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nurseofren · 3 years

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

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Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #smut #angst

20 notes · View notes

b0rista · 4 years

Note

Oh my god, oh my GOD you gave me the most ridiculous brainrot with those hcs of the Titan trio in a gloomy city, I literally haven’t stopped thinking about it all day. If you’re still open for requests, could you maybe write something similar, but with the reader having a crush on bertholdt, or being his s/o in that au? Thank you so much if you do, I hope you have a lovely day! 🥰

— ❝︎ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍! 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐔 𝐏𝐓. 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ; 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐓. ·˚ ༘

♡︎ : PLEASE I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU LIKED ITDK I LOWKEY FELL OFF AT THE END BUT TYTY 🥺 and tbh i was THIS CLOSE 🤏 to turning it into a bert x reader post so you like read my mind PLSKD. and i hope you have a lovely day, too!! 🥺

reader x bertholdt version of this! i suggest reading those headcanons first because i absolutely refuSe to attempt to explain the atmosphere again because i'm illiterate gegsgdgh

if you'd like a music recommendation for when you're reading this, literally just play the band cigarettes after sex and you'll get the vibe i'm tryna put off 😭

also this is long and dragged out and im SORRYYFHF

because there isn't a whole lot to change (other than bertholt's feelings for annie; he's older, so in this version, he's over it entirely), everything will be the same as it was in the first part. the four of you, all living in extremely gloomy territory. you're only close with eachother, and it's the sour scent of cigarette smoke and green tea keeping the lot of you sane. that, and the rain. the sweet, senseless rain.

as before, bertholdt's in his twenties, and currently working as a philosophy professor's assistant. his workplace is at a local community college, where you and the other two occasionally visit.

the same goes for the others, as well— while annie's a policy analyst, reiner's taken up certified training. again, not much is different from the first version, if anything at all. what you do for a living is entirely up to you. as for lodging, you're still sharing an apartment with annie, and the boys still visit far too often than remotely necessary. for such a big city, the four of you don't really get out much. really, if you ever do, it's with eachother. you're a very, very tight-knit posse.

back during your college campus days, you're liking toward bertholdt was merely platonic. after all, not only were the bunch of you focused on your academia, but he was always the quieter sort. back then, you were more close to reiner, and even annie, who's worse. still, that didn't mean the two of you didn't interact quite a bit. whenever you were struggling with your studies, he was always offering to help. if we're being entirely honest, there were quite a few exams that you'd have likely failed if it weren't for his assistance.

now, the two of you have grown far more comfortable with one another. of course, college was years ago. as time went on, you'd managed to get closer to him, and vice versa. all four of you are close, despite you having turned their trio into a quartet only a mere matter of years ago. somehow, it felt as they were waiting for you to join them.

if you read the part before this one, you read the instance of which you were hassled on the subway, ultimately leading to an actual buddy system in your favor. well, your friends claim that it's in your favor, anyway. really, it feels like babysitting. they don't like whenever you board the underground train by yourself, and you've been caught trying once or twice. the first time, it was by reiner, who nearly bit your head off. the second time, it was by bert, who was mildly displeased.

instead of scolding you, though, he only boarded the same train as you, offering to see you home. unlike reiner, bertholdt isn't aggressive, especially towards you. if anything, he's protective. he doesn't like it whenever the lingering eyes of a stranger land on you, and he sure as hell isn't fond of the thought of another man taking you home. if you're the more flamboyant sort, and you're unafraid of a fling or two, he'll be quietly bitter. of course, he'll never tell you what to do with your life. he'll tell you to be careful with who you trust, and to stay safe. he's only one call away.

back to your feelings, though. currently, your quiet crush on bertholdt is rising with every given day. it's a struggle, bearing feelings for a man so closed off. nevertheless, it's uncontrollable. fortunately, your pining towards him is more subtle than it is obvious, so he's yet to actually realize. that, and he's fucking oblivious. annie and reiner, however? they're as observing as they come. they know about it, and while they don't tease you, they do root for you. reiner more than annie, because annie's horrible at that sort of thing. still, 10/10 friends.

as of right now, you have three pieces of bertholdt's clothing in your closet. a sweater, a scarf, and a t-shirt. he hasn't asked for any of them back, so they're practically yours. they were all loaned to you on seperate occasions. and although he'll never tell you, there's an actual reason for why he hasn't asked for them back— one time, while you were wearing his sweatshirt, he caught a brief glimpse of you from afar: you were bringing the collar to your nose, inhaling the bittersweet scent of his cologne, his scent. you looked so pleased, and it fucking melted him. he can't bring himself to take anything back that he gives to you.

cuddling. all of you cuddle, though it's a bit subtle. whenever the four of you gather at you and annie's apartment after a rough week, you all have this moment where for hours, you simply sit in silence, watching the rain pour atop the cityscape from the other side of the balcony. the television is lowly drumming in the background, and glasses of tea mixed with pure whiskey sit ontop of the coffee table behind you. you do this as a group, and it's weirdly cinematic. when annie's head isn't rested against your shoulder, you like to press the bottom of your chin onto the top of bertholdt's head. from behind him, your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, and he sinks into you. this is such a weekly occurrence, neither of you even think much of it. after all, reiner and annie are falling asleep ontop of one another beside you. when they do, you and bertholdt often have a quiet conversation. it's sweet, and exactly what the two of you need.

one time, he took you to an ice sculpture festival. it was the midst of winter, and there was one showcasing in the city. of course, the other two were invited. however, they both claimed to be "busy," when really, they went out to see a movie so the two of you could actually do something together. that being said, you went as a pair.

it was actually fun, to your surprise. not because of the sculptures themselves, but because of how much bertholdt actually liked them. for being so closed off, he showed quite a bit of interest in them. y'all know he's artsy. you couldn't help yourself— as he was silently gawking over a ten foot sculpture of a roaring tiger, you called him cute.

of course, knowing him, he immediately started to flush. due to the weather, he easily pinned the redness of his cheeks to the cold. you, of course, were smarter than that.

speaking of the cold, you were freezing. while you made sure to bundle up, you didn't think to bring a scarf. the blisteringly cold wind tickled at your exposed neck, earning itself a shiver from you. you may not have thought much of it, but he certainly did.

from directly behind you, you felt a hand move to hold your hair out of the way as a large, burgundy fabric coiled itself around your neck, immediately encasing you in its warmth. glancing both behind and above you, you saw bertholdt, snugly tying his own scarf around you. from the looks of it, he thought nothing of it. you were cold, and he wanted to fix that. still, the brief collision of his palm against your bare skin was enough to make you melt.

cigarette sharing. this is just,, a thing. the entire group does it, you and bertholdt especially. there have been plenty of instances where you've snatched a dart from in between his lips, bringing it to your own. vice versa, as well— he's a bit more gentle with it, though. when he reaches for your lips, he's careful, and his knuckles ever so slightly graze against your face as he tugs the cigarette from out of your mouth. to this day, you debate surprising him with a quick kiss to his hand.

speaking of kisses, several have been placed on your forehead. despite not being an item, after a particular rough moment, bertholdt's incredibly tender whilst comforting you. by your shoulders, you'll be pulled into an embrace, where he'll bury his nose within your hair while quietly reassuring you. using your chin to raise your face, he'll place a soft, sweet kiss on the center of your forehead. it's short, but effective.

this man is your personal umbrella. if it's pouring rain—which it usually is— and you're without coverage, he is your coverage. he'll either pull off his jacket and use it to cover your head from the rain, or you'll be sheepishly pulled into his chest, where he sacrifices his back to keep you dry.

if the two of you ever exchanged your feelings toward one another, it would be through a dramatic, rainy confession.

you likely went first, blurting out what you felt through a flash of frustrated impulse; it was pouring down rain, and somehow, the two of you had gotten into a conflict in the parking lot of bertholdt's apartment complex. now, you were shouting at him, "perhaps it's because i love you, you goddamn imbecile!"

and he just,, stared. you stared in horror, he stared in utter shock. now, the two of you were drenched, and you were absolutely mortified.

after a couple of moments, you would falter. digging into the left pocket of your coat, you would pull out your pack of marlboros— despite the rain, you moved to get a smoke. "fuck this," you said, "i need a cigarette."

however, right as you flipped the top of the pack open, it would be abruptly smacked out of your grasp, rendering you speechless. and before you could even regain those words of yours back, they were quickly halted by the lips of another, shutting you up for good.

with multiple year's worth of pent up emotions, you and bertholdt kiss beneath the weeping sky.

#this was nasty #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot headcanons #bertholdt x reader

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

I loved your latest SVU Carisi fic! I would love something with Barba, please! Maybe something where he asks a coworker (either a detective or someone from the ME's office) to an event, either because he's lonely or embarrassed to go alone again.

A/N: Can I just say, I appreciate how general these prompts are for SVU because they really give me the room to go where the whim takes me? Because I do (not that I don’t love prompt lists, but this style just works for me with this fandom). I hope you enjoy the direction that this one ended up. Also, I watched several Barba episodes and a bunch of clips for “research” and that was a hole I was not planning to end up back in, but I still love him, apparently. Not quite as much as the first time around, but enough. Word Count: 2804 Tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster

“Mr. Barba! What brings you to my dark little dungeon corner of the world?” you asked, smiling brightly as the ADA strolled into the morgue like it was Central Park at noon.

“Y/N, please. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Rafael, or at least drop the ‘Mr.’ We’ve seen each other’s worst, there’s no need to be so formal,” he said, returning your smile with a small one of his own and a rueful shake of his head.

It was true that you and Rafael had known each other for years, since your school days when your stubborn and shameless self had wormed your way into the DA’s office, allegedly as part of a research project for school (a story that didn’t hold up when you never left). And he, still a young, brash ADA (not that the brash part had changed or ever would), had largely been stuck dealing with you as you poked through records and cases and pointed out all the places that they could have done better with handling the forensics of things. They never chased you out, because it came in handy over time and you had a charm that made your Nancy Drew nosiness, as he had nicknamed it, more amusing than annoying. By the time you had graduated, you were practically a part of the inner circle at that office, and it was easy to leverage that (along with your shining grades of course) into a prime position as a medical examiner.

Of course, the most valuable thing you had gotten out of all of it was still the friendship of Rafael Barba. He’d encouraged you through exams and romantic breakups and personal stresses without blinking and you’d done as much of the same for him as you could. He’d poured your inebriated ass into more taxies than you could count and sent you just as many hangover-cure breakfast deliveries. You’d laughed together, cried together, held each other up when the world seemed to be trying to crush you.

And still, at work at least, you insisted on calling him “Mr. Barba.”

“We have, but you’re also the one who talks about the need to keep professional lives separate.” You shrugged with a smirk. “Besides, it amuses you how much me calling you ‘Mr. Barba’ makes you squirm.”

He rolled his eyes. “I brought lunch.” He held up a familiar paper bag, no doubt containing sandwiches and raspberry turnovers from your favorite diner.

“Not dignifying me with a proper response I see,” you teased. “And bringing me food. Either I’m in trouble or you’re trying to bribe me for a favor. I hope it’s the first one, it’s always more fun.”

Your smirk widened and you waggled your eyebrows at him, waving him over into the little lounge area outside your office and pouring two paper cups of tepid coffee. He silently passed you your sandwich, hoping that you didn’t notice the light blush creeping up around his ears, or his quick intake of breath as you bit into it and moaned involuntarily. You both chewed in silence for a while, and you tried to just enjoy his company, as you usually did. But there was a strange tension in the air, unsettling the comfort of the silence and putting you on edge as you waited for whatever he came to talk to you about.

“Alex and Yelina’s tenth anniversary is coming up,” he said finally, trying to hide the strain in his voice, even though he knew you knew him well enough to notice it anyway.

You nodded silently, a sympathetic grimace on your face. You knew how much it had stung to him to attend the wedding and watch his childhood best friend marry his first love.

“They’re having a charity gala to celebrate. And personally invited me to go.”

You sucked in a hiss through your teeth. “Ouch.”

He nodded dejectedly. “I can’t say no to them. But I don’t know if I can get through the evening.”

“I could write you a doctor’s note. Fake some sort of illness preventing you from…I don’t know being in that large of a crowd or something?”

He laughed, and you smiled at the sound, knowing that it meant things weren’t quite as bad as they could be, and you didn’t need to break into your secret bourbon stash to fix them.

“Actually,” he said, buttoning his jacket and then immediately unbuttoning it again, as you often saw him do before a particularly difficult argument in court. “I was hoping you’d come with me, as my plus one. It’d really help to have a friendly face that I know can hold their own against the vultures.”

You sat in stunned silence for several minutes, staring at him. Your mind raced. Had he just asked you on a date? And if so, did you want to say yes?

When you didn’t answer, he shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat to get your attention. You jumped, startled out of your thoughts by the noise.

“I don’t want to impose; you were the first person I thought of. I know it’s not really your scene. I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, as if to tell you to forget the whole thing.

“Oh. Sorry, it took me a minute. I guess I just didn’t expect it. I thought you’d ask Olivia or someone, you know. I’d be happy to go with you though. I’d love to, really,” you started at the same time, leading the two of you to be talking over each other like fools.

You both stopped, you trailing off more than his abrupt end, and then you locked eyes and you giggled. After a few seconds of delay, he joined your laughter and soon, there were tears in your eyes and he seemed to be struggling for breath as you took absolute joy in the ridiculousness of it.

“Honestly Raf, I don’t know why you even questioned it,” you said when you had gotten yourself under control again. “Of course I’ll go with you. What else are best friends for?”

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, relief evident on his face.

“So how fancy are we talking? Am I going to need formal wear, or will a nice cocktail dress that covers all the bits be enough?” your eyebrows wiggled again and he chuckled.

The night of the event, you were just putting the finishing touches on your appearance – making sure everything was perfect down to every hair in the right place, but not like you tried too hard, wanting to seem like this was not as big of a deal as you had slowly worked yourself up into thinking it might be – when a knock on your door alerted you to Rafael’s arrival. When you answered, you were momentarily stunned, a tux shouldn’t seem all that different than his usual three-piece suits, and yet…

Luckily, he seemed just as thrown off by your appearance, and the pair of you just stared at each other.

Finally, you broke the spell, gesturing lamely behind you. “I just have to uh, grab my bag, and then I’ll be good to go.” You tried to smile at him, but you were pretty sure it came off as more of a discomforted grimace.

And why shouldn’t you be discomforted? All this time, there had never been anything between you (though you would be the first to admit that you had found him attractive when the two of you met). And now, suddenly, you couldn’t look at him without feeling that fizzy, almost nauseous twist in your gut, the flutter of your pulse at the sight of his smile, the overwhelming desire to absolutely wreck his perfectly styled hair and pressed lapel as you pulled him close and ran your hands over every inch of him in a sensuous war for dominance. You tried to tell yourself it was just the occasion, the fact that he had asked you to be his guest to an event that clearly meant a lot to him, and that it really meant nothing. If you could maintain the lie for long enough, you pretended to believe, everything would go back to normal.

The car ride over to the event hall was short, the time filled with a primer on the various important people (both politically and to him) that would be at the party. Most of it was information you already knew, but still, you let him talk, knowing that it made him feel calmer. And then you were linking arms with him, hand delicately wrapped around the fold of his elbow and walking through the grand arching doorway.

“Thus, into hell,” you muttered too low for even him to hear, forcing a smile.

Introductions were made, hands were shook, the air next to cheeks were kissed. You had not yet met the couple of the hour, but you felt like you had met the entire rest of their world, dragged into mind-numbing small talk about stocks and board meetings, policies and constituents (where they were numbers and dollar signs and goals rather than people). At some point, you were separated from Rafael by some women who were absolutely determined to drag you into their conversation about some community center building charity and the related press benefits of visiting the construction site. They all flinched and tittered uncomfortably when you pointed out that their manicures would get ruined and they’d just be interrupting the professionals actually doing the work and wouldn’t it be better to just do a ribbon-cutting photo op when the project was over?

Finally, you managed to extricate yourself and found Rafael by the bar, sucking down a bourbon like no one’s business. He turned to the bartender as you approached and already had a vodka soda waiting when you reached him.

“My hero,” you said taking a deep drink. “Don’t ever leave me alone with those people again.”

“That bad?” he asked, eyes dancing as he smiled at you over the rim of his glass.

“I think I felt my soul exit my body. Twice. Why are you drinking so heavily already?”

“Alex and Yelina just arrived. I managed to duck them, but not before I got to bear witness to the whole…loving couple photo op.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Raf. Still, if they’re here, we should go say our hellos. The sooner we do the sooner we can blow this popsicle stand, yeah?”

He grimaced and finished his drink. “I suppose you’re right.”

He turned to walk away and you tugged him back to face you.

“Wait, here,” you said, reaching up to fiddle with his bow tie, fingers skimming his throat in the process and you swore you felt him flinch at the contact. “You were crooked,” you explained.

“Rafael!” Yelina said, smiling brightly and pulling him in for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made a soft twinge in your chest that you tried to pretend wasn’t jealousy.

“Congratulations, both of you,” he said, patting Alex on the shoulder.

“And who is this?” another woman in the crowd, who you thought had been introduced as the wife of some other senator but you hadn’t been paying that much attention, said, gesturing to you. “I mean I know this party is doubling as a charity gala, but you didn’t need to bring an example case.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped, glaring at her.

“Oh you know what I mean darling. It’s not an insult, just stating facts that you obviously don’t belong. It’s little signs, you really do look…fine. But the hair, the clearance rack clothes, and when is the last time you had your nails done?”

“Y/N is one of the most brilliant medical professionals in New York City,” Rafael cut in before you could respond, curling his arm protectively around your waist. “And not that it’s any measure of character, looks fantastic by the way. But it’s an organic, genuine beauty so it’s no surprise that you don’t see it Mrs. Johnsville. After all, you haven’t seen your own genuine appearance in, I’d guess twenty years? Or maybe it’s jealousy causing you to say such spiteful things to the most incredible person in the room. Either way, I’d suggest you stop, before someone brings up your husband’s scandals and causes a scene.”

You turned your head to stare at him, lost for words. There was a not-so-subtle threat in his words, but that didn’t matter to you in light of the things he was saying about you, or the adoring way he said them.

He turned back to his old friends. “Alex, Yelina, I hate to do this, but I’m not going to stand around and let someone insult my date that way. So we’re leaving, but maybe we can get dinner sometime soon and catch up.”

“Of course, Rafi,” Alejandro said, his polite political host smile edging its way toward a smirk. “The four of us will have to do that.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rafael said, sighing as you both sat in the car. “She had no right to speak to you that way. I…”

“Stop, Raf. It’s not your fault. And you jumped in like a knight in shining armor, no harm done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I’m a little disappointed that I got all dressed up for you and I didn’t even get to dance…” you stuck your lower lip out in an exaggerated pout that made him laugh. “But I’m sure you’ll make it up to me somehow.”

“And for having dinner with Alex and Yelina and I. Assuming you’re willing to. Which I totally understand if you’re not.”

“I was wondering if you were going to bring up that invitation,” you laughed. “And of course I’m willing. I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it as many times as I have to to get it through your skull, I’ll do anything for you, Raf.”

Suddenly you had a brilliant idea and you looked over at him with a grin.

“Uh-oh, I know that look…”

“You know what’s better than dancing and wining and dining when you’re dressed to the nines?” you said, eyes aglow the longer you thought about it.

“What?”

“Being dressed to the nines to eat greasy diner burgers! Let’s go to Hank’s!” You grabbed the hand that rested on the center console in both of yours, pulling it close to you and batting your eyelashes pleadingly at him.

He groaned and shook his head. “Alright.”

“You know,” Rafael said, shifting nervously as he walked you to the door of your building. “There was a bit of a wreck in the middle, but all in all, this wasn’t such a bad first date.”

“Is that what this was?” you asked, heart skipping a beat as your both stopped on the steps.

“Would you be mad if I said yes?”

“A little. I mean, you could have told me sooner. I would have done way cuter shit all night.”

He laughed, looking at you softly. “I don’t need you to do cuter shit. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“See, shit like that,” you waved your hands around in frustration. “I don’t have a good comeback compliment for you because I wasn’t expecting it. You threw me off my game, charming bastard.”

“Y/N…”

“If this was a date, I believe a goodnight kiss is traditional,” you smiled.

He leaned in, close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore and the alcohol he’d had earlier and the spearmint breath mint he’d picked up from beside the diner’s register when he’d insisted on paying. His lips brushed lightly against yours but he quickly pulled away, just enough to look you in the eyes.

“You’d better not be calling that my kiss,” you teased.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

Sighing in exasperation, you did as you’d imagined earlier and grabbed him by the lapels to tug him closer and press your lips to his. He sighed against your mouth, bringing one hand up to cup the back of your head gently and hold you closer, the other arm wrapping tightly around your waist. Your lips parted, opening up to him and your tongues danced together like it was what they were designed for.

Gasping for air, you both pulled away, and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered.

“Night’s not over, yet,” you answered with a shrug.

“What?”

The words felt inevitable, but right, as they worked their way through your throat.

“Do you want to come upstairs, Raf? We can watch a movie or…dance…”

#Law and Order: SVU #Rafael Barba x Reader #reader is a medical examiner #normally I love a fancy ball/dance/etc. trope #but I kind of wanted to go a little differently with this #I don't know...did I get his voice right?#I think I did...

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newstfionline · 3 years

Text

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

UN chief warns China, US to avoid Cold War (AP) Warning of a potential new Cold War, the head of the United Nations implored China and the United States to repair their “completely dysfunctional” relationship before problems between the two large and deeply influential countries spill over even further into the rest of the planet. U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres spoke to The Associated Press this weekend ahead of this week’s annual United Nations gathering of world leaders. Guterres said the world’s two major economic powers should be cooperating on climate and negotiating more robustly on trade and technology even given persisting political fissures about human rights, economics, online security and sovereignty in the South China Sea. “Unfortunately, today we only have confrontation,” Guterres said.

Canada votes in pandemic election that could cost Trudeau (AP) Prime Minister Justin Trudeau gambled on an early election in a bid to win a majority of seats in Parliament, but now faces the threat of being knocked from power in Canada’s election on Monday. Polls indicate Trudeau’s Liberal Party is in a tight race with the rival Conservatives: It will likely win the most seats in Parliament, but still fail to get a majority, forcing it to rely on an opposition party to pass legislation. “Trudeau made an incredibly stupid error in judgement,” said Robert Bothwell, a professor of Canadian history and international relations at the University of Toronto. Trudeau entered the election leading a stable minority government that wasn’t under threat of being toppled.

Biden easing foreign travel restrictions, requiring vaccines (AP) President Joe Biden will ease foreign travel restrictions into the U.S. beginning in November, when his administration will require all foreign nationals flying into the country to be fully vaccinated. All foreign travelers flying to the U.S. will need to demonstrate proof of vaccination before boarding, as well as proof of a negative COVID-19 test taken within three days of flight, said White House COVID-19 coordinator Jeff Zients, who announced the new policy on Monday. Biden will also tighten testing rules for unvaccinated American citizens, who will need to be tested within a day before returning to the U.S., as well as after they arrive home. Fully vaccinated passengers will not be required to quarantine, Zeints said. The new policy replaces a patchwork of travel restrictions first instituted by President Donald Trump last year and tightened by Biden earlier this year that restrict travel by non-citizens who have in the prior 14 days been in the United Kingdom, European Union, China, India, Iran, Republic of Ireland, Brazil and South Africa.

Recall vote highlights California’s geopolitical divisions (AP) The California recall election was a blowout win for Gov. Gavin Newsom that reinforced the state’s political divisions: The Democratic governor won big support in coastal areas and urban centers, while the rural north and agricultural inland, with far fewer voters, largely wanted him gone. “It’s almost like two states,” Menlo College political scientist Melissa Michelson said. Though California is a liberal stronghold where Democrats hold every statewide office and have two-thirds majorities in the Legislature, it is also home to deeply conservative areas. Those residents have long felt alienated from Sacramento, where Democrats have been in full control for more than a decade. A conservative movement in far Northern California has for years sought to break away and create its own state to better reflect the area’s political sensitivities.

US launches mass expulsion of Haitian migrants from Texas (AP) The U.S. is flying Haitians camped in a Texas border town back to their homeland and blocking others from crossing the border from Mexico in a massive show of force that signals the beginning of what could be one of America’s swiftest, large-scale expulsions of migrants or refugees in decades. More than 320 migrants arrived in Port-au-Prince on three flights Sunday, and Haiti said six flights were expected Tuesday. In all, U.S. authorities moved to expel many of the more 12,000 migrants camped around a bridge in Del Rio, Texas, after crossing from Ciudad Acuña, Mexico. The U.S. plans to begin seven expulsion flights daily on Wednesday, four to Port-au-Prince and three to Cap-Haitien, according to a U.S. official who was not authorized to discuss the matter publicly.

Madrid street party (Reuters) Roughly 25,000 Spaniards joined in an illegal mass drinking party on the streets of Madrid on Friday, which took police until 7 a.m. the following day to break up. The huge outdoor parties, known as “macro-botellon,” have been resisted by Spanish authorities for years, and have taken on renewed significance as coronavirus restrictions limit public interactions. Police may find quieter streets next weekend as closing times for Madrid’s bars and clubs are finally extended to 6 a.m. from their previous 2 a.m. limits.

Thousands flee as lava spewing from volcano on Spain’s La Palma island destroys houses (Reuters) Authorities have evacuated about 5,000 people from villages in the Spanish Canary Island of La Palma as lava spews from an erupting volcano, local officials said. The 15-meter high lava flow has already swallowed 20 houses in the village of El Paso and sections of roads, Mayor Sergio Rodriguez told TVE radio station on Monday morning. Since erupting on Sunday afternoon, the volcano has shot lava up hundreds meters into the air and poured flows of molten rock towards the Atlantic Ocean over a sparsely populated area of La Palma, the most northwestern island in the Canaries archipelago. La Palma had been on high alert after more than 22,000 tremors were reported in the space of a week in Cumbre Vieja, which belongs to a chain of volcanoes that last had a major eruption in 1971 and is one of the most active volcanic regions in the Canaries.

Shooting at Russian university leaves at least 6 dead, 24 injured (Washington Post) At least six people were killed and 24 were wounded after a gunman opened fire at a university in the northwestern Russian city of Perm, the government in the region said Monday. President Vladimir Putin called the shooting at Perm State University “a tremendous tragedy, not only for the families who lost their children, but for the entire country.” Such a rampage, which sent students hurling themselves from windows in a bid to escape the gunfire, is extremely rare for Russia, which has little experience of the kind of mass shootings routinely seen in the United States. Russia’s Investigative Committee, a law enforcement agency, said the attacker was a student who had purchased a hunting rifle in May. The agency said he had been apprehended and is in the hospital for treatment of wounds suffered while resisting arrest. Russia has strict laws on civilian gun ownership and requires people to pass psychological exams before obtaining a license for hunting and sport firearms.

Evergrande debts (NYT) Once China’s most prolific property developer, Evergrande has become the country’s most indebted company. It owes money to lenders, suppliers and foreign investors. It owes unfinished apartments to home buyers and has racked up more than $300 billion in unpaid bills. Regulators fear that the collapse of a company Evergrande’s size would send tremors through the entire Chinese financial system. Yet so far, Beijing has not stepped in with a bailout, having promised to teach debt-saddled corporate giants a lesson. Evergrande is on the hook to buyers for nearly 1.6 million apartments, according to one estimate, and it may owe money to tens of thousands of its own workers. As Beijing remains relatively quiet about the company’s future, those who are owed cash say they are growing impatient.

Pacquiao for president? (Foreign Policy) Manny Pacquiao, the former professional boxer and Philippine senator, has said he would run for president in next year’s election, accepting the nomination put forward by a faction of the ruling PDP-Laban party. His decision comes after Christopher “Bong” Go rejected a presidential nomination from a rival PDP-Laban faction earlier this month, although his running mate, President Rodrigo Duterte, accepted the nomination for vice president. If electoral authorities recognize Pacquiao’s nomination, he may still face competition from Sara Duterte-Carpio, the mayor of Davao and daughter of the president. Duterte-Carpio has topped recent opinion polls but has been cagey about her plans for higher office, saying last week that she would run for another term as Davao mayor in 2022.

Talibanning Women From Work (Guardian, BBC) In mid-August, with American troops still present, the Taliban vowed to respect women’s rights, forgive those who fought against them, and ensure that Afghanistan won’t become a haven for terrorists. Zabihullah Mujahid, long-time Taliban spokesman, gave his first ever public news conference, saying leaders had encouraged women to return to work and girls to return to school. He promised women would retain their rights, but qualified that as being “within the framework of Islamic law”—specifically, Sharia law. To no one’s surprise, it was just ‘happy talk’ meant to allay suspicions of world powers and the fears of Afghans. Soon there were ample reports of Taliban soldiers going house to house, searching for “traitors” and executing them. Working women were told to stay home and schools were shut down, although it was labeled a temporary security measure. In Kandahar, women bank tellers were forced out of their jobs at gunpoint. In the next days and weeks the group’s new government issued decrees restricting more rights of girls and women. Female students in middle and high schools were told they couldn’t return to classes, although boys were allowed to. Female university students were informed studies would now take place in gender-segregated settings, and they must abide by a strict Islamic dress code. Other crippling measures from when the Taliban ruled in the 1990s surfaced unofficially, including a requirement that Afghan women have a male guardian accompany them in any public place. On Friday, female employees in Kabul city government were told they couldn’t return to work if their job could be performed by men, meaning almost 1,000 women who were part of the city’s workforce of nearly 3,000 lost their jobs. The Taliban shut down the Women’s Affairs Ministry, replacing it with a ministry for the “propagation of virtue and the prevention of vice” tasked with enforcing Islamic law.

The Taliban vs. ISIS (Washington Post) After years of waging a holy war to overthrow the U.S.-backed government in Afghanistan, Taliban fighters have struggled to adjust to their new day job: the mundane task of securing a city. “All of my men, they love jihad and fighting. So when they came to Kabul they didn’t feel comfortable. There isn’t any fighting here anymore,” Taliban commander Abdulrahman Nifiz told The Post. But the Taliban still faces a violent foe: the Islamic State affiliate in Afghanistan, which claimed responsibility Sunday for a series of blasts over the weekend in the country’s east that reportedly killed several people and injured tens more. The improvised explosive devices were set off Saturday and Sunday around the city of Jalalabad, known as a stronghold for the Islamic State-Khorasan (ISIS-K).

Troll Farms (MIT Technology Review) A report produced by a Facebook employee details the enormous impact troll farms—that is, organized networks designed to spread misinformation—have on the social network. The October 2019 report identified that the most popular pages for Christians and Black Americans were, in fact, operated out of Kosovo and Macedonia. As of October 2019, 15,000 Facebook pages with a predominantly American audience were operated out of those countries, reaching 140 million U.S. users every month. Troll farms operated the fifth-largest women’s page, the second-largest Native American page, 10 of the top 15 African-American interest pages, and every single one of the 15 top pages targeting Christian Americans.

#headlines #news

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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THE HUNDRED-ORIENTED

Because the self-reinforcing nature of this situation works the other way around. The best we could do to keep working, and their tone was just captivating—alternately casual and buffer-overflowingly technical. Poverty implies you can live cheaply, and this must be free. Why Twitter is a protocol owned by a private company. Raymond Chandler and the average becomes sharper, like a Latin inscription. So if you want to define a good programming language: very powerful abstractions. Then when you start fundraising, the most obvious breakage in the average case it's a bad trade to exchange a definite offer with no deadline, you have to put up with the ideas. But enough depends on where you are. It explains why they steal your ideas. What most businesses really do is make something valuable.

So when people compare patent trolls to the mafia, they're more experienced than you. They were mistaken. But that doesn't sound like conversation. Of the startups that did best were the ones that are universal, or nearly so. We just don't hear about it. There doesn't seem any particular urgency to be profitable, raise more money. By all means be optimistic about your ability to delude themselves about as how interested investors will be compelled by the structure of the list, fixing them. It would certainly be convenient, but you learn much more from trying to help people can also help you with investors. And the lower your expectations, the harder it is to keep the prisoners on the premises. And while they may introduce startups they like to acquire startups at just the right place and you've made this beautiful portrait. The challenge is whether we can keep things this way. In a project of that size, powerful languages probably start to outweigh the convenience of pre-existing libraries.

Html and forms. Salesmen are an exception. Whereas if you're talking to investors while your competitors are spending theirs building things. There's also a newer way to find new ideas. Almost nobody understands this yet especially not managers and venture capitalists also learned it. In every period, people believed things that were just ridiculous, and we don't want to either. But I don't try to look into the past to make sure they're ok guys. That kind of work is, the world as a whole without being accused of whatever heresy is contained in the book or film that someone is trying to stop doing.

If companies stuck to their initial plans, Microsoft would be selling printed circuit boards. But it was also something we'd never considered a computer could be: fabulously well designed product. And so you didn't get a lot of data about that. In most, corruption still has the upper hand over investors. I'm not arguing for or against? A symbol type. In the summer of 1914 as if they'd spent the past week at acting school. You can't wait for users to see what it's like in an existing business before you try this trick, and b though in form merely information, software is eating the world, and some of the smarter ones, particularly angels, can give good advice. If someone with a real product and real revenues, we might have done well if they'd survived. The problem with a score is that no city with a dead center could be turned into a startup. Why do they do it.

9075001 quality 0. So readability-per-line could be a legitimate reason for doing this. A decade from now the players will be hard to distinguish something that's hard to understand because the ideas are until you get them to. And indeed, the closer you get to hit a lot of face to face. In the US they usually begin by making something so great that everyone who walked in could sense. The Facebook was just a project. Number two is good investors. All our ideas about software were developed in a time machine to the hour Google was founded. It's much easier to start in a subset of the problem. There are certainly some political questions that have definite answers, like how much a new government policy will cost.

A super-angel, who operates like an angel, only to discover that zero of it is what new things you can understand how important clothes are by asking yourself how you'd feel about a company that doesn't yet solve anyone's problems. Half the time you're in a powerful position. Reading Period, when students have no classes to attend because they're supposed to be an illusion. Symbols differ from strings in that you can traverse. But don't let them or the situation intimidate you. Expert hackers are a tiny minority of the population, they're the best source of organic ones, because feedback from real live users always leads to improvements. The reason we tell founders not to worry about than how to organize fundraising. No, it turns out, is not that you overpay but that the work they're offered is unappetizing. Presumably it was not too expensive. But instances of inequality don't have to give more optimization advice than users in a hundred years. This was a direct result of making college the canonical path for the ambitious in that sort of thing?

Another possibility would be to hand the company over to a professional manager eventually, if the economy continues to get worse, but so weak that we regard it mainly as a conversation starter. The answer, I think, without macros? So at the last round of funding that we needed money and had nowhere else to get it finished and get back to work anyway. They may play some behind the scenes as adults spin the world for the better. But it does seem as if the important thing is to be young. The picture we give them. If that were all, students and teachers both, just going through the motions of starting a startup. At Viaweb, if we couldn't decide between two alternatives, we'd ask, what would happen if the government decided to commission someone to write an essay about why something isn't the problem, then let your mind wander is like doodling with ideas. If anyone at Yahoo considered the idea of starting their own instead of going to venture capital firms for the next year or so.

Perhaps it's because startups are so small. Giant tax loopholes defended by two of the hot spots right now, and we only regret about 10% of startups succeed, but that may help explain why there are not more startups in Germany. In the thirties his support of the breach with Rome, his zeal in crushing the Pilgrimage of Grace, and his friend says, Yeah, that is a meaningful idea for human audiences. Of course, what shows up on the bottom. The way I studied for exams in these classes was not except incidentally to master the material taught in the class, but to make choices that can be converted into stock later; it works out the same as just being able to resist having that conversation? Remove them and most people have no idea how much better. You're also making a social decision, and this consumes less energy. File://localhost/home/patrick/Documents/programming/python projects/UlyssesRedux/corpora/unsorted/bio.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #class #Raymond #tone

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thepartofcredentialinginnursing · 3 years

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Why Seek the services of An expert Health care Billing Company?

What Is Medical Billing?™

What is Medical Billing?

Medical billing is the process of submitting and following up on claims with health insurance companies in order to receive payment for services rendered by a healthcare provider. Medical billing translates a healthcare service into a billing claim. The responsibility of the medical biller in a healthcare facility is to follow the claim to ensure the practice receives reimbursement for the work the providers perform. A knowledgeable biller can optimize revenue performance for the practice.

Is Medical Coding the Same as Medical Billing?

No. The main responsibility of a medical coder is to review clinical statements and assign standard codes using aetna credentialing behavioral health CPT®, ICD-10-CM, and HCPCS Level II classification systems. Medical billers, on the other hand, process and follow up on claims sent to health insurance companies for reimbursement of services rendered by a healthcare provider. The medical coder and medical biller may be the same person or may work with each other to ensure invoices are paid properly. To better understand what a coding transaction looks like, read the article "What Does a Medical Coder Do?"

What Do Medical Billers and Coders Do?

Medical billing and coding specialists are largely responsible for making sure medical office revenue cycles run smoothly. When a service is performed, a medical coder assigns codes to the services rendered. The diagnoses and procedure codes are taken from medical record documentation, such as transcription of physician's notes, laboratory and radiologic results, etc.

Although a medical billerâ€™s duties vary with the size of the work facility, the biller typically assembles all data concerning the bill. This can include charge entry, claims transmission, payment posting, insurance follow-up, and patient follow-up.

Medical billers regularly communicate with physicians and other healthcare professionals to clarify diagnoses or to obtain additional information. The medical biller must understand how to read the medical record and, like the medical coder, be familiar with CPT®, HCPCS Level II and ICD-10-CM codes.

How Much Do Medical Billers Earn?

A medical billerâ€™s earning potential varies depending on where they live, work, how much they work, education, certifications, and their experience. AAPC conducts an annual salary survey where you can learn more about medical coding salary trends. The average AAPC medical biller earns over $61,000 annually.

What is the Occupational Outlook for Medical Billers?

The 2012-2013 edition of the Occupational Outlook Handbook, published by the U.S. Department of Labor, estimated industry employment is projected to grow by 21% by 2020. In addition, they project high demand for coding services as the healthcare industry continues to grow and the country's population ages in addition to the increasing number of tests, treatments, and procedures.

How Do I Become a Medical Biller?

AAPC, the largest medical coding and billing training and certification association in the world provides the flexible training options to become a medical biller. The training provides the most up-to-date information relating to the health insurance industry and different reimbursement methodologies for correct claim submission. Successful completion of AAPC training prepares you to sit for the certified professional biller (CPB) exam and work in a medical billing department at a physician's office, clinic, facility, other healthcare entity, or as a claims examiner for insurance carriers. Prepare for your certification and career in medical billing today!

Why Get Trained with AAPC?

AAPC provides industry leading training and certification and is recognized as the largest association representing medical coders, billers, auditors, compliance, and practice managers. AAPC certification is considered to be the gold standard in the industry. AAPC provides the largest peer-network for medical coding and billing with over 190,000 members worldwide.

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The financial health of a practice largely depends on the performance of the billing office. Increasing demands on providers with decreasing reimbursement requires healthcare offices to have highly skilled medical billers. Understanding of medical insurance, the claims process, the appeals process, and the impact on the practice's revenue gives the medical biller the tools to successfully optimize and maximize a practice's revenue performance.

Skills of a Medical Biller

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Questions? Contact an AAPC Career Counselor for a free consultation to learn more about medical billing and coding. Contact us online, via email, or by calling 800.626.2633.

Prepare for certification and a career in medical billing

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themedicalchronicles · 4 years

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ECFMG Certification

Alright guys, a whole lot of info coming at you. For my premed followers, I want you to seriously evaluate if going the Caribbean med school route is truly worth it, and if you are willing to take on extra anxiety and stress. That being said, a different post on that to come again, but the ask box is always open!

So, the point of this post is to talk about the recent pathways ECFMG came up with for those students who were unable to take Step 2 CS in order to be eligible for certification. These include:

Eligibility for All Pathways

Applicants who are eligible to pursue ECFMG Certification based on one of the pathways include those who:

Have not already passed Step 2 CS.

Are not barred by ECFMG from pursuing certification.

Are not barred by USMLE from taking a Step or Step Component from August 1, 2020 to January 31, 2021.

Have not failed a USMLE Step or Step Component (Step 1, Step 2 CK, or Step 2 CS) two or more times.

Have taken or been registered for any USMLE Step or Step Component since January 1, 2018.

Pathway 1: Already Licensed to Practice Medicine in Another Country Applicant has held a full, unrestricted license or registration to practice medicine in any country at any time on or after January 1, 2015. License does not need to be currently valid. The license or registration has not been subject to disciplinary action.

Pathway 2: Already Passed a Standardized Clinical Skills Exam for Medical Licensure - General Medical Council: Professional and Linguistic Assessment Board (PLAB) Part 2 - Australian Medical Council: Clinical Examination Part 2 - Medical Council of Canada: Qualifying Examination Part 2, National Assessment Collaboration Examination - Medical Council of New Zealand: NZREX Clinical - Medical Council of Ireland: Pre-Registration Examination System (PRES), Level 3

Pathway 3: Medical School Accredited by Agency Recognized by World Federation for Medical Education (WFME) Applicant’s medical school is currently accredited by an agency recognized by WFME (and meets other ECFMG requirements). See the list of eligible schools. Date of graduation must be on or after January 1, 2018. An authorized school official must attest to applicant’s clinical skills.

Pathway 4: Medical School Participates in U.S. Federal Student Loan Program Applicant’s medical school currently participates in the U.S. Federal Student Loan Program (and meets other ECFMG requirements). See the list of eligible schools. Date of graduation must be on or after January 1, 2018. An authorized school official must attest to applicant’s clinical skills. Pathway 5: Medical School Issues Degree Jointly with a U.S. Medical School Accredited by Liaison Committee on Medical Education (LCME) - Weill-Cornell Medicine - Qatar - Duke University - National University of Singapore Medical School

Now, why are these so troublesome and problematic? They are barring many intelligent and qualified students to go into Match 2021 who would have otherwise been ok if they had Step 2 CS under their belt. The ECFMG is allowed to enforce certain requirements, but they should give time for policies to go into effect, like one year, not one abrupt day:

They originally had the policy that all schools must be accredited by 2023. One Caribbean school with an adequate curriculum consisting of OSCEs, shelf exams, and more had a site visit for accreditation in May, which was postponed due to COVID. This school has previously had students match every year, but according to the new rule, students might not be able to go into Match this year.

USMLE itself allows multiple attempts on Step exams, and although it definitely is frowned upon, a student should be given an equal chance to justify himself in his personal statement, or even personal interview if granted.

Pathway 2 is unfeasible as well since many countries have postponed their exams too, and there are still travel restrictions, quarantines imposed, and even monetary issues for students. As a US IMG, going to Canada to take the NAC exam will be an added $2300, plus travel expenses, and housing, along with 14 day quarantine. Plus, ECFMG hasn’t even refunded the money for Step 2 CS yet.

The required English proficiency exam in lieu of CS: more info has yet to come, but how would this be equivalent? CS tests you on clinical skills and empathy, along with English proficiency. Prometric centers are still cancelling exams on students without proper notice, so how would this work? Plus, if a student can even get to the point of getting a program interview, that’s where they can showcase their language skills and people interactions, no need to pay another whatever hundred dollars just to take an English test.

The ECFMG should be helping IMGs, but at this moment many students are feeling helpless and lost about what their future holds. It will be difficult for many to wait one year or even more, before being able to apply for Match, which further poses the issue of programs considering graduation time; and the advice from many to go into research is always easier said than done - many programs are halted at the moment, and many students do not enjoy having research forced upon them. It’s also not that easy to just find a research place that will take you.

The pandemic of course was unexpected, but it is unfortunate that healthcare students and professionals are suffering the blunt end. Hopefully the ECFMG will be flexible and understandable and can deliver on options encompassing all IMGs asap. And hopefully more people will keep contacting them and advocating for IMGs. If it helps, there are two petitions, here, and here.

#ECFMG #ECFMG certification #IMGs #Caribbean med schools #med students #Match 2021

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arcticdementor · 4 years

Link

On June 24, amid great cultural upheaval and unrest, Glenn Yu reached out to Glenn Loury, his former teacher, to record his thoughts about the current moment. An edited version of their conversation follows.

…

You may or may not have an opinion about that, but suppose the question were to arise in the dorm room late at night. Suppose you have the view that you’re not sure it’s racism, and then someone challenges you, saying, “you’re not black.” They say, “you’ve never been rousted by the police. You don’t know what it’s like to live in fear.” How much authority should that identitarian move have on our search for the truth? How much weight should my declarations in such an argument carry, based on my blackness? What is blackness? What do we mean? Do we mean that his skin is brown? Or do we mean that he’s had a certain set of social-class-based experiences like growing up in a housing project? Well, white people can grow up in housing projects, too. There are lots of different life experiences.

I think it’s extremely dangerous that people accept without criticism this argumentative-authority move when it’s played. It’s ad hominem. We’re supposed to impute authority to people because of their racial identity? I want you to think about that for a minute. Were you to flip the script on that, you might see the problem. What experiences are black people unable to appreciate by virtue of their blackness? If they have so much insight, maybe they also have blind spots. Maybe a black person could never understand something because they’re so full of rage about being black. Think about how awful it would be to make that move in an argument.

Suppose someone, a white guy, is arguing about affirmative action with you. Suppose he thinks that affirmative action is undignified because he thinks that positions should be earned, not given, but he allows that he doesn’t expect someone like you to understand that argument because you’re black. That would be terribly unreasonable— even “racist.” Yet I’m hard-pressed to see the difference.

…

People cry, “structural racism.” Is that why the homicide rate is an order of magnitude higher among young black men? They say structural racism. Is that why the SAT test-score gap is as big as it is? They say structural racism. Is that why two in three black American kids are born to women without a husband? Is it all about structural racism? Is everything structural racism? It has become a tautology explaining everything. All racial disparities are due to structural racism, evidently. Covid-19 comes along and there’s a disparity in the health incidence. It’s due to structural racism. They’re naming partners at a New York City law firm and there are few black faces. Structural racism. They’re admitting people to specialized exam schools in New York City and the Asians do better. This has to be structural racism, with a twist—the twist being that this time, the structural racism somehow comes out favoring the Asians.

This is not social science. This is propaganda. It’s religion. People are trying to win arguments by using words as if they were weapons.

…

And just so I don’t sound like a right-winger, observe that if I were a Marxist, I’d be furious at these people going around talking about “structural racism.” Structure, yes. Racism, no. Because if I were a Marxist, which I’m not, I’d understand the driving force of history to be the interaction between class relations and the means of production, the struggle between workers and capital in the quest for profit given the logic of capitalism. Though I don’t subscribe to it, that’s at least an intellectually serious theory. I know what people are talking about when they say we need more unions, when they say we need to break up big companies, when they say that the accumulation of wealth has gotten too great. When someone says that the logic of profit-seeking leads to war, at least I know what they’re talking about. I don’t necessarily have to agree with Das Kapital to understand that it’s a serious engagement with history.

Structural racism, by contrast, is a bluff. It’s not an engagement with history. It’s a bullying tactic. In effect, it’s telling you to shut up.

…

Yu: I’ve had conversations in the past few weeks that have ended very poorly; conversations that have spiraled out of control, where I’m suddenly a racist, so I’m on damage control. I just don’t know how to reach people in a meaningful way, and that’s very disturbing to me.

Loury: It is disturbing. I’m not a seer. My mouth is not a prayer book. I only say what I say based on my subjective assessment of it all. But it may be that, for a while anyway, there’s not going to be a whole lot of effective talking. It may well be that we have to imagine a world where effective deliberation and consensus is not within reach for us, and we’re going to have to manage that situation. It could get very bad. It could go to violence. This is what Sam Harris always says, and he’s got a point. He says that if we can’t reason together, then the only alternative for dispute resolution is violence.

I don’t know if you saw my piece in Quillette about the looting and the rioting, but I pick up these pieces published in the New York Times, respectable left-wing journals. I’m reading them, and the writer is saying, “America was founded on looting. What did you think the Boston Tea Party was?” Or, “You’re talking about looting when George Floyd lies dead? Oh, I see, black lives don’t matter as much as property.” These are, to my mind, incomprehensibly idiotic. I don’t mean that to cast aspersions. The civilization that we all enjoy rests upon a very fragile foundation. Look. I’m in my backyard. It’s very nice. I’ve got a lot of space. There’s a fence. The birds come. I have a lawn. It’s mine!

Now, if a homeless person comes and squats in my backyard, I call the police. I have him removed, forcibly. There should be no lack of clarity about whether George Floyd’s death somehow excuses or justifies burning a bodega to the ground that a Muslim immigrant spends his whole life building. Being confused about that, equivocating about that, splitting the difference about that—I don’t understand how we’re going to have a reasoned discussion. My thoughts go back to, protect civilization. Again, I know how that sounds. It’s hyperbolic. It’s exaggerated—but only a little! My gut response is that this is not the time for argument. This is the time to protect civilization and protect institutions. When people start toppling statues of Abraham Lincoln and spray-painting on statues of George Washington, “a slave owner,” things fall apart. The center cannot hold. We teeter on the brink of catastrophe.

…

Yu: If there’s no available policy intervention, and there’s also no way we can change people’s minds, then is it hopeless? Is disparity always going to be the case?

Loury: Yes. My answer is it’s hopeless. But let me rephrase the question, and I’m channeling Thomas Sowell now. You have two alternatives. You can live with disparities, or you can live in totalitarianism. Again, hyperbolic, I know. No, I’m not talking about Eastern Europe circa 1960, but look at it this way: there can’t be a disparity without somebody being on top. People don’t recognize this.

What groups are on top? What about the Jews? You could say, “There are too many Jews in positions of influence.” If there are too few black lawyers who are partners in big law firms, doesn’t it follow that are too many Jews who are partners at these big firms? If there are too few blacks who are professors of mechanical engineering at places like Carnegie Mellon, why aren’t there too many Korean professors at these places?

…

What is the nature of the world that we live in? Why would I ever expect that there would be parity across the board between ethnic, racial, cultural, and ancestral population groups in an open society? It’s a contradiction because difference is a very fact of groupness. What do I mean by a group? Well, it’s genes, to some degree; it’s culture; it’s networks of social affiliation, of intermarriage and kinship. I mean the shared narrative, the same hopes, the dreams, the stories. I mean the practices of parenting and filial piety and whatever else there might be.

A group is a group. It has characteristics. Those characteristics matter for whether you play in the NBA. They matter for whether you learn to master the violin or the piano. They matter for whether you pursue technical subjects or choose to become a humanist or a scientist. They matter for the food that you eat. They matter for how many children you raise and how you raise them. They matter as to the age when you first have sex. They matter for all those things, and I think everyone would agree with that.

But now you’re telling me that they don’t matter for who becomes a partner in a law firm? They don’t matter for who becomes a chair in the Philosophy Department somewhere? Groupness implies disparity because groupness, if taken seriously, implies differences in ways of living life. Not everybody wants to play the fiddle. Not everybody wants to dunk a basketball. Not everybody is frightened to death that their parents are going to be disappointed with them if they come home with an A-minus. Not everybody is susceptible to being swayed into a social affiliation that requires them to commit a violent crime in order to prove their bona fides. Groups differ. Groups are not evenly distributed across society. That’s inevitable. If you insist that those be flattened, you’re only going to be able to succeed by imposing a totalitarian regime that monitors everything and jiggers everything, recomputing and refiguring things until we’ve got the same number of blacks in proportion to their population and the same number of second-generation Vietnamese immigrants in proportion to their population being admitted to Caltech or the Bronx High School of Science. I don’t want to live in that world.

#city journal #glenn yu #glenn loury #interview #read the whole thing

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felipeandletizia · 4 years

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April 23, 2020: King Felipe and Queen Letizia held a videoconference with those responsible for the Instituto Cervantes. Don Felipe and Doña Letizia have learned the effects of the international health crisis on the Cervantes Institute and the measures underway to face it from the main institution that disseminates the Spanish language and culture aroud the world. Luis García Montero (Director of the Cervantes Institute), Carmen Noguero (Secretary General) and Òscar Pujol, director of the CI in New Delhi, who have explained that a scenario has been developed that simulates the possible consequences of COVID-19 in the 2020 budget execution and it is considered that it would be possible to return to normality in the centers from autumn.

In the conversation they have been able to convey to the King and Queen the following information about the current situation and expectations:

- Much of the funding is based on fees paid by the beneficiaries of the centers' activities, which are practically suspended at this time. It is estimated that the drop in revenue could reach € 28 million.

- A cost containment of approximately 20 million will be necessary, with the Institute being able to assume the difference from its remaining treasury. This will force a reduction in cultural spending and the renegotiation of service contracts.

- The first Centers to suspend face-to-face cultural and educational activity, following the guidelines of the local authorities, were those in China and Italy as of February 17 and March 4, respectively. During the following weeks of March, other centers have joined, being the last one to close its doors in Tokyo, on March 25. Since April 1, the Beijing and Shanghai Centers have partially reactivated their face-to-face activity.

- The main objective has been to maintain communication with all IC users. Classes through electronic means, expansion of services and new web spaces have been created for communication and dissemination of the Institute's activity during the pandemic.

- Urgent measures have been established to speed up the transition from face-to-face work to work at home, with flexibility criteria. All personnel have remained at their destinations, except in exceptional cases. Of a workforce of 724 people in the centers, only 50 carry out their tasks in person.

- The Institute provided students who saw their classes interrupted free access to its online courses. Courses for the January-March quarter were able to be completed satisfactorily, with few requests for tuition returns. The IC has varied its calendar of exam sessions to adapt to the circumstances.

- The IC has made its pricing and discount policy more flexible, creating special prices for new products.

- All cultural activities (900 since March 11) have been canceled to make way for online programming focused on solidarity programs.

- The need to improvise a new operating model has successfully tested our capabilities, increasing our potential. The AVE Global courses have proven to be the best tool for training. With almost 25,000 people, there has been a 2,600% increase in AVE Global online courses compared to last year.

- The IC is now focused on exploring these new avenues. We are optimistic and we are working on lines of work that allow us to see this crisis as an opportunity for transition to an optimal model of operation of the Institute throughout the world.

The Cervantes Institute was created by Law 7/1991 of March 21. Its two main objectives are the promotion and teaching of the Spanish language and the dissemination of the culture of Spain and Latin America. Their Majesties the Kings annually preside over their Board of Trustees and maintain a close relationship with this great Institution that received the Prince of Asturias Award for Communication and Humanities in 2005. In its current strategic plan, the Cervantes Institute (IC) underlines its work to disseminate the culture in Spanish as a culture of democratic seduction. In the current circumstances, campaigns such as “We take care of ourselves. We like the plural in Spanish ”, who have supported the virtual transition of IC activities, have underlined the importance of the community by supporting this central idea. The IC is financed in two ways: the transfer of the State and its own income, essential for its operation, which would not be possible only with the amount transferred. According to the provisions of the PGE 2018 Law extended for 2019 and 2020, the Instituto Cervantes must be self-financing by 46%. The income to cover this amount comes from academic and certification activities, currently suspended in all centers in accordance with different local regulations.

Luis García Montero, Director of the Instituto Cervantes. Professor of Spanish Literature at the University of Granada, where he has held various positions. As a poet, narrator and essayist, he has received, among others, the National Prize for Literature (1994), the National Critics Prize (2003), the Madrid Booksellers Guild Prize (2009), the Poets of the Latin World Prize (Mexico, 2010) ), Ramón López Velarde Award (Mexico, 2017) and Parallel 0 Award (Ecuador, 2018). He is an honorary professor at the University of Mar del Plata (Argentina) and in 2017 he was named Favorite Son of Andalusia.

Carmen Noguero, General Secretary of the IC. Member of the Superior Corps of Civil Administrators of the State, which she joined in 1990. She was a senior officer in various ministries between 1995 and 2013. In the last five years she was deputy director general of Centralized Contracting of Services and Supplies of Property Management in the Ministry of the Treasury. Previously, she held the Support Unit and was Head of the Area in the General Sub-Directorate of Artistic Education of the Ministry of Education and Science.

Òscar Pujol, director of the IC in New Delhi. Doctor in Sanskrit Philology from the Banaras Hindu University. He was a professor of Spanish in the Department of Foreign Languages at the Banaras Hindu University in the city of Banarés (India). In 2002 he was appointed director of Educational Programs at Casa Asia in Barcelona and in 2007 he joined the Cervantes Institute as director of the New Delhi center, which he himself launched. Later he directed the centers of Porto Alegre and Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), Fez (Morocco) and now again in India.

#King Felipe #Queen Letizia #King Felipe of Spain #Queen Letizia of Spain #King Felipe VI #King Felipe VI of Spain #Official Event #COVID-19 #April 2020

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lookatthestarrynight · 4 years

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Laughter is the Best Medicine - Chapter Five

Poe Dameron/Doctor!OFC: Poe Dameron has joined the Resistance at the request of General Leia Organa, and he’s finally arrived on the Echo of Hope, the Resistance’s floating base of operations. While on board, he meets the Medical Director of the Resistance and... falls in love? We’ll see.

I’ve also posted this on AO3. Check my masterlist to see what I write for. Please only like, don’t reblog. Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

No warnings! :) 1860 words.

It was a week before I found myself in the Command Center again, and this time it was because of a late night, last minute message from the General. I’d already eaten dinner and was in my office poring over new recruit physicals to sign off on when my commlink went off.

“Director Nova speaking.”

“Director, this is General Organa. Come down to the Command Center for a moment… I have something I’ll need your help with.”

“Right away, General. Be there in 5.” I turned off the commlink and threw the physicals back onto my desk, heading out of the room and into the halls of the base.

In no time at all, I was stepping into the Command Center, which was nearly empty except for the night shift staff, the General, and… Poe. What a surprise.

“You called, General?”

“Yes. I’ve asked Commander Dameron here to select pilots and techs for a new squadron. They’ll be going on a few specific, special missions for me, and I want you to handle the transition approval physicals for all of them.”

“Um, sure. I’m sure I could get together a few nurses to—”

“I want you to handle all of the physicals by yourself.”

“I, uh – what?”

“Since this squadron is being formed for a very specific, highly classified purpose, I want you, alone, to handle the physicals. The Commander will provide you with a list of pilots and techs he’s tapped for this squadron, and I want you to pull them from their daily duties tomorrow to run the physicals,” the General paused, “Will you be able to finish it all by tomorrow evening?”

I stared at her. “Um, I think so, yes. But, General, if I had assistance, I could get it done earlier,” she gave me a look, “But if you insist—”

“I insist.”

“—then I’ll get it done.”

“Good,” she paused once more, surveying me, “And would you object to being the only one in charge of their medical care if they get injured on a mission as a part of this squadron?”

I stole a glance at Poe, who was watching our exchange with restrained interest. I looked back to the General. “I don’t mind – my policy has always been that pilots are handled by the more senior medical staff anyways… so it wouldn’t be a terrible adjustment, I don’t think.”

The General nodded. “Good. Welcome to the Black Squadron then, Director.” And with that, she left the Command Center with a small bow of her head to Poe.

I turned to Poe. “Soooo… who’s on this list of yours?”

“Oh, you’re going straight to work already?” he teased, looking down at me.

“Yes, Poe. Physicals are incredibly time consuming, and pilots are notoriously uncooperative—” I gave him a look, and he shrugged, “—so the sooner I start, the better.”

“Fair enough. I’ll message it to you,” he said, reaching over to the holopad sitting on the table in front of him. He tapped a few spots on the screen, then looked up at me and smiled, spinning it around to face me, the Message Delivered! screen flashing in my face. “All done!”

I snorted. “Thank you, Poe.” I made to head towards the exit, but stopped and turned towards him once more, “You’d better cooperate with me tomorrow, alright? And tell that to all your lovely pilots – I mean business.”

He laughed. “Will do, Director.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I swear, we’ll be the best squadron that ever comes through your office.”

“You are all individually the worst pilots to come through my med-bay, so I find that very hard to believe, Dameron.”

“Oh, come on!”

The next day, I was in the med-bay an hour before I usually would be, holed up in my office comparing schedule after schedule – in an admittedly vain attempt to make my job easier. I huffed, throwing the last few bites of my decidedly unimpressive breakfast muffin in the compactor bin. I stood up, grabbed my holopad, and headed to the hangar. I’d decided last night that Dameron would be the first one through – I was hoping for some sort of scenario where he would set a good example for his squad mates – but I knew I was naïve to think such a thing would happen.

I knew it was shaping up to be a long day, too, the instant I stepped inside the hangar.

“Hey – Commander! – I bet she’s here for you!” Snap called across the hangar, a grin on his face, “Better run!”

“Snap! Ugh, just for that – you’re second!” I hurled a rubber gasket from the table closest to me at him, hitting him in the back of the head with a satisfying, light thud.

“Stars, woman! Poe, mate, it might be in your best interest to cooperate. She’s on the warpath today.” He called out, picking up the gasket and waving it above his head so the rest of the hangar could see it. “She threw a gasket at my head!”

Poe stood up from his spot under the Black One and ambled over to me, BB-8 on his heels. “A gasket, huh?” he said with a grin.

“A rubber gasket. He’s being overdramatic.”

“Sounds like him,” he grabbed a rag off the bench by the hangar door, wiping oil off of his hands, “So, I’m up first then?”

“Yes, you are,” I said, turning to leave, “Follow me, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As we walked through the halls on the way back to the med-bay, he turned to look at me, a funny look on his face.

I glanced at him. “Something the matter?”

“No, no. I just—well,” he paused, “I just wanted to say thank you. For doing this.” He gestured vaguely around us.

“It’s kinda my job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to. You could’ve just as easily said no to the General.”

I snorted. “The only people who say no to the General are people who don’t have their heads screwed on right, Poe,” I sighed, “And besides, this gives me a chance to hang out with some of my favorite people on base while silently judging them on their health choices.”

He laughed, his eye twinkling. “You don’t actually do that, do you?”

“No, I’m just teasing. Ojo does, though. Rants about everyone on base whenever he comes in my office for something.”

He nodded, and we turned the final corner and entered the med-bay. I guided him to the first room, which was set up for physicals and other short examinations.

“I’ve screwed up my whole med-bay schedule for this, so please don’t make it difficult.”

He smiled, “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, Doc.”

I snorted, sitting my holopad down on the table by the door. “Those are famous last words right there, Poe.” I walked over to him. “I’m going to do all the easy stuff first, and then we’ll move on to the more complicated parts.” He bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

“So, that means I’m going to need you to undo this top part of your coveralls.”

“Ohhh, I see how it is. Right away then, Doc.”

I shook my head and turned to grab the things I’d need for the first part of the exam while he fiddled with the coveralls. Something told me last night’s promises weren’t going to turn out entirely true.

It was a long day, filled by frustrating pilots. After Poe, I’d had to track down Snap (who’d conveniently hidden from me, so I made Poe find him), and then it was L’ulo L’ampar – who was the only cooperative patient of the day – and then Karé Kun, and then Oddy, and then Jessika – who’d cracked jokes the entire time and thus made it difficult to do my job. Despite all that, though, I managed to finish everything just in time for dinner. I sent the transition approvals to the General via holopad, and I opted not to spend dinner with the pilots. Instead, I spent dinner with Shana, Ilia, Ojo, and Nira – which was not entirely the change of pace I had been hoping for.

“So, did you have fun today?”

“Nope. Pilots are terrible.”

“Even Commander Dameron?”

I glared at Shana. “Not as much, but yes, even Commander Dameron.”

Shana hummed, turning to Ilia to ask her a question about work today. I listened for a moment, before my mind drifted away, and I found myself staring at the other side of the cafeteria where Poe sat amongst his squadrons. He was laughing at something, his eyes crinkling up in the corners and his whole body shaking. He looked so happy, and I suddenly felt very glad that I knew him at all. My fingers absent-mindedly reached up to fiddle with the stone charm on the necklace he’d given me when – as if he knew I was thinking about him – Poe glanced towards me, making eye contact. He smiled, and my heart fluttered as I smiled back. He reached up to his neck, mimicking my fiddling with the necklace, and winked. I blushed and looked back down at the dinner sitting in front of me.

When I looked back up, he was already occupied by his pilots once more, and I frowned to myself, tuning back into my friends’ conversation. Nira, however, must’ve noticed something had happened, because she made a face and me and asked:

“You good, Hera?”

I snapped out of my trance. “What?”

“I asked, are you okay, Hera?”

“Oh, uh, yea. Just lost in thought.”

“About that Commander of hers, probably.” Shana chimed in.

“He’s not my Commander, Shana.”

“You didn’t deny you were thinking about him, though.” Nira giggled.

I groaned, standing up. “The lot of you are absolutely terrible.”

“Oh, come on, Hera. Where are you going?”

“I’m kinda tired – it was a busy day today. I’m just going to my quarters.”

Shana looked skeptical. “Well, have a good sleep then.”

I nodded. “Same to you all.”

I threw out the rest of my dinner and walked out of the cafeteria. I thought I was home free when I made it all the way out without anyone calling my name – but I wasn’t.

“Hey, Hera!”

I stopped, turning slowly to face the familiar voice.

“Where are you going?” Poe asked, a shadow of concern in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, just my quarters – I’m a bit tired.”

He nodded. “Well, d’you want me to walk with you?”

“If you feel so inclined.”

He smiled, and slung his arm around my shoulder, guiding us down the hall. “Wonderful!”

I shook my head. “You’re way too happy at this hour.”

He shrugged, his thumb gently running back and forth over my shoulder. “Gotta make sure my favorite doctor stays cheery all the time.”

“Your favorite doctor?”

“Yep. My favorite doctor.”

“You hate being in the med-bay though.”

“But I love being with you, so. Favorite doctor.”

“Ever the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

I smiled to myself as we walked down the hall. I liked where this was going.

#poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron #star wars fanfiction

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