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[authorisnotdead]

When “engineer” is not just a vocab word

When I was 21 years old, I studied Arabic for a year in college.

The class was taught by a Bosnian woman who introduced herself to us the first day by saying “My name is Ines Ansceric Todd. But you are not here to learn Bosnian, you are here to learn Arabic. So you may call me Dr. Todd.”

Dr. Todd’s method of teaching us Arabic was through affectionate humiliation.

“What?” she would often say, looking around the room, chuckling.

“What is he trying to read? Is he on the right page?” “I can see that Felicia has done the homework.”

We learned very basic phrases that year,

Ones that textbooks love to use that don’t really come up in conversation—

Adhab ila maktaba kul yam. I go to the library every day.

Hunaka sayarat fi-shari. There are cars on the street. Bab al-bait. The door of the house.

Andi kilab. I have two books.

Huya muhandis , or hiya muhandisa

He is an engineer, or she is an engineer.

Family members: baba, ama, akh, ukht—father, mother, brother, sister.

I am 30 now and scrolling through news about a war a world away. I have forgotten all of the Arabic that Dr. Todd instilled in me through fear of teasing.

There is a video of a young girl, she’s maybe 8 or 9 years old.

She’s surrounded by the ruins of her town, in a street that used to be filled with cars, a house with no door.

“What is your dream for the future?” someone asks her.

She replies in Arabic ‘Yam min a yam, yurid muhandisa.” One day, I would like to be an engineer, she tells them. So that I can build a home that the bombs cannot tear down. A home where my family will be safe. I see the words of a poet who I did not know

Whose work I have not read who asks that if he dies he should like to become a kite with a long white tail

So that a child in Gaza may look up to see a kite flying in the sky and they might see an angel of hope.

I am baking Christmas cookies (because Christmas comes even when it feels like it shouldn’t) and the song playing in the background

tells a story of a star in the sky with a tail as big as a kite in a little town of Bethlehem. I do not know the fate of the little girl who wanted to be an engineer when she grew up. I do not know the fate of her family.

Her baba, her ama, her akh, her ukht,

I do not know what became of them.

My niece is now six and last summer we walked on the beach and watched people flying kites,

colorful tails blowing in the wind

I wonder if someday

she might like to be an engineer.

[authorisnotdead]

Jose from the Liquor Store

So I uh... actually wrote this several months ago after I saw “In the Heights” but... I suck at posting/writing consistently? Anyway, I’m super white, so please let me know if I fucked up either any Spanish or any cultural aspects going on here which I no doubt did. -----

[authorisnotdead]

Heyy, I think your writing is pretty cool, you think you could do a Zukka fic? where Zuko almost dies / actually dies (idk, whatever you want,) that would be amazing. Sorry if you don't actually take requests, I don't really know :/

Either way your writing is amazing

Thanks so much--this is so sweet!! I’m so glad you like my writing <3 I do actually have one or two more Zukka fics in the works, although I definitely tend to lean more towards the “Just this once, everyone lives” side of things :) I’ll see what I can do for you though... stay tuned!!

[authorisnotdead]

@Bissexuallsokka wanted a Zukka version of Will and Elizabeth’s battle-wedding scene from Pirates of the Caribbean so I, uh, had to immediately write it? Woops. My pen slipped.

           While the war had ended, peace was far from a given. There were many groups for whom  Avatar Aang and Firelord Zuko’s vision of a United Republic did not sit well, and many more who still carried scars from the Fire Nation’s ruthlessness. Fire-benders in the former colonies in the Earth Kingdom as well as Northern Water Tribe groups who had been ruling independently for centuries, among others, did not take kindly to policy recommendations from a group of young adults with a limited world view.

           So while it wasn’t wholly unexpected, it was something of a nuisance that an opposition group had chosen to interrupt a meeting on how the Avatar’s new proposed city would be run. The group had chosen to meet at the South Pole, Sokka and Katara already being there running delicate relations work with the Southern Water Tribe. The sea and sky had opened up and blocked out the usual beautiful icy blue of the South Pole with a haze of grey.

They had decided to meet the approaching group at sea to limit the number of injuries to villagers onshore. After all, it wasn’t their fault that reconstruction was a messy business. The Fire Lord’s dragon, Druk, circled above the ship as met the large group waiting for them. They quickly realized this may have been a poor decision as they saw the numbers of the waiting group who boarded their ship at the first opportunity.

 Between the storm and the battle, it was difficult to tell one direction from another. The disorientation was strong as more bodies piled onto the ship. Sokka saw Zuko fighting within arm’s reach and grabbed his elbow to get his attention. “Zuko,” he asked, momentarily ignoring the fight around them, “Will you marry me?”

Zuko looked around at the ensuing chaos, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think now’s the best time.”

A group of fighters made their way in between them, breaking the momentary trance the couple had been in. Sokka elbowed an approaching assailant, dodging a second already on their way. “Uh, dude, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but now may be the only time.” He was practically shouting to be heard above the combined noise of the storm and the fight.

           Zuko fought off another group of attackers, a wall of red and orange flames rising up against the grey of the storm. He ran back across the ship to where Sokka stood, wolf-tail falling undone and sticking to his face in the deluge.

“I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Sokka said, shutting out everything other than the man in front of him. “And I’m not willing to lose anyone else I love. Id don’t think this all,” he gestured wildly around them, “is stopping any time soon, so what do you say?”

           “Aang!” Zuko shouted, keeping his eyes locked on Sokka rather than looking around for the Avatar.            “Huh?” Sokka asked, shooting a betrayed look toward the Fire Lord.

           “Marry us!” Zuko clarified, turning away to look where Aang was using his glider to maneuver around the battle, seemingly holding off three different groups without breaking a sweat. Sokka smiled, before taking one of Zuko’s blades to fend off a fighter who didn’t need to know that Sokka didn’t quite know how to use it.

           Aang nearly stumbled, dodging a shard of ice that had been sent his way which Katara quickly redirected from shore where she was holding off any attackers from reaching land.

“Whoa, really?” he asked, looking down at the couple but unable to land for the mass of bodies below. “I’d be honored to! I—" He redirected an attack with air bending, sweeping the fire out to sea. “Just a second guys, I need to talk to my friends,” he said to his attackers.

           He found an opening and swung down to a spot relatively close to the pair, grinning at them. “I just can’t believe you guys are getting married! I mean, Sokka, you and Katara were the ones who found me in the iceberg, and Zuko, you were trying to kill me for so long, but then you joined us and I—” he sent a flame towards several more shards of ice that were sent his way, leaving them to melt and fall back down as rain on the already soaked bodies below. “I mean, you taught me fire bending! I’m just so happy for you both and I—”  

           The Avatar was knocked over by a sheet of ice that was sent under his feet and quickly frozen. Zuko sighed, one hand covering his forehead while the other quickly shot a flame to divert attacks from close behind him.

“Wait, wait, I can totally do this!” Aang said, standing up and wiping away tears from his face as they combined with the rain.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Toph!”

The earth-bender turned around from where she held a boulder over her head, presumably taken from the frozen sea-bed beneath them. “Kinda busy here, Snoozles!” Toph shouted back. She threw the boulder down at the approaching group, knocking out several but prompting more to stumble into the large hole left in the ship from where the boulder crashed through.

“Marry us, Toph! Aang’s incompetent!” Sokka threw his boomerang at a group to his right, catching it as it swiftly returned.

“Well duh, we all knew that!” Toph shouted.

The attackers closed in, attempting to back Zuko and Sokka against the mast of the ship. They aimed a water whip toward the pair’s feet which Zuko met with a burst of flame, the resulting steam mixing in with the grey sea air.

“Toph, now!” Sokka repeated, ducking under a close attacker who Aang swept away with a gust of air.

“Fine!” Toph shouted, bending the boards of the boat to avoid incoming attacks on either side of her. “I have to do all of the work around here…” she muttered. “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today,” she said in an exaggerated voice, cutting off abruptly. “You call yourselves rebels? You should be ashamed! What are you even rebelling against? I can’t even see you and I’m beating you up, you ugly sons of tigerdillos!” she manipulated the metal on the armor of four people approaching her to knock into one another, taking down several others as they fell to the floor.

“Where was I? Oh yeah…” She raised a finger as if to begin again before being occupied with several other incoming attacks. The sea heaved on around the ship, lapping freezing water against the side and rocking the ship slightly.

“Sokka, do you take me to be your husband?” Zuko asked, filling in the question for a diverted Toph.

Sokka grinned through the rain. “I do!”

Zuko smiled, somehow still taken aback by the words. “…Great!”

           Sokka threw his boomerang at an encroaching group, hitting each soundly in the knee before the boomerang returned to his hand. He swung the other, still holding Zuko’s borrowed sword, at more attackers.

“Zuko Sozin, do you take me,” he swung the sword erratically to his right, deterring an attacker “to be your husband,” he moved the boomerang into the same hand, so that he could take Zuko’s hand that wasn’t sending dancing flames at their assailants into his, “in sickness and in health,” Momo flew past Sokka to cover the face of someone who had gotten past his in-expert sword skills, “with health honestly kind of being the less likely?”

 Zuko swung around to face Sokka, releasing their joined hands to wrap an arm around his waist. “I do.” He sent a burst of fire toward someone approaching him on the left.

“Ok, well then by the power vested in me by, uh, being the inventor of metal-bending and the coolest earth-bender of all time, I now pronounce you—” Toph attempted to officiate but was cut off by a small rock sent her way. “Oh, you think you can earth-bend against me now? Seriously? I’ll show you, you—” her insult was cut off by the roaring of the ocean.

“You may kiss—” Toph tried again, sending another boulder toward the side of the ship as attacks continued to fly her way.

Sokka drew Zuko into him, leaning forward until a sharp spike of ice rose close to his face. They broke apart to stave off the continued attack.

“You may kiss—” Toph tried yet again, sounding exasperated.

They swung around, the two blades meeting each other mid-air above their heads, a temporary reprieve from the fighting.

“Just kiss!” Toph yelled.

The world was in the midst of a messy peace-building process, but it all faded away in that moment as the two leaned forward and kissed. Though the fighting went on around them, it seemed as though they were suspended in time, encased in their own bubble and soaked through from the storm.

Sokka’s cheek was met with a whack of water that was slight enough not to hurt too badly, but still insistent. “Katara said to tell you that’s for getting married without her,” Aang said, grinning apologetically.

[authorisnotdead]

Hey hey, so if anyone is still here given my... sporatic... posting, I changed the url!!!! Did not like “joannesapprentice” anymore for obvious reasons. We don’t support TERFs here. Anywho, hopefully will actually write & post some shit at some point?

[authorisnotdead]

Family History

Maternal aunt with melanoma. Maternal grandfather with diabetes, developed late in life. Maternal great-aunt with breast cancer. Paternal grandmother who did not have cancer. Maternal great-aunt who is 97 and younger each day.

ADHD and addiction, but we don’t talk about those. High blood pressure. Four C-sections breaching forty; no complications. Kidney stones. An inherited aversion to intimacy. A need to maintain a certain image.

One ambulance trip in the middle of a lacrosse game. Two sets of braces. Three sets of ear tubes. My father’s mother did not die from cancer.

Speech therapy, stopped at eight years old. Anxiety. Depression. No therapy. That sort of thing would not maintain the right kind of image. Addiction, but we don’t talk about that.

My father’s mother was an alcoholic. She died of liver failure. We do not choose the things we inherit.

[authorisnotdead]

Cameras flashed against the unassuming cement steps, reporters backing into traffic in their enthusiasm to get the best angle. Shouts were punctuated only by the occasional disgruntled driver honking.  “Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark! I’m with the Gotham Gazette. Care to comment on this latest act of selfless public duty from Captain America?”

He removed a pair of sunglasses and expressionlessly looked at the reporter holding the microphone inches from his face. “Yes. Here’s a comment. One might point out that the supersoldier serum prevents Cap from either getting or transmitting the influenza virus. Some might go so far as to call it garish, unnecessary, obsequious...”  Only Tony heard Bruce’s quiet remonstration of “Tony.” “But hey, Captain America got his flu shot, you should get yours too!”

[authorisnotdead]

Thoughts while carrying a pride flag on public transit

Keep reading

[authorisnotdead]

Wunderschönen guten Morgen, my lovely fanfic-writer! I really hope you keep writing the "no sex before coffee"-Story, or else...well I´ll be very sad. Sooo sad :( Pretty please with ah...a strawberry on top?

Hi!! I'm so glad you liked it, thank you thank you :) I'll probably end up writing more because so many lovely people have responded well to it :) Hope you have a wonderful day!!

[authorisnotdead]

Malec fanfiction!

"No Sex Before Coffee"

            The sun was already peeking through the sheer white curtains of his boyfriend's apartment when Alec Lightwood woke up, meaning he had slept in later than usual. Sleeping in left him with an odd feeling, but he let that be replaced by the comfort of knowing that he had been given the day off by the Institute. Magnus was sleeping peacefully and his body was warm and inviting as Alec snuggled up to him.

            He smiled as he planted kisses along Magnus' neck and shoulders, ignoring his boyfriend's noises of complaints at being woken up.

            "Alec," he groaned, "'s too early..."

            "It's 9:30, Magnus." Alec countered.

            "Mhm... sleep." the warlock mumbled. He tucked one hand under the pillow and rolled over, burying his face into Alec's chest while wrapping his arm around the boy's body. Alec took advantage of this by tracing a finger slowly up and down Magnus' spine for a minute before biting his shoulder.

            Magnus pouted up at his boyfriend, wiggling around to try to get out of the Shadowhunter's reach. Alec straddled him in response, grinning as he kissed along Magnus' neck, leaving a handful of marks.

            "Nephilim..." Magnus cursed, finally opening his eyes as he placed his hands on Alec's lower back.

            "Good morning." Alec said cheerfully, smiling at the groggy warlock.

            "'S'not a good morning, I haven't had any coffee yet. Haven't we been over the 'No sex before coffee' rule? It's fairly straightforward..."

            Alec laughed. "Well, I have the whole day off so I figured we shouldn't waste any of it..." He kissed down Magnus' chest as he spoke. The warlock groaned, contentedly this time as the feeling of Alec's soft lips against his stomach travelled through his body.

            Magnus placed both of his arms behind his head on the pillow and smirked. "And what makes you think you're more appealing than sleep? After all, you just said we have the whole day. You'll have to convince me."

            Alec growled, annoyed at the implication. He grabbed both of Magnus' hands out from behind his head and held them together in one of his. "Oh, I'll convince you all right." Magnus grinned.

[authorisnotdead]

I was 20 years old  before I even heard Vito Russo's name. I was 18 before I could admit to myself that I was anything other than straight. Maybe the two are not unrelated.

[authorisnotdead]

As some of you may know, I'm writing a paper on the military-industrial complex and Iron Man this term. Which has led to a lot of corporation-fueled, profit-motivated war feels. Which has led to this crappy Tony Stark-inspired poem. ------ I am not your battle-ground; Do not make a kill-zone of me. There are already wars being fought here I'm sorry if you can't always see them. I am no martyr, no star-spangled poster-boy hero to incite a nation to "fight the good fight", to kill in the name of all that is holy. I will not be complicit. I will not be another chess-piece, ready to die on command kneeling at your feet to exist merely as collateral, reported in the statistics you sow like seeds in the minds of a deluded people. Forgive me if I seem too brash, Mr. Secretary of Defense, but do not count me among your numbers.

Shrapnel is not the only thing to have pierced my skin, sometimes enemy lines become hard to draw. I have had my eyes forced open atop a bunker facing missiles that bore my name on their sides. I have seen what you have made us become. I am only human, only flesh and bone and you cannot ask this of me for  I am no Man of Iron.

[authorisnotdead]

I was reading this wonderful book today (Covering by Kenji Yoshino) centred around the idea that minority groups are only accepted within society if they appear more conventional and mainstream (if they cover their difference). So that inspired this. -------

To claim and define your identity by your own standard is an act of resistance. We are told everywhere to mute what makes us different ("Yes, you can be a person of colour, you can be queer, you can be a woman, you can be disabled, but don't act like it".) What makes you different is only allowed in s much as it does not upset the collective Sameness identity. As long as people can pretend not to see your difference, it is acceptable. The idea of conforming surrounds us nearly as much as oxygen.  It's only a matter of practicality, we're told. The myth is that we will not get jobs, (presumably heterosexual) partners, or other opportunities if we do not conform. In short, we are told that our quality of life will be significantly decreased if we insist in the petulantly adolescent vein of flaunting who we are. It is in this way that we are coerced into playing majority roles without anyone having to explicitly tell us to. Power structures are preserved without anyone needing to actively maintain them. We fear being seen as rude or offending people when we put on display something which we are taught to sweep under the couch like dirty family secrets. I would argue, however, that there is a distinction between being Loud and being rude. I would also argue that it is no coincidence that we are not taught to see that distinction.  

[authorisnotdead]

The revolution will not be polite. The revolution will not smile pleasantly at you. The revolution will not appear dressed in business casual. The revolution will not use an indoor voice. The revolution will be candid and rude. The revolution will be unsettling. The revolution will recognize distinctions on the basis of class, race, ethnicity, gender, and orientation because it will be aware of power constructions meant for the disenfranchisement of certain groups. The revolution will not pretend to be blind to this. The revolution will be unashamedly self-absorbed. The revolution will not pander to artificial constructs of civility. The revolution will make itself known.

[authorisnotdead]

The mirror of my vanity was my favourite aspect of my room. The mirror was large and ornate, patterns of leaves twisting carefully up the sides leading to a soft arch that rose a few inches above the inset rectangular glass. 

I looked into the mirror, thinking only slightly of my still-sleeping parents and their disapproval. My parents, like me, shared the dark skin that most of the inhabitants of Iskandar did. My parents also shared the belief in respecting yourself and your 'true beauty' enough to not participate in the old, barbaric ways of applying artifice to your own features. 

I returned my own gaze in the mirror, taking in my face. My green eyes stood out, which wasn't something that I was supposed to enjoy as much as I did. Rather than trying to hide them as much as possible, making them stand out was one of my favourite parts of the day. I loved the smooth motion as I drew a line across the blank inside space between my lashes and my eye. I loved sitting in front of a mirror and appreciating every curve of my face, each expressive quirk in the unified canvas of my skin as the light hit it. If this was considered vanity, so be it. 

The mirror caught Theo's figure standing by the doorway before I did.

"Here to tell me off again, dear brother?" I asked, smiling. 

Theo rolled his eyes. "Did you even think about the new protocols before sneaking off this morning?" 

"I did think about them. They're there to keep me safe, and look, I'm safe. It's amazing." 

Theo kept quiet, indulging me. I could tell he was holding back from making a comment about the rouge I was lovingly applying to my cheekbones.

"Karah, you know you shouldn't—" Theo started wearily. 

I groaned. "Not this again. Haven't we had this conversation enough?"

"Apparently not enough." Theo answered, looking perfectly at ease despite his words as he continued to stand in the entrance to the room. "I just think—"

I stared at him through the mirror. "What, Theo? What do you think? Please tell me, oh enlightened older brother, about the horrors or cosmetics and why I should cease to wear it."  

I knew better than to not expect that Theo would still answer me despite my teasing. "Because it's demeaning. We banned makeup to free women from the expectation that they had to wear it. It was for your liberation."

"For whose liberation exactly, did you say?" I asked evenly, purposely taking in the bland issued uniform of Iskandar that he had on. I turned from the mirror, sliding the cap back into place on the pencil I had been reapplying.

He sank down on the corner of her bed, his eyes dull and looking thoroughly as if he had heard this all before. "Look, I just think it would be safer for you not to draw attention to yourself like that, that's all I'm saying. I don't want to argue with you about this anymore."

"And all I'm saying is that expressing myself is not oppressive, you trying to tell me what's oppresive for me and what's not and feeding me this same idea that it's somehow my fault if someone attacks me is." We had had the same argument so many times that I knew it was useless to keep telling him this, but something in me was still compelled to each time. 

Theo just nodded. "Are you coming to training today?" 

I laughed. "Really? All of this in one morning? Feeling ambitious today, are we?" He remained silent, waiting ever-patiently for my response. I sighed. "No, Theo, I will not be coming to training. As you damn well know." 

"When are you going to stop being so difficult about everything?" The tone of his voice was still patient, soft. He was convinced that I was merely being rebellious and that one day I would put on my issued blouse and trousers and join him, bare-faced, for training. 

"When people stop believing the solution to problems is shooting everything that disagrees with them." 

He picked up a book that had been laying on my bed and read the back out of curiosity before moving it out of the way so that he could move to sit further back on the mattress. "It's not like the things we do aren't there for a reason, Karah. If you'd just stop being so extreme about things—" 

I lifted an eyebrow, raising the pitch of my voice sarcastically. "I know right, nonviolent and badass... must be one of those free-thinking, progressive types." I waved the eyeliner in front of him as I went to put it back in its drawer, putting the hand that was previously holding it to my chest mockingly. "Scary." 

[authorisnotdead]

There was a wonderful photo set on here so I wrote a short bit of fairly fluffy Stony. Enjoy! :)

---

         The days Steve likes the best are the days when Tony emerges after having been in the lab for the past several days locked away and buried in his work. Tony would come out of his lab in a grease-spotted, rumpled tank-top through which the arc reactor shone with a mug of coffee in his hand and his hair sticking up in all different directions just as he would run a hand through it once again, almost as if he didn't even register the motion.

            Steve liked this Tony the best because it was Tony at his most vulnerable. The thick walls of sarcasm and narcissism Tony usually put up to protect himself were gone and he just let himself fall into Steve's arms, wrapped tightly up against his chest when Steve pulled him in, sipping coffee over Steve's shoulder because he was still Tony. This Tony could admit that he needed other people, needed Pepper, needed the team, needed Steve. This was a Tony that, despite the short-term sleep deprivation and lack of food, they didn't need to worry about.

            Once when he was in this state Tony had even muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Oh Captain, my Captain..." before falling asleep on Steve's shoulder. 

[authorisnotdead]

I always wanted to be as pretty as you, as charming as you, as smart as you. I wanted to be able to spin words like gossamer around people like you. To me you were never anything but perfect. You were something like a phoenix, so the way the flames took you over and over again always seemed fitting.

I never meant to idolise you,  I guess it just happened.  Somewhere between watching you dance around the room while you sang out of tune and seeing you wear cut-up t-shirts with bands from the 80s on them and watching you flip your hair after you laughed, I convinced myself you were flawless. 

When I found the drugs in your purse, I didn't know what they were, just that they made the room smell funny. I didn't know where my big sister went for days on end and I didn't know who the person was who returned.  I watched you slowly fade shade by shade until your colours became a warped portrait in gray-scale. When they came back you were never quite the same image.

I watched as you rose up out of ash and I wondered if I should call you a phoenix, or Hephaestus, or if I should just watch as you burned. Sister, you were your own Vesuvius.

I've always wondered what you see when you think of me. Do you see the annoying little sister you put up with who still needed a night-light at ten?  Do you see the little girl you showed how to wear makeup? Do you see me in your clothes that never fit me like they fit you?

Do you know that the night you first tried to run away from yourself I didn't sleep. I sat in the dark and counted hours on the clock like drops of saline. I ran to the window each time a pair of headlights would flash against the wall even though I knew it wasn't you. Do you know how much you burned me? Do you know that five years later there's still smoke coming from my fingertips and burn marks on my wrist? Do you know I never blamed you?  I've never hated you. I wished I could hate you but I couldn't. Do you know how much I love you?  Do you know how much I wish I could tell you all of this to your face instead of writing another shitty poem?

I worried because I thought you spent more time in rehab trying to fix everyone else and making excuses for them rather than trying to help yourself get better. I worried because I got this trait from you. I worried because I knew you were too stubborn to listen to the doctors. I worried because I got this trait from you. I worried because you held the "whole damn institution" in too much contempt to listen to anything it was trying to tell you and most of the time you just wanted to see it burn. I worried because I got this trait from you. I worried because you saw everyone as beautiful and seeing the world as it could be only made you hurt even more. I worry because I got this trait from you.

I still automatically check your eyes every time you come home and try to ignore how much of myself I see in them. It's strange hearing other people talk about you in sad tones, because you're still the perfect one in my mind. I never grew up because of you. I grew up way too fast because of you. Some days I feel the need to hold you in my arms just to make sure you're alright like if you're there, then I can stop anything bad from happening to you like I can stop yourself from happening to you. I've always wondered what you think I see  when I think of you.