia, a warning she said “sat with” Trump longer than she expected. Hicks also recalled Trump ordering aides to defend him after the backlash over his decision to fire FBI Director James Comey. And she provided details about Trump’s demand that his then-White House counsel, Don McGahn, falsely deny that Trump had asked him to fire Mueller.

But Hicks’ most significant testimony may have revolved around efforts by Trump to pressure Attorney General Jeff Sessions to constrain the Russia investigation. Hicks told Mueller’s team that Trump scolded Sessions in front of her for his decision to recuse himself from overseeing the Russia investigation. She also recalled Trump discussing Sessions’ offer to resign with other advisers, shortly after Mueller’s appointment in May 2017.

Though Hicks provided voluminous details of her interactions with Trump and recollection of crucial moments in the Russia investigation, she was notably silent on two pieces of Mueller’s findings that describe direct actions she took to advance the president’s efforts to influence the probe.

In one July 2017 episode, Mueller cited Lewandowski, who testified that Trump dictated a note to deliver to Sessions, urging him to constrain the Mueller probe. Lewandowski said he asked Hicks to type up the handwritten dictation and retrieved it from her partway through his meeting with Trump. Hicks’ version of that interaction does not appear in the report.

Similarly, Hicks’ testimony is missing from Mueller’s account of efforts by Trump to potentially influence Flynn from testifying against him, a month after Flynn decided to cooperate with the investigation. In a January 2018 interview, Flynn recalled that after his resignation, he received phone calls from then-White House chief of staff Reince Priebus and Hicks, “who said she wanted to relay on behalf of the president that the president hoped Flynn was OK.”

Hicks’ testimony about that call does not appear in the report. Her attorney, Robert Trout, declined to respond to multiple requests for comment on those gaps.

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[motherofmicrobes-blog]

How we lost our unborn baby to listeriosis food-poisoning

Most pregnant women are aware of the major food “no-no’s” during pregnancy. We’ve all salivated over a medium-rare steak or an egg yolk. Thought we would literally die if we couldn’t eat a deli sandwich full of soft cheese. Then I almost did die. Just not from a deli sandwich. I don’t know what food it was- after an extensive and fruitless investigation, the California Department of Health closed the case. But I do know that it was the disease listeriosis and that it took our baby from us. A bad, bad day At first, I was "just" diagnosed with a miscarriage. At 10 weeks pregnant, I began to have intense headaches and back pain one night. My stomach burned. I attributed it to "just another pregnancy symptom." But the discomfort continued into the next morning, and I started bleeding. And I knew something was terribly wrong. When we went to the ER for a sonogram, they couldn't find a heartbeat. As the other 1 in 4 women who experience a miscarriage know, this is the moment that separates your once continuous life into a "before" and an "after." Looking back, parts of that day were hazy and parts I remember in vivid detail. I was supposed to present my research at a lab meeting but had to get someone to cover for me. I couldn't bear to tell them why because of the pain and the shame. In shock, we drove home from the hospital to figure out what we should do next. The ER doctor suggested we go home and "pass it," a coarse reference to how we would physically lose our baby. We picked up a breakfast burrito on the way home, hoping something that tasted good might make us feel better. It didn't. I looked at a picture taken two days before- my first "belly bump" picture. Smiling, holding my tiny tummy, not realizing that the baby I already loved was probably no longer alive. I wondered about the exact moment that little life in me flickered out of existence- if anything notable happened, or if as a mother I should have known it. I felt tired and sad and numb. An even worse day I also felt very strange. As I walked through our front door I nearly passed out from dizziness. I laid down feeling feverish, but also freezing cold. Shivering violently though it was the middle of the summer and about 85 degrees.  I thought this was just what a miscarriage was like- I had read that just like pregnancy (ironically) it was different for everyone. But the midwives were concerned and told me to return to the ER. After a long, harrowing experience in the waiting room all I wanted to do was to go home and grieve. I had been taking Tylenol to reduce my fever, which was effective but led the nurses to deem my case non-urgent. We were not a priority- just another couple who lost their baby. But my white blood cell count was a little high, an early sign of a possible infection, so they insisted we stay. After several hours I tried to leave, and the doctors finally came to us. They said, "it's probably nothing, but if it is something then it could be really really bad". And finally, one of them actually acknowledged the emotional pain we were in, leading to a bit of trust. So we stayed Just to be safe, they admitted me to the hospital and put me on IV antibiotics as a preventative measure. They did an emergency D&C to remove the baby from my body- one more thing we lost control of. They said I would probably be able to go home the next day. A bunch of really terrible days I didn't go home the next day. Or the day after that. My symptoms were gone and I felt fine, physically at least. But each day they had new information about what was wrong with me. On the second day, they found out that there were bacteria growing in my blood. This was the "really really bad" thing they had been afraid of. When bacteria grow in the bloodstream it's known as septicemia. If left untreated it can very quickly progress to sepsis and septic shock, which can kill you brutally and rapidly. Fortunately, those "just-in-case" antibiotics saved me. And if I had gone home to grieve like I'd wanted I probably would have died. On the third day, they found out it was a gram-negative bacteria. At work, I research gram-negative bacteria called Vibrios that can potentially kill people, so my first thought, of course, was that I did this to myself. The rest of that day was a wretched mental roller coaster of preemptive guilt and poorly attempted self-forgiveness. Another day and another test identified the true culprit: Listeria monocytogenes. I was relieved that I hadn't infected myself but also shocked because in a way I had. The infection came from something I ate.

Listeria monocytogenes. What a jerk "That can't be possible," was my first reaction. I had done everything the midwives said, avoided all the "no-no" foods like soft cheese, deli products, undercooked meat. Or did I? Was that cheese really pasteurized? Was that meat actually cooked enough? It didn't matter though- Listeria lives in the environment and can be found on nearly any type of food. Lettuce. Ice cream. Cantaloupe. Avocado. The infectious ones are just extremely rare. As one of the infectious disease specialists put it,  I was just very very unlucky. How unlucky? There are only 1600 cases in the U.S. each year out of 325 million people. So pretty damn unlucky. But also the luckiest About 25% of people who are diagnosed with Listeriosis die from it. But I wasn't one of them. In fact, physically if not emotionally, I walked away from the ordeal relatively unscathed. In many ways, it felt like a miracle. Another good thing: the doctor's said there was no reason we shouldn't be able to have a healthy baby in the future. I knew objectively that this was good- not every woman gets another chance. I felt relieved about it, but only a little bit. After all, there are obviously no guarantees. If this could happen to me, anything could (no, this isn't logical- yes, I believed it). And part of me felt I didn't deserve another chance. Like so many women who experience a miscarriage, I thought it was my fault. And if I couldn't keep my first baby alive, what made me think I could do it with another one? During the aftermath of our loss and trying to get pregnant again, I searched endlessly and pointlessly for some explanation for why this happened. I went to therapy and cried my brains out until I was finally (mostly) convinced it wasn't my fault. I tracked my cycle, peeing on endless sticks and hoping desperately that I would get another chance to have a baby. And finally, we became pregnant again. You’re not going to get it ...you're not going to get it...the most unconvincing pep-talk ever How do you pretend not to be terrified of something when it hurts you and a medical professional then tells you it's everywhere? You don't.

And I was terrified. If you are afraid of snakes, you don't go to the jungle. But when you're pregnant you can't stop eating. Every time I ate I remembered everything we lost. I looked at food and I wondered "are you hiding there Listeria? Are you going to take my baby from me again?". I ate virtually no fresh food. Once a salad lover, this food was now categorically banished. Every vegetable was cooked to oblivion. Animal-based dishes couldn't possibly get more dead. Nothing came within a foot of cheese. Dishes featuring hot bread became a staple (on the plus side, this also quelled my nausea). I was hyperaware and obsessive. One silver lining: after extensive testing, I learned that you can cook the ever-living shit out of a breakfast burrito and it still tastes pretty good. Bottoms up, first-trimester pounds. Also, as a microbiologist, the irony of getting extremely ill from a bacterial infection was not lost on me. When I returned to work, it was a continuous reminder that the organisms I found so interesting had just completely wrecked me. Every time I cultured a bacteria, I wondered how many babies it could kill. More than that, the fear of contracting another infection was suffocating. Fortunately, my boss solved this problem by letting me work on the computer instead of in the lab. Computer codes and DNA sequences were more intimidating than scary.

But I kept going- because I had to- and one day the tide began to turn. No, I didn't develop healthy eating habits. But I began to feel less afraid. Partly because fear is exhausting, and partly because, despite myself, I was getting excited. Another chance Appointment after appointment surprised me with a beating heart. Eventually, the ultrasound image displayed a wiggly baby that actually looked like a baby. We shelled out nearly $500 on prenatal testing and found out the gender, and I let myself become attached to him and love him. I allowed myself to feel joy. And lightning didn't strike twice. Now we have a beautiful son named Wylie, and he's everything to me. I had thought that once we had our "rainbow baby" I would finally be able to leave the whole terrible ordeal behind me. That the pain would disappear and it would be just like it never happened. But I couldn't and was surprised to find that I didn't want to. Just like a birth, a miscarriage experience becomes part of your story forever. And that's OK. I still think about our lost baby nearly every day, and what he or she would have been like. I'm glad that even though we never got to meet them, they were a part of our lives in the way they were. It makes people uncomfortable sometimes- they would rather hear about the baby who lived than the baby who died. They probably wonder why I'm still hung up on the past. But it's all part of me now, and always will be. I'm not just at peace with that fact, I feel great about it- even when it hurts. And life goes on. Now I'm back to lab work (well, occasionally- turns out I really do like computers). And, miracle of miracles, I finally love salad again. But don't worry, I also still love breakfast burritos - with cheese. *** Featured image by Ben White on Unsplash.  Other images courtest of the CDC and andreas160578 and Jarmalook via Pixabay. Copy Read the full article

[meiklemons-blog]

Assignment #4

Blade Runner, 1982

1.There are a number of themes running throughout the movie. Can you name some of them and discuss the relevance of at least 2 of them as they pertain both to concepts of the future and topics that were relevant in the 1980s in America?

One of the major themes that comes to mind is technology and modernization. Blade Runner takes place in a world dominated by technology which has completely steered the earth in a direction away from the preservation of nature and towards wastelands, pollution, and acid rain. The world looks muggy and dark with the only light source being artificial. Almost all animals have gone extinct, which has led to manufactured animals like Tyrell’s owl and Zhora’s snake. Human women have no appearances as well. Zhora and Pris are the only female appearances, other than the giant hologram advertisement of women, and were designed to look like super models and serve as pleasure models.

Another theme is society and class, which in Blade Runner seems to be in a state of total chaos. Los Angeles is run by an enormous company, the Tyrell Corporation, which creates replicants for the purpose of slave labor. Though this society is incredibly technologically advanced, the undertone is that there are groups existing at the bottom of the food chain, participating in a dog-eat-dog fight for survival in a grimy underworld. It appears to be multicultural, but people don’t have the freedom to participate in their society’s governance since it’s dominated by a corporation. For one thing, you see our society and class is not too far off from how it’s portrayed in Blade Runner. You wouldn’t believe the

2. A key puzzle raised by Blade Runner is whether we can definitely distinguish between real humans and artificially engineered replicants. Suppose that no test (either objective or subjectively introspective) could show this for sure, would that mean that a given replicant was indeed fully human?

Suppose that every human being on this earth was given a series of questions to test their empathy. I believe that it is highly unlikely that everyone would pass. Sociopaths, psychopaths, and autistics; perhaps, will not score so highly. Emotions themselves will never be a perfect test of humanity for sociopaths, psychopaths, and autistics are human themselves but lack humanity. To answer the question, yes I believe that a given replicant can be fully human, or even more human. Pris says, “We’re not machines,” and Roy Batty says, “We’re physical.” They’re genetically engineered biological humans. Everything about them is human, except the fact that they’re not born from the womb and don’t have childhood memories.

3. One of the more dramatic philosophical points made in the movie is that we can’t trust our memories; that they may have been implanted in us regardless of how true they seem. What is the main reason that we trust our memories as more or less accurate accounts of our past events?

Memories are a subjective experiences, they are not recordings. These recollections of past events are often “enhanced,” or impaired through emotional output which makes them more susceptible to forming false memories, not just details to a scene, but entire fabrications of it. Memories are real to us and no one else’s experience can outperform our reality.

4. Rachael became convinced that she was a replicant when Deckard described some of her private childhood memories to her. What would it take for you to seriously question the truth of your memories and consider instead that they might be implanted in you as result of a drug or mental defect?

There’s already a lot I question about my being. Often times than not, I question if my dreams are my true reality whereas my waking life might be not, because my dreams are so vivid and stir up experiences and emotions that seem so real, that they almost seem like memories of a past time. In my later years, I learned to simply become more aware through the act of cognitive thinking and diligence and self therapy. As someone who used to be ruled by her emotions, the only mantra to keep me back in line is “Where’s the evidence?” When the devil in my brain lurks to tell me that I am worthless, I am a failure, I am unloved, etc; as opposed to acting out on those thoughts and sinking into a state of depressive episodes and wondering who I am and why I’m here like I used to; I now look at the objectivity and the evidence that lies before me to really prove whether what I think is true or not. Often times, what I think is wrong; my emotions are temporary and fictional. To answer the question, one would need to provide my evidence that I’m not human. If they’re not sufficient, then I will believe I am who I am.

5. Are there any questions raised in the movie about whether Deckard himself is a replicant? If so, what are the clues? If so, what sort of impact should this have on Deckard, particularly in view of his feelings about Rachael?

In the director’s cut and the remastered version, there is a scene of Deckard dreaming of a white unicorn. We don’t know what wakes up from is just a dream or actually an implant after fellow cop Gaff leaves a unicorn origami in front of his doorstep. Throughout the movie, Deckard’s being is questioned when Rachael asks him, “Have you ever answered these questions yourself?” and when Gaff exclaims to him at the end of the final fight scene with Roy Batty, “You’ve done a man’s job, sir!” Other than the fact that he acknowledges Rachael being attractive, he doesn’t think very much of her because his job is to simply retire replicants. He has no use for her or desire for her until her display of emotion puts him in a position where he sees her as a human being.

6. A moral message of the movie may be that it was wrong to enslave the replicants and use them as forced labor since they were so human-like in both appearance and thought process. Is there anything that would need to be different about replicants in order for us to feel that it’s OK to use them for labor?

The running theme of humankind is invading and enslaving people. People were once considered to be property and were used for physical and sexual labor, being traded and beaten, until just recently! African Americans weren’t considered human beings at one point. In some countries, slavery still exists. The point is, we should’ve learned from our past mistakes not to enslave people, and in order to stray away from repeating the same mistake again of ever offending a specific demographic, replicants should not have been designed to look like humans in the first place. Nexus-6 was designed for battle and destruction, what was the reason for them to look human in the first place if they’re job was to just destroy? Why not just make them plain machines? Now in the case of Blade Runner, there’s no turning back on this. We now know that Nexus-6 are conscious and more alive and well as humans. Now we have to claim responsibility for their life and being and treat them kindly. They’re a new kind of human being, and we have to give them rights.

7. What strategies are used to produce meaning in this film?

Because the significance of eyes in this film, they use imagery of a close-up eye in the beginning to set the tone of the movie. And in the eye itself you see the reflection of a hellish landscape that Roy Batty saw and described seeing in his death scene. There is a scene of Rachael’s eye being magnetized in her Voight-Kampff test, scenes that put emphasis on the orange glow of her eyes and the owl’s eyes.

Another strategy used in the theatrical version of this film is Deckard’s narration, which I’m not a fan of. But it’s used so the audience can get into his head and see what he’s thinking. Vangelis’s composition for the soundtrack of this film is absolutely amazing and does such a great job setting the mood for the movie.

Blade Runner 2049

1. What is the significance of an emphasis on eyes in the original movie (1982 version)

The film opens up with an extreme close up of an eye which fills the screen and reflects the hellish landscape. Everything physical about a human being can be perfectly replicated except the finest details of emotion and empathy, which is reflected through eyes, literally the window to the soul. Both human and animal replicants are manufactured with eyes that give off a dark orange glow, which is a bit of a design flaw. While replicants are superhuman when it comes to strength and agility, their eyes are essentially kryptonite. Not only do the reflective pupils betray their true nature, they’re unable to pass the Voight-Kampff test because their eyes don’t react as a human’s would. The Tyrell Corporation boasts that its replicants are “more human than human,” the eyes are the great divide between man and machine. In Roy’s quest to meet his maker, he seeks out Chew, a genetic designer for eyes, who created the eyes of the Nexus-6. Roy refers a lot to eyes and sight when he says to Chew, “If only you could see what I’ve seen with your eyes,” and to Deckard, “I’ve seen things you humans would’ve believe.” Eyes also seem to play an important part in killing, like when Leon attempts to gouge Deckard’s eyes out and when Roy jabs his thumbs into Tyrell’s sockets. The film references a lot to the relationship between sight and memory.

2. What is the significance of eyes in Blade Runner 2049? Does it expand the symbolism? If so, how?

The new Blade Runner 2049 appears primed to expand the exploration of eyes and identity with mind-bending visuals. In the neon flashes and noirish glitters, Jared Leto’s character, Niander Wallace, muses on the act of giving and taking away life from replicants like a blind god. His white irises have a sinister and mysterious beauty with limitations caused by his lack of sight. Joi’s giant hologram does not have human eyes but a pair of completely dark, almost black orbs; to indicate that she has not taken the role of a personally sexualized female fantasy and housewife specifically catered to a single individual, but that she is at her default setting. The eyes are also studied to determine the authenticity of a being just has Deckard uses Rachael’s green eyes to prove that the clone of her in front of him is indeed a clone. K or Joe takes out the eyeballs of the first Nexus-8 he retires in the beginning of the movie.

3. What are the overriding themes explored in the new Blade Runner? How different are they from the original movie? What significance do they hold for today’s culture?

Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049 show a world heavily influenced by Asian culture, fashion, technology, and corporations. The main difference between the two is that Blade Runner has Asian characters and Blade Runner 2049 did not have a single one. White-washed Hollywood might have something to blame for this, I mean come on, Los Angeles in the year 2049 should be much more diversely multicultural. But suspend all disbelief, maybe this has something to say about the white-washing of humanity in general --- all replicants are white, all humans are white, etc. Another powerful theme I realized in the new Blade Runner is just how masculine the movie is. Other than the fact that the main character is male, you see there are no single female human character in the movie other than Robin Wright’s character. In this world, real women aren’t needed anymore. Women are high maintenance and not perfect. In this world, you can have the best version of a woman you want: modelesque, low maintenance, specifically catering to your every need, sexually stimulating, and with the OFF switch. It’s a man’s world, a white man’s world.

[neowarriorphilosopher-blog]

Introduction:

Most references to Warrior Philosophy lead to the culture of ancient Sparta and to the classic school of philosophy of Stoicism. Although both are necessary, they are not sufficient in understanding the goals of Warrior Philosophy. The goals are: pursuit of knowledge and information (becoming "rational"); suppressing greed (and other passionate emotions) in one's behavior, and acting ethically. 

I am a U.S. Army veteran; serving from 1986-2010 as an enlisted soldier in the role of a Combat Medic. Growing up during the Cole War, I joined with the idea that a strong military serves as a deterrent to war between countries; particularly liberal democracies. At the time, I thought that the U.S. had learned its lesson that the “domino theory” of promoting democracy around the world during the Vietnam War-era and that the strategy of containing Communism through war-by-proxy during the Cold War had ended. I believed that I could be a part of a professional military that, by its very existence, would reduce the chances of war and I could grow personally as a student of medicine and warfare. During my 24-year journey as a professional soldier in the U.S. Army (arguably the most liberal Democracy that has ever existed), I rigorously trained my body and my mind to achieve this goal. I was sent into the fiery crucible of combat many times at the command of my government in the service of my country. In the end, I found my initial motivations for becoming a professional soldier to be spectacularly naive and my blind trust in the benevolent nature of my country in its role in the world to be misplaced. I still love my country, I simply now understand my country. This blog is dedicated to discussing my evolution from a wide-eyed and excited 18 year old eager to escape my impoverished, insecure and violent upbringing, to where I am today. 

Early Childhood:

I grew up in Broward County, Florida in the 1970′s and later moved to Madison County, Alabama as a teenager. I am the oldest child of divorced parents, and lived with my Mother in abject poverty after my parents divorced when I was three years old. From the age of three to eleven, I spent long periods of time homeless; living on the streets or in communal “flop houses.” Our lives revolved nearly exclusively around drugs, violence, sex, and abuse. I had absolutely no security or consistency during those years and I had my little sister to try and look after as well. This chaos was how I learned life to be; it was my “normal.”  My only exposure to societal normality came in the form of inconsistent interventions by my grandmother and my mother’s two sisters, who would sweep in and rescue me and my sister whenever my mother and her boyfriend (later my step-father) would disappear periodically; days or weeks at a time. Those times in no way felt “normal.” in fact, they felt oppressive and judgmental; highly uncomfortable and ill-fitting. However, due to events directly under my control, I later set in motion a series of events that rejected the norm of chaos and embraced the norms of structure and discipline. It wasn’t pretty.

Both my sister and I were serially abused as children: mental, physical, and sexual. When it came to mental abuse and physical violence against me or my sister, I enjoyed the greatest exposure from everyone and my sister was on the receiving end of the larger amount of sexual abuse. Interestingly, neither my mother nor stepfather ever directly sexually abused me or my sister, it was always a third-party. I would like to live under the illusion that they were unaware of it, or cared that it was happening, but that is simply not possible.  

I saw my stepfather get shot for the first time when I was eight years old; he was shot by his best friend and fellow member of a “motorcycle club.” I was immediately pulled aside and coached to confess that I was the shooter and that it was an accident. As my mother screamed, some panicked, others ran, and still others yelled and fought, the actual shooter, again: my step fathers best friend, took a knee in front of me, his t-shirt soaked in my step-fathers blood, grabbed me by my shoulders and looked me in the eyes as he told me what to say. He was entirely convincing in telling me that failing to do exactly what he told me would result in my mother and my sister being badly hurt or even killed and if not then spending their lives in jail. This coaching continued as my step-fathers unconscious body was loaded into a white panel van with me and the gun and we sped to an emergency room. I had been raised to distrust law enforcement specifically since, as my mother and other adults in my life told me countless times, they were all “out to get us;” were “the bad guys;” and would “take mommy away.” I know now this to be because at most points in time, either my mother, my stepfather or others in the “communal houses” in which we resided were involved in dealing drugs, prostitution, and/or other active criminal enterprise. It was that mindset: that the police were even worse people than the man that shot my stepfather and threatened my family; that made me a highly convincing witness. The police never opened an investigation, taking my story as the truth. 

My mother usually gave better than she got when it came to violence, even when fighting with my stepfather. My mother was a hefty woman on the short-ish side and my stepfather was a large and strong man; but my mother was highly unpredictable in doling out violence. She held strong grudges. She would take a beating, cry, admit she was wrong, beg for forgiveness, whatever it took. Whenever she would discover an opportunity, she would strike. I saw her cut, stab, poison, and use various heavy blunt objects on people that had previously beaten her up; her wrath was legendary among those that knew her. It served a a strong deterrent to many to ever lay a finger on her. 

My step father was was generally passive when he was not drunk or stoned, and therefore far more predictable. He was also not as directly violent toward me or my sister as he was with my mother. I would say roughly half of the times my sister or I were physically abused by him, it was not a matter if malicious intent, but of carelessness, poor judgement, and a sense of humor that enjoyed pain in others. That is not to say that he didn’t have a mean streak...he had a wide mean streak, but it was mostly reserved for other adults: women that displeased him and men that presented real or perceived challenges to him. 

My mother and step father were in a serious motorcycle accident when I was 10 years old. My mother was riding behind my step father when a car turned in front of them, the motorcycle slamming into the passenger-side door without even having the time to hit the brakes. My stepfather sustained minor cuts and bruises. My mother suffered a shattered left femur; a compound fracture of her tibia and fibula, an open dislocation of her left ankle and a shattered left patella. I overheard the doctors saying that it was a miracle that they were able to save her leg. Without insurance or any ability to pay her medical bills, the hospital discharged her as soon as she was stable in a cast covering her from her toes to her hip and multiple external fixators, keeping the pins in her bones in place. The wrecked Indian motorcycle lay in a heap in the front yard, a huge party taking place: fires, beer, drugs, sex...everywhere in the yard, in every room in the house as well as the neighbors. My mother, sitting in her “throne”, the center of attention decided to take her moment in the spotlight to use her razor-sharp intellect to verbally emasculate my step father in front of his friends, fellow “motorcycle club” members, stranger party-crashers, and the gaggle of children milling around including me and my sister. The more my step father drank...the more intoxicated the crowd became...the angrier he got. Finally, he got in her face, screaming at her, threatening her...face blood red and spit flying from his lips. Many men cheered him on, women became quiet, and the children made themselves scarce...except me. I didn’t move. I watched. My mother, high as a kite on narcotics for her pain plus a robust hit of heroin (she was a heroin addict among other things) just sneered at him, daring him...emasculating him further. I saw it in his eyes...my mother did too. In a series of only a very few moments, she became quiet, her face paled...and my step father leaned in, put his knee on her chest and began beating her in the head and face with his fists. She almost immediately was unconscious and the men just cheered him on for what seemed like an eternity as I stood, frozen, while he beat her. After what was likely about 20-30 blows in less than a minute, a couple men tried to pull him off my mother. It ended up taking five large men to pull him off, prompting him to fight with them for another several minutes. The melee proceeded without any true conscious acknowledgement on my part. I stood there and stared at my mothers motionless body until the men subdued my step father and got him out into the yard. The room was empty except for me and my mother. In my mind I went to her in slow motion and in silence, but I am told that I ran to her screaming. I got to her side, and (my memory says) I whispered to her: “Mommy, are you ok? I love you....” over and over. Her face was bloody and swollen. There were cuts on her scalp where his ring had cut her...my closer look showed me that most damage was on her scalp, she had apparently tucked her chin, protecting her face from him as he attacked her from above. A woman, a nurse (there were always nurses and sometimes doctors at these communal houses...access to drugs was their primary “ticket” into the “motorcycle club” social orbit, with their ability to provide off-the-books medical care as a secondary benefit), examined her, talked to her as she regained consciousness. They both assured me that she would be fine and to go off with the other children. I left, but instead of going with the other children, I hid and watched my step father for several hours as he partied, drank, pissed on the fire, lit his farts...and the rest of the juvenile and banal actions of the young and intoxicated. He never once asked about my mother and he never checked on her. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, people passing out, pairing up (or in threes and fours) to continue the party in a more intimate manner, my step father got up and wandered off to the bedroom he shared with my mother. The room had a queen mattress on the floor with a couple crumpled sheets and candles stuffed into the mouths of empty bottles of cheap Italian wine (the kind with the bottoms wrapped in wicker), shrouded on the colorful wax of old candles, for light.  My mother was already there, passed out, her paraphernalia to smoke heroin and the crutches she used to get around scattered on the mattress beside her. Finding his side of the bed filled with her clutter sent him into another rage. He began slapping her face, but she was not responsive. The rage was quick in passing, laying down, his anger became more calculated. He swept her crutches away to where she would never be able to reach them, smoked some heroin and as he was slipping into his “high,” he decided to use the lighter, a “zippo” lighter, applying its flames to her cast. It made scorch marks on it and I could see him smile as if it were humorous. Still unaware that I am looking through the door, he passed out and the still lit lighter fell between my mothers legs. I really wasn’t considering what that meant at that exact moment...I simply felt rage and approached my step father. As I approached, I saw that he had set the sheets between her legs on fire and had, in my mind, set my mother on fire. I ran to the kitchen and got a big cup full of water...leaving the kitchen, my eyes fell on a steak knife, which I grabbed as I went to put out the fire. In my ten-year-old mind, all this was reasonable and made sense...the “fire” turned out to be very small and the cup of water was enough to put it out. My step father and my mother were both passed out, my mother’s pillow marked with spots of blood seeping from the wounds on her scalp and her cast and sheets between her legs scorched, and my stepfather shirtless and in his jeans...I can remember seeing the chain for his wallet draped on his hip leading to the thumb-hook that connected it to his belt-loop...passed out. My ten-year-old mind processed the tableau laid out in front of me as: My step father laying in blissful happiness that only a drug-induced stupor can provide; his lighter laying, open and inert, between my mothers legs in fire-blackened sheets; my mother’s cast scorched with purposefully applied flames; my mother’s pillow stained with the blood resulting from his earlier brutal attack. And I’m holding a knife. I don’t remember even thinking about it. I stabbed him...right in the same spot in his shoulder where the bullet scar was from when I took the blame for shooting him. I had never stabbed anyone and the knife-fights I had seen over my experience seemed to sink into flesh like a hot knife in butter, so I thought it would just sink in easy. It didn’t. The knife went into his shoulder maybe an inch...and he woke up. He said: “You little fuck...” as he grabbed me by the neck. He took the knife out with his other hand and (I think) considered stabbing me. Instead, he dropped it nest to the mattress and began punching me in my left side. Hard. First it was painful, then excruciating, then numb...he simply let me go and passed back out. My mother had woken up and seen everything after I stabbed him. She urged me to get her crutches to her. I don’t understand how I managed it, I believe I was going into and out of consciousness at that point. I rely on my mother’s recounting of the next several hours. She called my grandparents and had them come get me and take me to the hospital. Miraculously, I only had a severely bruised kidney and no internal bleeding. I didn’t go to my mother’s home again for five years. 

I saw my biological father once a year and only a few years ago did he admit that he knew what my sister and I were going through. It served as a heavy burden on him for decades. He asked for forgiveness and I wholly and totally gave it. 

I recovered from my injuries at my grandparents house, where my fate was discussed among my mother and my mothers extended family. I was asked if I would go to stay with my father for the summer. I agreed. My summer was the first time in my life that I had experienced true security and safety...a stable home where “normal families” lived. 

This story so far describes the portion of my life leading to my rejection of chaos and embrace of structure: “... I later set in motion a series of events that rejected the norm of chaos and embraced the norms of structure and discipline. It wasn’t pretty...” It was not pretty. The next chapter of my life was just as ugly...as difficult as my early childhood, but for entirely different reasons. 

In the next several posts, I will continue my story, detailing how I have become the person I am today to provide a back drop to my continued pursuit of and evolution of being a warrior philosopher. 

[tragicbooks]

Kellyanne Conway brought 'alternative facts' about feminism to CPAC. Let's clear that up.

She may not be a feminist, and that's OK. But let's get a few things straight.

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Many words can describe counselor to the president Kellyanne Conway, but "feminist" isn't one of them. Just ask her.

Speaking at the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), Conway discussed what it was like to be the first woman to manage a successful presidential campaign. The discussion, facilitated by conservative commentator Mercedes Schlapp, eventually centered around the label "feminist," and whether Conway considered herself one. She doesn't, and she suggested that feminists "in a classic sense" are "anti-male" and "pro-abortion."

GIF from ACU/YouTube.

Speaking of feminism from an objective viewpoint, Conway's probably right not to claim that title for herself.

Prior to working for the Trump campaign, Conway's most well-known client was then-Representative Todd Akin from Missouri, a man who torpedoed his shot at winning a Senate seat when he justified his opposition to abortion, even in cases of rape and incest, by saying, "If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."

In the past, Conway also suggested that "femininity is replacing feminism as a leading attribute for American women," and she has said, "If women really want to be taken seriously in the workforce these days, looking feminine is a good way to start."

More recently, Conway has suggested that perhaps mothers shouldn't take roles in the White House. She also criticized a 17-year-old girl for asking how Conway rationalized working for someone facing multiple sexual assault accusations, and she "didn't see the point" in the Women's March on Washington.

Conway speaks at CPAC on Feb. 23, 2017. Photo by Mike Theiler/AFP/Getty Images.

If she doesn't want to call herself a feminist, that's fine. What's not fine is the mischaracterization of who feminists are and what they stand for.

First off, feminists (as a group) aren't "anti-male." Maybe some individuals are, but that's not some core requirement. Conway once said, "I challenge anybody to show me where [man-hating] is not part and parcel of the feminist movement." And, while some feminists may very well call their views "pro-abortion," a more accurate view of the broader feminist population would be that they believe decisions about what people do with their bodies are best left up to them — and not the government.

GIF from ACU/YouTube.

Nor do feminists, as a group, see themselves as victims of circumstance, something Conway has said on multiple occasions. Feminists simply acknowledge that obstacles remain in the fight for gender equality. The pay gap, sexism in the workplace, and a host of other issues stand between the world we live in now and a world with gender equality.

None of this is to say that it's impossible for a woman to succeed in the world. Conway is proof that, yes, women can find success and achieve their goals.

But just as Obama being elected president didn't close the book on racism, a handful of successful women doesn't signal the end of sexism.

📈'Feminism' is defined as "the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities." https://t.co/Zjf7CAPUjL

— Merriam-Webster (@MerriamWebster) February 23, 2017

Conway doesn't have to be a feminist. But the rest of us won't give up until we've reached true equality for all women of all ages, all races, all religions, and all sexualities.

Conway is interviewed by Schlapp during CPAC. Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

Watch Conway's full CPAC interview below.

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