#Ration Card Cancellation Process | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

60b3r · 2 years ago

Text

Job seeking is (dehumanizing): the interview.

Ahh, searching for jobs... one of the most tedious and ridiculous experiences in human existence. At first, I was enthusiastic and applying for teaching jobs I was truly interested in. I scoured for "biology teacher" and "science teacher" jobs from prominent national and international school network. Now, weeks later, I have realized how low my standards have gotten. At this point, I would be excited to get a call from a shady, small schools in the middle of nowhere. I'm pretty sure that's the goal of many employers... hopelessly shuffling the cards until your standards get so low that you'll take their low-paying, high-workload, crappy job. If this sounds grudged or too cynical, it's because I am. The job-hunting process is emotionally draining and the institutions know this. They took advantage of unsuspecting teachers and researchers in it.

After supplying personal information for internet-based loan-sharks to tinker with, then we get to the interview stage. If only the recruiter had an especially convenient commuting experience to office this morning or maybe if their significant other serviced them an exceptionally great spank-bang session last night, they might be in a good enough mood to schedule me for an interview. Or, like most occasions, my application will go forever unnoticed, and the job listing will stay up for weeks/months on end because apparently most of employers are resume hoarders. Employers can make you spend two and half an hour filling out an application online (and on paper). They will look at it for 2 seconds at most before moving on, or maybe a mere 5 seconds if they decide to call you in.

Now, we're scheduled for an interview. I was told to arrive early (but also not too early, since they may start late). Interviews was described like a matching process similar to dating, where two parties mutually decide if they're right for one another—but the steep power imbalance suggests otherwise. They pose the questions and may ask anything, which I can't do anything about (for instance if they, and surely they will, ask something discriminatory against my beliefs and ethnicity). My answers are scrutinized—an honest self-assessment is a beginning to more deprecating questions, while narcissistic promotion and extraordinary bullshit is rewarded. Insincere eagerness is too evident, so instead I had to continually hype myself up for each new possibility of reprobative travail and suffer the resulting agony for each rejection letter (that is, if any).

There's little to no expectation that employers will have rational reasons for deciding for or against one particular applicant—they may even be racist, engage in blatant nepotism, or go with their bias, and we have no recourse whatsoever. Even where there is a legal recourse written in law, the evidentiary standards are such that you could never possibly prove a claim. There was also this one school that—written at the end of the pre-interview form I filled and almost sent—claimed that they did not engage in discriminatory practices against different races, skin, colour, and nationality; but the form explicitly required me to fill in my ethnicity and my church denomination I belonged to. Just before I signed over it and sent it, I spotted it and requested a cancellation to continue my application to the next process. Such a shameful practice.

I am not going to lie, there were a few promising interviews where it seemed to go really well (including one where I rode over to where I am relocating, sat down with like 5 people over 2 hours and talked about the curriculum and it’s teaching philosophy and whatever working culture they wanted me to believe) and when I sent a follow up to them—the people that I spent hours preparing for interviews with and clearing my schedule for—don’t even have the decency to tell me they decided to go with another candidate. Like, you spent hours interviewing me, it takes less than a few seconds to replace the placeholder in an email template with my name and press send. After someone has went through several interviews, taking a moment to notify them whether they got the job (or not) is nothing compared to the amount of time and gas money the candidate has wasted. It's a basic human courtesy. If you can't complete such a menial task as that, then anyone who applied and got rejected probably dodged a bullet.

If bullshit was being written down, all possible bullshit in job interviews would be an entire library of Nalanda and Alexandria combined. Jargons like "I am very passionate about this dead-end position and very enthusiastic about making a fucking career out of this minimum wage job. My hobbies include providing phenomenal typing of a 50-page lesson plan you won't even read, participating in organizing religious event on school weekends, and memorizing the School Values and the names of the Foundation caretakers". Once the interview is over, you have to give them the firmest handshake (because apparently that is a great indicator of how well you will perform on the job) and thank them for their time (which they were actually paid for). Then, you are to be scheduled for another interview with Julius from Head of Curriculum... then another interview with Sarah the Vice Executive Principal... then you are to hear back from them by the end of the week, then... nothing.

Sometimes, if they do send a rejection letter, they are kind enough just to tell that my application is denied because there were no vacancy left open for such position. The worst letters are the ones that tell you how they think while my CV is superb and how I am a good fit for such position, but there were just all these other better applicants that best matched their needs—by that I am sure they offered these poor souls less than my previously requested pay—and then complain about how hard it was to choose between them. One could generously interpret that "being overqualified" as "letting you down easily" and to make me not lose hope in another job-seeking endeavor, but to which I suspect is more about assuaging the guilty conscience of whichever person wrote the formal letter. They also seem to have no obligation to ever communicate with me again—employers ghost would-be employees with regularity. They never seem to catch up, even when they said they would hold on to my CV, in case in the future, they have an open position to fill.

I suspect the job search everywhere bears the marks of the basic reality of our society: capital rules over humanity and is not ruled by it. Every worker is expendable and replaceable. The reserve army of the unemployed academics is real, and keeps down wages to reward meaningful research. With over hundreds of applicants for every position, of course the process is dehumanizing. Even in the present alleged "education technology boom," this remains the case. While some people suggest it, starting your own education institution is not an option—you must persuade the bank to lend capital or god-knows-how-many philanthropists to donate, and the vast majority of small schools like some preparatory courses program convened in a garage fail within a few years. In any case, small institutions are far more likely to engage in the most petty and disgusting conduct towards workers: wage-theft, unpaid overtime, arbitrary management. I once worked for this type of institution, and I survived it saying never again. The students paid the office 80 bucks for 90 minutes of my tutoring, while I only got paid 20 bucks for it, not even a gas subsidy!

#antiwork #job #recruitment #hrd #jobseeking #resume #employment #jobless #application #interview

4 notes · View notes

julianottheastrologer · 4 years ago

Text

Basic Tarot Spread- A Spread for any question

This method was taught to me by Professor Wayner Lyra and it is what I use to do my Lady Reading and also use it in ALL the readings I do.

1º Card=middle card (Eight of Swords) neutral - It has positive and negative polarity that therefore cancels, it talks about the question without a point of view, in the most pure and crude way, with positives and negatives just like real life.

2º Card = left card (Wheel of Fortune) negative - The worst of the middle card, the worst that is demarcating in the first one. The first card is always more important. It's the one that shows the result, it shows what's actually going on, good and bad. What we're going to do with the left card is a zoom of the bad aspects from the middle card, so it includes: what's not good in this decision, what you will need to left behind, what is wrong.It shows what is bad about the Future that turns.

3º Card = right card (The World) positive - The positive zoom of the middle card, which is the way of salvation,the strength, how much the person must invest in their life so that it works. Is the most positive aspect of the middle card with the meaning of this card.

Step 1

Listen - attentively to your client's question, practice active listening, he doesn't know is to work questions and the key to the answer. Don't be afraid to ask the client when you don't understand or when it's too vague.

Step 2

Rephrase the question, improve it, putting what your consultant needs. Put in the question the possible date (If there is a time) to be read.

Step 3

At first read cards 1 and 2 (both in the negative),this pair of cards represent the difficulties, obstacles, unforeseen issues, usually the problem and warnings for the consultant.

Step 4

Read card 1 and 3 (both in the Positive) this pair of cards is the solution to the question, they show the points that must be raised positively for the inquirer, it is the help, the cure, the path that the person must follow.

Step 5

Evaluate the game poles. See if the game leans to a more negative or positive side. This is where you'll see if the game leans more to yes or no. Example: A Major versus a Minor Arcana. One of the court stronger than the other of the court. A Court with a minor...

Step 6

Read the cards elements from the cards 2 (negative) and 3 (positive) to show the client where to apply its energy. Where does the energy come from (2) and where should the consultant's energy be directed (3).

Step 7

Read the symbols on the cards. Symbols can repeat on cards during the game, The symbol on the left (negative) card is the problem, and on the right card the symbol shows the solution.

Extra Steps

The next steps tend to take place in between the previous steps.

Step 8

Listen to your intuition, it usually comes across rational interpretation. It takes you to the improbable. The intuitive process happens in the game and you need to be aware when it happens.

Step 9

Attention in mediunic inspiration. In this step there are inspirations that run over your interpretation, understand the message, and see how to speak and whether to speak to the consultant. Observe the interferences that happen.

Step 10

Talk to the consultant. It should leave the reading with a head full of ideas, and clear about its questions. Be open and transparent with your consultant, this will build trust and empathy from them.

Reading Example

Step 1 - The question

What my spirits guides want to tell me?

Step 2 -Rewording

What the spirit guides of this person want to tell them in this moment?

Step 3 - (Eight of Sword + Wheel of Fortune - negative)

You are a person who has had many ideas and inspirations but now you feel that you no longer receive support from your spirit guides. You think that luck has been played and that you are paying for everything you did wrong, you may even think that you are paying for the karma of other lifetimes.

Step 4 - (Eight of Swords + The World - positive)

The feeling you are having right now is actually an illusion, a failure to take responsibility and accept that you have the power to do what you want. You feel that your guides no longer guide you because they are not present all the time, that is because it is time for you to mature. They are protecting you, but your choices and decisions are yours alone. Is time to grow and growing is not flowers and sunshines.

Step 5 - (Wheel of Fortune + The World - poles)

What is happening is 100% your influence, you have the power of decision and choice, there is nothing blocking you but your indecision.

Step 6 (Wheel of Fortune (spirit/fire) + The World (spirit/earth) - elements)

You are a person connected to the spiritual and that is what you have to keep doing. It's time to strengthen your beliefs and not weaken them. Your current moment is of paramount importance as life is made of changes. Your message is to accept the changes and stop trying to delay any progress this might bring you.

Step 7 (Wheel of Fortune + Eight of Swords + The World - symbols)

The problem is that you don't trust the cycles of life (the wheel is a circle), you think you need to be at the center of things(the woman in the middle of a circle of swords) but in fact you should be the one that involves it (the woman involving a circle). You think you need to be protected, but it's also your spiritual duty to protect.

#madam saturn #madam tarot #tarot spread #divination #tarot #cartomancy #witch #witchblr #witchcraft

71 notes · View notes

casuallyimagining · 5 years ago

Text

So Much Love

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: After being forced to cancel a few dates, Yoongi begins to doubt your relationship. Genre: hurt/comfort Notes: Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

You’d been hearing nothing but apologies all week.

He’d had to cancel your date. It wasn’t supposed to be much, you were just going to order takeout and start watching the new season of the sci-fi/fantasy show the two of you were into. But he’d ended up having to stay late at the studio to finish up some production stuff, so you stayed home and watched the news instead.

He hadn’t been able to come over like he normally would. At least twice in a normal week, he would use the key you gave him to let himself into your apartment. He would come over just to fall asleep in your bed and hang out for breakfast before you went to work. But he’d had early morning practice all week, and it was easier just to sleep at the dorms.

And then he’d forgotten to pick you up from work when your car was in for repairs. It wasn’t a huge deal--you were able to grab a ride from a coworker--but it had been torrentially raining, and you hadn’t been able to get in touch with him since his phone had died while he was in back-to-back meetings.

So you weren’t in the greatest of moods when he texted you to cancel yet again. You had spent all afternoon cooking a new recipe you’d found and you were just about to start packing it up to take to the studio for him when he’d told you that he needed to focus on meeting his deadlines. Admittedly, your response had been a little harsher than you’d intended.

When you heard your front door open that night, you were surprised. You hadn’t really been expecting him to come over at all, especially not after he cancelled, and even then, it was only a little past 11:30--early for Min Yoongi. You listened as he shuffled around in the hallway, taking off his shoes and his coat and throwing his keys on top of yours in the dish by the door. You heard the soft padding of his socked feet as he moved further into your apartment, but frowned when he bypassed the living room entirely and walked into the kitchen instead.

You got up and made your way into the kitchen to join him, humming happily when you saw him rummaging around in your refrigerator. “Thought I heard you come in,” you said softly, rubbing his back as you passed him to get to the pantry. “You get your song finished?”

Yoongi straightened and shut the door to the fridge, a bottle of water in his hand. Immediately, you knew something was wrong. His face may have been entirely neutral, but you could see it in his eyes. What ‘it’ was, you couldn’t quite tell, but it made you feel a little uneasy. His eyes didn’t have their usual life to them, and the small smile he flashed you didn’t go beyond his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and took a drink, avoiding you with his eyes. “Nothing, why?”

“Yoon.” You watched as he leaned against the counter casually. “It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here to listen if you do.” You reached out and squeezed his hand in what you hoped was a reassuring way.

He sighed and stared at the ground but otherwise didn’t move. “I’m sorry about having to cancel today. I wanted to see you, I did. I just… needed some time to myself.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that. I’m sorry I got mad at you.” He hummed, and you could tell just from looking at him that it was still bothering him. “Seriously, Yoongi. It’s okay. You got busy. Shit happens.”

“Shit’s been happening a lot lately.”

“Well, yeah, but it’ll calm down soon enough.”

“Don’t you get it?” Something flashed in Yoongi’s eyes. “There’s no such thing as calm. Things like tours and comebacks come and go, but this is what it is. The busy time doesn’t end.”

“That’s not what I-”

“If that’s a problem, then maybe we should stop kidding ourselves.”

You froze, your eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“I warned you that it would be like this. I gave you an out.”

“I know. I remember. I didn’t want it then. I don’t want it now.” Yoongi was staring at one of the cabinets just over your shoulder. You moved slightly to be in his field of vision and you watched his eyes dart elsewhere. “If you think I give a shit about a few missed dates, you’re crazy. Sure, it hurts in the moment, but I’m rational--I just need a moment to process sometimes. Where is this coming from, Yoongi?”

He swallowed thickly and roughly ran a hand through his hair. Judging by the state of it, he had been doing that all night. “I’m sorry. I’m… shit.”

His dark eyes met yours before flickering away, but in that brief moment, you had seen it. Hurt. Sadness. Heartbreak. Anxiety. You hadn’t been able to read it before, but suddenly, it was all clearer to you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You tried to keep your voice soothing and level as you reached out to him. “We’re okay.”

As soon as your hand touched the sleeve of his hoodie, he was crumbling to the tile floor. His hand gripped your arm, almost as if he was trying to catch himself but he wasn’t strong enough to keep himself standing. You steadied his fall, grabbing his other arm and slowly easing yourself onto the floor with him, making sure he didn’t hurt himself on the way down.

He pulled away from you almost immediately, shrinking into himself and drawing his knees into his chest. You watched quietly as his shoulders began to shake. You didn’t know what to do. He clearly didn’t want your comfort at the moment, so you scooted yourself so that you were sitting beside him, close enough that you hoped it was comforting but far enough away that he had his space.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a few moments, his voice thick and shaky. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yoon, honestly it’s-”

“No, I-” He sniffled, wiping his tears away with his sleeves. “You deserve someone who can actually take you out and show you off. You deserve someone who can give you everything you want and more. You deserve more than me.”

“Oh, honey boy.” You wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, but you saw him peek up at you from under his hair, and you didn’t dare. “Don’t you think I should have a say in what I deserve?”

“Of course, but-”

“No, hey.” You sighed. “Do you want to know what I want most in the world, right this second?” His eyes met yours, then, and you could see the curiosity mixed with the sadness. A silent tear rolled its way down his blotchy cheeks. “You. I would pick you a hundred times. A hundred hundred times if I had to.”

“Why?” His voice was so small, you almost didn’t hear him.

“I love you.” You shrugged. “I know you don’t believe you deserve it, but I do. And you do--you deserve so much love, Min Yoongi.”

He was quiet, but his eyes never left yours. Carefully, you reached out to brush some of the hair out of his eyes. He shrank away from your hand, and you dropped it into your lap sadly. After a moment, he pouted slightly. Slowly, and ever so gently, he reached out and grasped your hand. He squeezed it tightly before lifting it and placing it gently on his head. You smiled and carded your fingers through his hair, brushing it back and off his forehead. Yoongi leaned into your touch.

“I don’t care that we can’t go out on dates. I’d rather stay home and watch that stupid sci-fi show, anyway.” You reached for his hand, entwining your fingers together gently. With your other hand, you continued to smooth his hair down, alternating between playing with the soft, dark strands at the base of his neck and massaging his scalp. “And if there’s something I want that you can’t give me, then it isn’t worth having.”

Yoongi smiled, small and soft, and you could tell that he didn’t believe you, not yet anyway. You hoped that one day, he would. “Do you want to go watch it now?” He squeezed your hand. “I know we didn’t get to watch it earlier.”

“There’s nothing I would rather do.”

He stood, pulling you up with him and grabbing his forgotten water bottle from the counter before leading you into your living room. You curled into his side on the couch, your hand once again finding his as he pulled up the show on your TV. Once the season recap was playing, he looked down to you and flashed a small, flat smile. You leaned up and kissed him tenderly, and when you pulled away, you noticed a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Smiling, you squeezed his hand before turning your attention to the show. His head fell against yours as he got comfortable.

Your heart ached for Yoongi, but you hoped to be around long enough for him to know in his bones how much love you had for him. You didn’t care how long it took--a year, five years, fifty, it didn’t matter. Someday, he would figure it out. And though you knew you couldn’t cure his anxiety or depression through love alone, you knew you could get through it together.

This fic is part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

#yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi #suga #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts suga x reader

256 notes · View notes

bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 5 years ago

Text

And the last chapter of the first volume! Though technically there’s after-chapter content that will be in a separate post from this, but for now, what matters is finishing up the quirk assessment and getting into the battle trial!

Honestly, it’s a good thing that I just shoved all the opening arcs from before the USJ together into one tag, because this chapter literally goes from the quirk assessment into the beginning of the battle trial stuff, and trying to separate them out would have been a mess and a half. Better to just have it all in the ‘opening arcs’ tag.

...weird title for something that only comes at the end of the chapter, but whatever, it’s not like we don’t see that happen later on in the series as well.

[No. 7 - Costume Change?]

And we immediately come back to where we left off, with All Might realizing what just happened and what Izuku did and even why! One of those little peeks that remind us that All Might is very smart! Also god, him with a small fanboy moment over how proud he is of his kid and how cool that workaround was, mmm this is the Dad Might content I signed up for.

Izuku is still standing firm, even with his finger swollen and damaged, biting back the pain. Ochako is cheering about that record, Tenya notices Izuku’s finger is damaged and thinks back to the entrance exam, calling it a ‘strange quirk’, Aoyama says it’s stylishly done, and Katsuki is brain broke.

I’m sorry that’s just so fucking funny. He is such a goddamn gremlin, but he’s also completely shook. He thinks about how quirks never manifest past age four, but somehow Izuku has a quirk.

He then recalls Izuku saying ‘he earned this’ and gets pissed, blasting forward to demand an explanation while Izuku freaks out-

Only for Katsuki to have his quirk cancelled by Aizawa and also get caught up in the capture scarf.

Beauty. Grace. He’ll bite off your face.

Katsuki notes the cloth is stiff, while Aizawa tells him that it’s a capture weapon made of carbon fibers and a special alloy wire, then tells Katsuki to stop using his quirk already. Which is interesting; can Aizawa sense when people are trying to use their quirks while under the effects of his? If so, is he sensing the aborted movement of whatever quirk factors exist, or ???

(All I’m saying is that that is some possible fuel for a Dad For One connection but for Aizawa instead of Izuku… you know, just in case.)

As we sort of saw from the last chapter, Aizawa’s quirk has the side effect of giving him dry eyes (he was putting eyedrops in his eyes after using his quirk on Izuku). Izuku thinks that sucks since his quirk is so awesome. Aizawa lets his quirk and scarf drop, telling the class to prepare for the next event.

Katsuki is standing where he was stopped, glaring at Izuku who is holding his hand while Ochako worries over him and his finger. He’s caught up in a flashback (which again, reminder that this is chapter 7 and we already have flashbacks), thinking about how up to then, Izuku was just another pebble in his path. We get a brief cut to a memory flashback (not a chapter flashback) to when Izuku and Katsuki were still friends, and Izuku was waiting for his quirk to come in still, and then repeats that Izuku was only supposed to be a pebble. Single track mind, much?

Discord:

Ah, that good Bakugou discourse. This is why you do this stuff in a server with friends.

Izuku narrates a short passage of time - over the rest of the events - while handling the pain of his injured finger. Aizawa tells them it’s time for the results, with Izuku thinking about how he’s going to get expelled because the only record worth mentioning was the throw, and how the endurance running failed hard because of the pain. Aizawa says he won’t explain the process behind the scoring process, just that they reflect performance.

And then he reveals he was lying about expelling someone.

The trio’s faces. Aizawa’s manic smile. The trio’s faces. And Momo there like ‘what did you expect?’ God, I can’t help but giggle.

Izuku just fucking ascending to a new plane of existance here.

Aizawa turns to leave, saying they’re done there and that the documents about the curriculum and whatnot are back in the classroom. He then calls out Izuku, who is shaking in panic (probably about Aizawa changing his mind again - I wonder if teachers before UA pulled that sort of ‘syke’ on Izuku… yikes.)

Instead, he just gets handed a pass to the nurse’s office (not even filled out fully, incredible) and then turns and walks off.

The class is left to stare after Aizawa in bafflement, with Izuku’s narration noting that he’s safe for the moment, but still has too much he can’t do, and that he’s literally starting from the bottom - but here’s there to learn so he can get closer to his dream!

Class rankings:

And- ah, he walked past All Might, who calls him out as a liar. Aizawa either didn’t notice him watching or didn’t know it was All Might specifically who was watching, but either way calls it ‘wasting time’ - which makes sense when all the teachers know about his time limit that he’s spending there watching Izuku the kids do their trials.

All Might notes that April Fool’s was over a week ago, and that the ‘rational deception’ thing falls flat when he expelled an entire class of first years the previous year. Aizawa discards those with zero potential, but he went back on his word here, and then asks if he sensed Midoriya’s potential as well. While giving Aizawa finger guns. Have I mentioned this man is a complete dork yet?

Aizawa catches onto the ‘as well’ bit, and determines that All Might’s supporting the kid - which isn’t his usual style. He then starts walking off again, saying Midoriya doesn’t have no chance, but that’s all he’ll say on the matter. He then says that if the kid had no prospects, he’d cut him loose, since it’s crueler to let someone chase half-baked dreams.

All Might determines quietly that it’s Aizawa’s way of being kind, but out loud states that they can agree to disagree. Meanwhile, in the background, Sero and Sato notice All Might, which probably leads to class 1a going after him and him fleeing for safety.

We transition to when Izuku is heading home, with him exhausted because of his trip to Recovery Girl. Tenya checks in on him, and Izuku says he’s fine, with us seeing a temporary flashback to the nurse’s office. Izuku notes his finger’s better, but he’s exhausted all of a sudden (he doesn’t remember last time since he was unconscious).

A couple of things:

Kamui Woods pez dispenser

Oh, so if he doesn’t have stamina he’ll die! Good to know! :)

Anyways, Izuku thinks about how he can’t keep going on like this and has to figure out how to regulate his power fast. Tenya goes on to talk about how Aizawa had fooled them, making them think that was how it was, only for it to be a deception. (The irony that the mercy was actually unplanned all along gets to me.) Izuku is more relaxed around him now that he realizes Tenya isn’t scary, just super serious.

Ochako rushes over to catch up, asking if they’re heading for the station. Tenya calls her ‘Infinity Girl’ and Izuku repeats it mentally in surprise. Ochako introduces herself, and then brings up their names - though she mistakes Izuku’s name for ‘Deku’, because of what Katsuki said during the test. Izuku corrects her with awkward hand gestures, saying his real name and that the ‘Deku’ is just Katsuki being a bully.

Tenya and Ochako both acknowledge this, with Ochako apologizing, and then mentioning how ‘Deku’ sounds like ‘do your best’, and that she likes it. Izuku goes beet fucking red and immediately replies that Deku is fine, with Tenya chastising him for not showing backbone while Izuku calls it like the Copernican Revolution and Ochako questions who Copernicus is.

The narration takes over, noting that even if there’s a lot he can’t do, he’ll do his best, but having All Might and even some friends behind him… it’s more than he could have asked for.

Good children. Best friends. God, these were the good days… more OG Dekucrew content please and thanks.

We get one panel of Toshinori that Izuku’s got no time to rest, and that tomorrow the real test begins. Then we’re onto the next day, aka the first day of actual classes - and oh, right, UA has clubs, that’s something that’s easy to forget when we never see it with the hero classes. I mean, considering that the actual hero training classes probably overlap the usual club hours, not surprising, but still.

Present Mic is shown to be the English teacher, trying to get the kids in the spirit of class, but pretty much everyone is finding it boring - asides from Izuku, who is actually trying to answer the question mentally, even if not out loud. The narration notes that the mornings are for normal classes, and that lunch is top-notch food for dirt cheap in the cafeteria (as cooked by Lunch Rush), and then hero training is in the afternoon… possibly after lunch? Which isn’t great when people could end up throwing up. Ah well.

These fucking dorks. Two peas in a quirkless-to-superpowered pea pod.

And of course, more meta from the class on how All Might’s drawn differently.

Anyways, All Might gets into Hero Basic Training, how it’ll mold them into heroes, and that there’s no time to waste as he shows off a card reading ‘battle’ before stating that they have battle training.

Have I mentioned he’s a dork? There’s more ham here than in Shatner’s performances in the original Star Trek series!

Katsuki is thrilled with battle training, of course. All Might notes that for battle training, the class will need - as the wall clicks and opens several drawers with numbered cases, each with contents in accordance with the quirk registry and the special request forms fill out before admission - costumes! Which the class is super hyped about. Izuku is holding his backpack in excitement, and All Might orders the students to come out to Ground Beta in ranking order once they’re changed, to which the class agrees.

As he takes his leave, he notes that looking good is important, and to look alive, because from today on, they’re all heroes! We also get some nice transition moments showing pieces of people’s costumes, with Izuku being the last one out as the rest show theirs off.

So cool! And what a way to end a chapter and a book! And a nice nod to the prototype costume for Izuku. Time to say goodbye to it before the end of this arc.

Next time, I’ll try to get through all the bonus stuff for the end of the volume, and then we can get into the battle trial proper! Looking forward to that.

42 notes · View notes

comparativetarot · 4 years ago

Photo

Art. Art by Robin Scott, from The Urban Tarot.

Older decks call this card Temperance, which was once a common term for the practice of mixing wine with water. Pamela Colman Smith’s beautiful line work from the Rider-Waite-Smith deck* features somewhat centrally here in the form of a mural on the wall. The most common interpretation of that card relates to moderation in opposition to extremism, seeking a middle road, and mixing your anger and passion with calm and rationality as water is added to wine.

With the Thoth deck, Crowley saw that one could mix and combine opposing elements—Water and Fire, red and white—and rather than diminishing both or canceling out their energy, it was possible to create from them something wholly new, with power unique to its elemental parts. The Thoth deck calls this trump Art, and so do I. It speaks about taking opposing pieces and finding a way to harmonize them, mix them, combine them into a new and unique whole. ‘Solve et coagula’ as the old alchemists say—dissolve and combine.

I see what I’ve done with this deck as a kind of creative alchemy. I’ve taken elements from what has come before, the old and the new, ancient symbols and modern architecture, and sought to combine them in ways that bring those elements greater power through juxtaposition. Art, as any artist can tell you, never grows in a vacuum. Creating new work is as much a process of learning to see, absorb, and process what others have done as it is about creating something new from whole cloth. I make no illusions about what I’ve borrowed from those who’ve come before me, and I try to give credit to those who contributed to the pieces I put my signature on. As much as I am a creator, so too I am an alchemist, taking a pinch of this and a dab of that, putting mysterious components together in a pot and waiting to see what emerges.

Model: Chandra Jessee Completed in April 2015

#Robin Scott #The Urban Tarot #Temperance #Major Arcana #Tarot #New York City

19 notes · View notes

beca-mitchell · 5 years ago

Text

brain is in the back seat (heart's in drive) (1/1)

Summary: Life has a way of not working out like the movies. Not like Beca likes movies anyway. Beca and Chloe’s first kiss.

Word count: 4,125 words.

Fic title from the song "the movies" by Nightly. Part of the daylight au. As always, many thanks to @asimplefavors for letting me cry at you re: this fic which I’ve been sitting on forever. I’m just glad it’s done.

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * *

LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: March AGE: 15/16

* * * * *

Beca hates movies, so it makes sense that she’s kind of getting the feeling that her life is turning out like one.

After the Winter Formal, Beca kind of just wants things to go back to normal, not that she really has a baseline for that anymore.

It also doesn’t really help that she has to endure Valentine’s Day amidst all her peers. If there’s something people never really grow out of, it’s the excessive gift giving and over-emphasis on the quantity of candy grams received in one’s locker on that specific day.

...And it further didn’t help that Beca had quickly shoved the Valentine’s card she had been planning to give to Chloe into her own locker upon seeing Tom walk down the fall with his arm snugly around Chloe’s shoulder, a small bouquet of roses pressed into her arms. Beca had thought it inappropriate at the time—figured Chloe didn’t need extra Valentines when she was so obviously taken...even though it had been their tradition for years.

And of course, the fact that Chloe hadn’t given her a valentine either. That was telling enough. Not that Beca gave her much reason to, with how much avoiding she had been doing since January.

That February break that follows immediately after is one of the most relaxing breaks Beca has ever experienced. She spends most of it sparsely replying to texts from Chloe and begrudgingly visiting her father and his family for the short break.

It’s the time apart (again) that really only cements that the nauseating feeling in her stomach is because she’s not getting over her feelings for one Chloe Beale anytime soon.

The more selfish part of her—the part entirely consuming her heart—doesn’t really want to give up on her feelings, but the rational part—somewhere between her heart and her head—knows that she’s just setting herself up for more heartbreak, if the Instagram updates from Chloe and Tom are any indication. It’s horrible, really because they’re not even together in person. Beca knows this solely because she knows Chloe’s family takes a trip to Stowe every February break for a ski trip.

It’s like the social media back and forth is just designed to hurt her. The little comments they leave on each other’s photos. The hearts. The inside-joke emojis.

She knows rationally that her thoughts are spiralling and it’s entirely untrue that Chloe would ever want to hurt her purposefully. It’s just that, well, Beca wouldn’t blame her. She knows that her avoidance of Chloe over the past few weeks has been more than obvious and less than desirable.

So when Beca sits down with her father and his new family, the sensation of being replaced never really gets old even if she knows that she has no real right to feel that way. But it’s hard, looking around her and feeling so out of place, and then knowing that when she returns home, the one person who she had always considered the literal embodiment of home is also starting a new segment of her life in which Beca has no real place.

And even sitting in her father’s home in New Haven, she imagines what it would be like to blurt out that she’s in love with her best friend—a girl—simply to see the disdain cross his face like a shadow. It would be enough to make her forget about her current plight. Plus, she’s just so tired of feeling like shit all the time.

She sees it, in all honesty. Like her mind has two screens, she sees the mildly foggy memory of her father saying something disparaging against homosexuality on one screen while the other gleefully rolls imagined footage of Beca sweeping his pretentious dishes off his dining table and declaring her love for her best friend, the very girl she grew up next two for the past eleven years.

Still, as appealing as that sounds and looks, she bites her tongue and listens to her father spout off something about psychology or some other academic topic that Beca has zero interest in. She would normally be texting Chloe, but she just can’t bring herself to pick up the phone.

Chloe doesn’t text her either.

It all sucks.

February break sucks.

She sucks.

Her thoughts follow her all the way back home to the desolate wasteland she calls home (classic Boston-in-February weather) where her mother (shockingly) greets her with a hug and the promise of a sit-down meal. The thought warms her for a moment before Beca remembers that her mom probably just feels guilty without really wanting to do anything. Not even apologize for being absent. Emotionally distant. Neglectful. Beca’s sure the list could go on.

As she sits at the dinner table thinking about a myriad of things floating around her mind in an attempt to distract herself including the dreaded first day back at school, the assignments she should probably work on, seeing Chloe again—

Her fingers twitch towards her phone on instinct.

She draws back with a flinch, resisting the urge to mindlessly text Chloe even though it’s what she wants most in the world at the moment. Quickly, she spares a glance at her mother who hasn’t looked up from her own plate.

With a sigh, Beca furrows her brow and returns to staring sullenly at the table until it is an appropriate enough time to retreat to her room.

The next day passes without incident. Beca decides to walk to school early instead of catching a ride from Chloe’s brother like she normally would. She’s not sure what the point is. Chloe will just figure out a way to corner her later regardless.

Even with that in mind, Beca isn’t expecting to see Chloe sitting on her bed when she opens her bedroom door. In fact, she’s kind of expecting her room to be exactly as she left it that morning before heading out for school—empty, her bed unmade, and cold.

But now—

“What are you doing here?” Beca asks, harsher than she intends. She swallows, willing herself to reign in her emotions as best as she can.

“Your mom let me in,” Chloe says softly. Her palms glide briefly over Beca’s bedspread before she’s pushing herself off the bed and moving awkwardly to the middle of Beca’s bedroom. “I…hope that’s okay?” she asks hesitantly, like she is no longer sure of her place in Beca’s house; in Beca’s life.

Beca steadies her grip on her backpack for a moment before dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. “It’s fine,” she says finally, trying to ignore the way her heart pulls and tugs at the mere sight of Chloe—Chloe, out of her school clothes and wearing comfortable loungewear. Chloe, with her hair down instead of up in a ponytail. Chloe, whose lips are slowly spreading into a hesitant smile. “I just…” Beca blinks, turning to walk to her desk quickly to be safe. Distant. “Why are you here?” she asks again, softer.

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, but she thankfully does not seem to move closer to Beca in any capacity. “Are you mad at me?” Chloe asks with a delicate softness that only makes Beca’s heart ache more.

In her mind’s eye, she plays out the variety of expressions Chloe could possibly be wearing. An expression designed to elicit the highest amount of sympathy in a willing audience. Outwardly, Beca stares hard at the notebook on her desk, reaching out to run her finger along the spiral. “No,” she murmurs. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Did I…” Chloe sighs, like she can’t quite bear to finish that question. But Chloe, as resilient as ever, pushes through, though she doesn’t finish the question. “Beca, please just look at me.”

Beca bites her lip but she complies nonetheless, taking her time to drag her eyes up to Chloe’s face.

She hates that she immediately wants to break into a smile upon simply seeing Chloe’s face—a natural by-product of the happiness she usually feels upon seeing her best friend’s face, though her more recent emotions have obviously been veering towards the romantic.

But more than all of that—more than the positive emotions—she hates the hurt she sees there, especially knowing that she had actively contributed in some way.

“Did I do something?” Chloe asks rather quickly. Nervously. Her hands come up to grip her own arms, hugging herself. “Did I do something to you to make you…”

“To make me what?”

“Like this,” Chloe says quickly. “Like you can’t stand being around me.”

It’s not you, Beca thinks. It’s me and I’m so sorry. “It’s…nothing,” Beca says evasively. “I…” Her eyes narrow as her brain catches up with the rest of her emotions. She fully processes that Chloe is in her room. After school. On a nice evening. “Didn’t you have plans today? With Tom?”

A blush rises on Chloe’s cheek at the mere mention of his name, as usual. And as usual, Beca finds herself reacting viscerally with something akin to nausea. “I cancelled,” Chloe admits. “I wanted to see you. It’s been a while since—”

“—Well, you’ve seen me.” Beca tries not to let some of the acidity seep into her tone because Chloe doesn’t deserve it, but it does anyway. Too late. Beca sighs. “I have homework to do.”

Chloe brightens. “Great! So do I. We can do it together.”

Chloe’s chipper tone, while normally something that Beca finds charming and attractive, grates on her nerves today. Beca glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. It’s then that she notices Chloe’s full backpack resting on the floor by her feet. “Don’t you have to do it with Tom? Like you guys normally do? He made that pretty clear.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Chloe says in a tone that Beca can’t identify. She doesn’t know if she has the energy to identify anything at this point.

Beca grits her teeth. “I still think you should go.”

“Why?” Chloe challenges. When Beca doesn’t respond, Chloe continues, this time with an angry tone. “Do you know how worried I am about you? What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me? Is it Tom? Did he say something to you?” The way Chloe says his name then is so distinct that it makes Beca’s ears perk up. It reminds Beca of so long ago—of Chloe immediately demanding the names of people who had hurt Beca’s feelings.

Her own knight in shining armor.

Beca exhales noisily and finally meets Chloe’s eyes head-on. “Chloe, no. We’re not doing this right now.”

Blue eyes flash like lightning. “Oh, well at least you’re looking at me now.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, exasperated at the bitterness in Chloe’s tone. It is absolutely well-deserved, but the sting makes Beca’s hackles rise nonetheless. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s been going on with you.” Chloe literally stomps her foot on the ground. “I swear it, Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe kind of looks like she might stomp her foot again. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares at Beca defiantly.

It’s like the dam breaks all at once. Beca bursts out laughing at both the sight and the sound. “Did you just—? A foot stomp? Really?”

Chloe freezes, like she isn’t quite sure what’s going on. “Oh, I…” The mild confusion in her eyes causes Beca to smile again, unable to hide her own adoration for her best friend even if she tried.

(Which she has been. Trying, at least.)

For a moment, it is finally silent in Beca’s room. Chloe’s stance softens and she is suddenly staring at Beca with a different kind of expression on her face. “What?” Beca asks, not realizing that she has the tiniest smile on her face still.

“There you are,” Chloe says affectionately. “My favorite smile.”

Beca blinks, feeling the sudden urge to cry. All kinds of emotion well up inside her, each warring for some kind of dominance; each warring for attention. Beca feels like Chloe is really looking at her for the first time in a while.

It also occurs to Beca that they’re finally alone and Beca has no idea what to do.

“Stop,” Beca says quickly. She averts her gaze. “Stop doing that.”

Chloe’s confusion is immediately visible. New tension grows palpable between them. “Stop doing what?”

“Stop…” Beca gestures wildly. “Doing those things. Saying those things that make me…” she trails off, licking her lips. The air feels thick. Difficult to breathe. “Stop,” she whispers.

Her heart races uncomfortably, like what Beca imagines a heart attack to feel like. Or if she’s being less dramatic, what she imagines a panic attack to be.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs. “You can talk to me. Please, you’re scaring me.” She steps closer, right in front of Beca. Beca sees Chloe’s annoyingly cute socks in her line of vision and slowly lifts her head. “Hi,” Chloe says softly upon catching Beca’s eyes with her own. “Beca,” she starts. “It’s okay.”

Is it? Beca thinks. Will it ever be?

It’s then that Beca realizes how close they’re standing. How nice Chloe smells. How much softer her sweater looks up close. The very light freckles on Chloe’s face, now faded compared to how prominent they had seemed during the summer months.

I love you so much, Beca thinks, her traitorous mind breaking down every last confine as usual. I don’t know what that means, but I know that it’s true.

Beca isn’t sure what comes over her then.

(She kind of knows, but still. It’s easier being ignorant to her thought processes.)

In reality, it feels like the oddest fog passing over her brain while her heart beats with startling clarity. Her fingers graze Chloe’s cheek before she realizes what is happening and her lips meet Chloe’s with force that surprises both of them. Beca feels the tension leave her body immediately replaced by the most peculiar warmth—a warmth that fills her chest unexpectedly and so wholly that her body all but sags into Chloe’s.

To her surprise, just as she is about to pull back, Chloe’s hand comes up to cup the back of her head while the other hand curls around her hip with, Beca realizes with a jolt of fire to her chest, stark possessiveness and protectiveness. For a few blissful moments, Chloe’s lips move in tandem with her own, as soft as Beca always imagined. The initial shock of experiencing her first kiss wears off, but…

Chloe is kissing her back. Chloe is kissing her and Chloe is not moving away except—

She does.

Chloe finally moves back, their lips separating with suddenness and abruptness that leaves Beca reeling.

“Oh my God,” Beca says immediately. Her throat feels tight and her voice is high and rough with the fear that courses through her body. “God, Chloe, I—”

“You just kissed me,” Chloe interrupts. Her voice trembles even as she continues. “You kissed me, Beca.”

There is something more than accusation in her tone. There is a hint of desperation that Beca recognizes all too well and further, something almost foreign in terms of their interactions with each other. Chloe has never sounded unsure or insecure when talking to Beca. The fact that she did just then breaks Beca’s heart a little bit.

“I’m…” Beca swallows. Pushes down the emotion threatening to spill over. She isn’t even sure what there is to really say. All she can think about is how Chloe pulled away first—essentially pushed her away. It stings more than Beca had anticipated even though it had been what she entirely expected. “I know. Chloe, please, just listen."

“I’m dating Tom,” Chloe responds immediately. “I’m dating Tom and I can’t…you can’t just spring this on me and just…” Chloe’s eyes well up with tears and Beca feels her own eyes sting at the sight. “I can’t cheat on him.”

“We didn’t,” Beca says quickly. Desperately. “Chloe, please, can we just…” Beca feels the last false shred of happiness finally crumble away as she sees the despair in Chloe’s eyes.

She doesn’t feel the same way.

She never did.

She was just caught up in the moment.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Beca says in a small voice. “Fuck,” she murmurs, running her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She feels so fucking embarrassed.

Chloe hesitates. “Beca, wait.”

“No, you should just go. You should go and just.” Beca turns back to her desk and grips the edge of her chair tightly. “Just go do your dumb homework and go be with your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I just need time—”

“Chloe, now.”

The way Beca’s voice rings around her bedroom weighs heavier than the silence that follows. She thinks she hears Chloe sniffle once, but she can’t bear to look. She can’t bear to see Chloe’s expression and even more viscerally, the metaphorical imagery of Chloe finally crushing the last pieces of her already-shattered part as she leaves Beca’s bedroom.

The door clicks quietly, but the sound still makes Beca jump. Unfortunately, not like a movie, these end credits close out with nothing more than a whimper from her own mouth.

She finally allows herself to crumble, finally unable to outrun the magnitude of her emotions.

Not like running had worked very well before.

* * * * *

Chloe I shouldn’t have left, i’m sorry

That’s the text message Beca receives the next morning.

Beca I wanted you to go

It’s one of the few lies Beca has ever told Chloe over the span of their eleven-year friendship.

Beca I’m sorry too

She bites her lip at the added-on text, sending it on impulse because she doesn’t want Chloe to be upset with her. Whether she’s apologizing for the kiss, for her feelings, or for chasing Chloe out of her bedroom, she’s not sure at this point.

It doesn’t matter, however. Chloe doesn’t reply; doesn’t even call her out on it.

* * * * *

Beca goes a few days with some relative quiet in her life. She drags herself around aimlessly doing her best not to be too rocked with guilt and discord as her mind traitorously replays the kiss at unfortunate moments.

“Beca, wait!”

Beca does her best to steady herself and she takes a breath. It does feel like self-sabotage, knowing that Chloe is equally likely to spend time at this specific spot—their spot—so Beca supposes a part of her wanted so badly to just see Chloe’s face again. Just to see if Chloe would be disgusted or upset with her.

All she sees is desperation written across Chloe’s face. The same desperation that had been on Chloe’s face just a few days ago in her bedroom. Since then, Beca had been avoiding her as best as possible, weaving around people whenever the opportunity presented itself (which was often, due to Beca’s smaller stature).

Beca had never been so grateful for crowded high school hallways. Blending in and being nearly invisible never felt so good.

“We need to talk,” Chloe says quietly. “You know we do.”

“There’s…” Beca presses her fingers tightly into the metal bar in front of her, unable to look at Chloe directly. She should have expected Chloe to come here. Self-sabotage, she supposes. “Nothing to talk about.”

“That’s crap and you know it.”

Beca refuses to acknowledge that. “I can’t right now, Chlo.”

“Please,” Chloe says, a bit closer than before. “You…” Chloe sighs. “You can’t just kiss me like that and—and—” Biting frustration seeps into her tone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that,” Chloe whispers after a moment of silence. “But there’s no way you can just expect me to ignore what happened between us.”

Beca takes a brief moment to marvel over how Chloe somehow manages to be good with words. Or at least that she manages to get words out at all. It’s something Beca envies.

“I’m trying so hard to understand, Beca,” Chloe murmurs, taking a step closer.

Beca continues to focus on anything but Chloe. “There’s nothing to understand. I made a mistake. You can forget about it.”

The air seems to still around them. Beca can hear the shouts of their peers, sharp and crisp in the brisk, chilly air.

Finally, Chloe responds, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to forget about it, Beca.”

That makes Beca look at Chloe. She twists so sharply and quickly that she think something cracks in her neck, but she brushes off the brief twinge that runs through her body. “Why?” she asks, hating how weak her voice sounds. “You should, it’s for the be—”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Chloe repeats, firmer than before.

“Why?” Beca asks quickly as curiosity and hope win out.

Chloe says nothing, simply watching Beca with a near-inscrutable expression. Finally, she sucks in a breath. “Why did you kiss me?” she asks, in lieu of responding, like it’s all the response Beca needs. The challenge in Chloe’s voice is familiar. It makes Beca’s heart race. She resists the urge to reach out and grasp onto Chloe’s forearms or shoulders to steady herself. Instead, Beca forces herself to keep her eyes on Chloe steadily.

In that moment, Beca just wants Chloe to steal the words right from her mind. She wants Chloe to speak so she doesn’t have to—Chloe has to know at this point. She has to know, there’s no real reason for her not to know. It becomes evident that Chloe isn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. Beca sighs. “You know why,” she finally murmurs. “You know,” she presses.

Chloe’s eyes flash with emotion—finally something akin to the familiar passion that Beca has come to know over the years. It sends Beca’s heart into a tangle of emotions as she attempts to steady her own breathing. She could go on. She could keep talking. She feels the urge—she recognizes it in its rarity—course through her with startling sincerity. You know why, her own words echo back at her. Tell her, she begs herself. Please.

I like you.

I’m in love with you.

I love you.

“Then you know why, too,” Chloe finally says after a long silence.

Beca’s eyes must do something—she feels some muscle in her face twitch—because Chloe takes an immediate step back after the words leave her mouth.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes, like it’s the first breath of pure air she has taken in and expelled in a long time. Tom, Beca thinks frantically. But Tom is—it can’t be—

“I—I should go. But—um.” Chloe shifts, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she assesses Beca once more. Beca doesn’t dare breathe, wondering if Chloe is going to kiss her—whether Chloe will kiss her first this time. Or if Chloe will hug her. Or if Chloe will say more. She longs to ask more questions, say more words, but she’s too afraid of the thick air between them suddenly.

Chloe finally takes a breath; she finally takes a step back and lifts her hand in a half wave, like she realizes she needs to leave. “I have to go,” she repeats. “But I...Beca,” Chloe murmurs. She lifts her hands together, like she might take the necessary steps to close the distance between them, but she casts Beca a sad expression, clenching her hands into fists and drawing them close to her chest. It is so vulnerable and unexpected for Chloe that Beca has no idea what words could possibly come out of her mouth then. “Don’t give up on me.”

That alone steals Beca’s breath from her once more. She can do nothing more than nod, because how can she even fathom the thought. It had been nice to indulge in the possibility of not loving Chloe Beale—not being with her, even as friends—but this reality, however half-formed is more than Beca could have ever dreamed of.

With that, Chloe finally twists and darts away from under the bleachers. Beca watches her go with bated breath, and when she finally exhales, she watches the way the air condenses in front of her, like a flurry of thoughts and emotions finally making themselves known in Chloe’s wake.

She breathes, allowing herself to think of their shared kiss in Beca’s bedroom just days ago. Maybe even a week now.

“I won’t,” she replies, speaking to nobody except the ghostly presence of the memories past, present, and future.

And she finally feels like the future—whatever sequels may follow—might not look so bleak.

fin.

#bechloe #now i see daylight #pitch perfect #fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #au #high school au #my fanfic #mine #text #queue

99 notes · View notes

rylredrants · 5 years ago

Text

Pandemic, Politics & Personal Life

I just broke up with my best friend of 5 years.

She supported me through three major breakups in less than a year, showed up for moves, meltdowns, and meals. We treated each other as sisters, and to me it meant “I love you even when I don’t like you.” There are things about her life and beliefs that I just flat out don’t like, but I compromised and allowed room in my life for those differences.

She is a devout Christian. I’m a card-carrying member of The Satanic Temple. She is married to a border patrol agent, and has repeatedly said that having children separated from their parents at the border is a consequence of their actions. I’m horrified that there are children in literal chain link cages being neglected, assaulted, and traumatized in a way that is simply unthinkable. She reminds me that Obama built the cages.

When her step-child came out as non-binary, she had a meltdown over the fact that she had always wanted a daughter and now the kid is asking to be called by a masculine name. I’ve worked with PFLAG (Parents and Families of Lesbians and Gays, the local LGBTQ+ support network) and done education about gender, sexual orientation, and alternative relationship structures where I emphasize the privilege I have as a cis, straight woman (who personally embraces traditional gender roles).

I compromised and allowed room in my life for some pretty big ideological differences. But this year has changed everything.

When the pandemic began, I was living alone for the first time ever. Her home was my home. I cooked in her kitchen, co-hosted her gatherings, brought my laundry to her house rather than use the machines in my apartment complex. I fed her cat when she was on vacation. I had the code for her front door, and at times “shopped” from her stockpile in between shopping trips. We went grocery shopping together the last 2 times I was in a grocery store.

Her husband crossed a line with me after I allowed a loosened boundary in our relationship, and I did my best to not take it out on her. But when we planned ‘girl’s night’ and he decided to call out of work and be at home I hated being there. It became a problem but being me, I felt it better to sidestep things than be direct because I knew that the damage would be irreparable and I didn’t want to end our relationship. I was compromising my own comfort in an attempt to keep the peace.

When she got a head cold and cancelled a laundry and Masked Singer night, I felt abandoned. But I knew it wasn’t personal and I just let it go. When I came over and found one of her husband’s other partner at their house, I felt like my quarantine bubble had been invaded and there were suddenly more risks than I was okay with.

She replied by trying to rationalize things like who that outside partner was in contact with, but I stopped feeling safe there. I felt like I’d lost my second home. But I didn’t speak up.

She had to go back to work (in retail) but she insisted that she always wore her mask everywhere because she knew how I felt about it. Then she told me that she had plans to go to a local Republican meeting of some kind. She’s always known my view on the politics thing, and this year the Republican Party has proven to be the bigger of two evils by miles.

She said, “Please don’t disown me” knowing that the political thing may be big enough to possibly disown her.

I relayed the story to my ex-husband. They used to hang out and go to movies together, but he always knew about the differences in our home and hers. He felt the same as I did about things. A little while later, he shared a picture from the Republican event and there she was naked faced in a small room full of senior citizens. He was horrified.

I was that much more certain I’d made the right choice in not socializing with her in person.

One day, after a couple months without hanging out she messaged me saying that local COVID numbers were down so “Can we be friends again?”

But that’s not how this works. Local numbers go down, people stop being diligent and then numbers go up again. It’s exactly what’s happened all over the country this fall. I was not going to be one of those people, but I agreed to do the video chat thing.

Her birthday rolled around and she messaged me upset because her husband had gotten the wrong kind of cake. My immediate reaction was to check my pantry for cake supplies and make plans to bake her a better cake and drop it on her porch the next day.

We set up a time to have a video chat the next morning… much earlier than I’m typically up and coherent but she’s an early bird in general and I was making brunch for my boyfriend and his son later that morning. I got up and sat at my desk for over an hour with my messages unread. She finally messaged me about how sideways her morning had gone and I did my best to not take it personally. I didn’t bake that cake.

I went to Mexico for my birthday in October. It was the first time I’d been anywhere since the pandemic began. The first time I’d been to Mexico, first time I met my boyfriend’s mom, and the first time I ate in a restaurant in months.

In Mexico, people were wearing masks everywhere. They had footbaths in every doorway where someone took your temperature and squirted sanitizer into your hand before you crossed the threshold. I felt safer in Mexico, terms of COVID exposure, than I felt anywhere at home.

The day after I got back, she video called me in hysterics. She sobbed that I’d gone to “dirty, nasty Mexico” but wouldn’t have coffee with her after she’d “begged” me for months. She went on about how low the local COVID numbers were as a way of saying that I was being overly cautious by staying home like I’ve been.

She was in a hotel room at the time.

She and her husband were on an anniversary trip to Las Vegas, having flown threw Phoenix. They were about to head out to a cigar bar. But the local numbers! Seriously.

Today I got the message asking if we were still best friends. I softballed a lot of it, but it ended with her saying “whatever” and that she wouldn’t take responsibility for my choice to abandon her without telling her how I’d felt. And she unfriended me on Facebook.

Part of me feels really shitty. I’ve been processing this feeling of grief and loss of that relationship for months. It’s been exhausting. But if I’m being honest, it’s a bit of relief that it’s over.

I’ve been questioning if I was justified in my stance.

Were these differences so big that they couldn’t be ignored anymore? Am I over-reacting and cutting one of the last people in my life out that I called my family? Or have I just gotten to the point of exhaustion where I simply don’t have the emotional bandwidth to keep overlooking and compromising my own beliefs?

It feels like the latter and as much as it hurts, I know that’s been one of the tales of 2020 that’s being repeated over and over again. The stakes have gotten too high to compromise or minimize some things.

It’s all too serious to just live life like there’s not a deadly pandemic. Like there hasn’t been a total upheaval of our political system. Like those of us who stay home and mask up when we don’t have a choice, forgoing all the things that were “normal life” like anniversary trips, restaurants, community theater… all things she’s been doing, unmasked and unaffected all year.. we are the ones that are over-reacting. Nope. I’m not going to be gaslit like that.

Wear a damn mask, people!

Stop putting your need for a haircut or brunch ahead of the reality that people are dying en masse and suffering long-lasting damage because people can’t be bothered to put a piece of cloth on their face when they go grocery shopping.

There is no reason for people to be making the pandemic political, but those who do only add to the personal impact it has on all of us.

I’m exhausted.

#covidiots #COVID #Politics #Personal #fuck2020

2 notes · View notes

umangharyana · 5 months ago

Text

Ration Card 2025: ई-केवाईसी न कराने वालों को राशन बंद, जानें पूरी खबर

Himachal Ration Card 2025: राशन कार्ड न केवल सरकारी योजनाओं का लाभ दिलाने का माध्यम है, बल्कि एक महत्वपूर्ण पहचान पत्र भी है। हिमाचल प्रदेश सरकार ने राशन कार्डधारकों के लिए बड़ा कदम उठाते हुए उन परिवारों का राशन बंद करने का फैसला लिया है, जिन्होंने अभी तक अपने राशन कार्ड को आधार कार्ड से लिंक नहीं कराया है। 1.45 लाख राशन कार्ड हुए रद्द सरकारी आंकड़ों के अनुसार, अब तक 1.45 लाख परिवारों का राशन बंद…

#E-KYC for Ration Card #Free Ration Scheme Update #Himachal Government Ration Scheme #Himachal Pradesh Ration Card E-KYC Process #Himachal Ration Card 2025 #Ration Card Cancelled in Himachal Pradesh #Supreme Court Order on Ration Card

0 notes

grim-faux · 4 years ago

Text

5 - Down the Drain

A trail of red footprints led from the shadows across to an iron door. If it wasn’t locked I might’ve continued through, driven on by my sick curiosity. Beyond the safety of a secured door could await dangers the same as the hall I was now in, but I couldn’t afford not to check. The thought alone brought chills to my spine, that behind any door a new danger could await. How far could I run before I was caught? In this place I welcomed broken lights.

I returned to the lit path now on my left, were another of the countless slain of this place rested. Briefly, I looked over his body, maybe he had a card or something I could use later. The nametag read Doug Jenkins, he was high level security, probably down here to regain control and lost himself in the process. He had no weapons, but he was grasping a walkie talkie. From that I salvage two batteries, there was a chance they would have no power given the drafty chill that slunk in through every corridor.

As I continued through the broken segregation gate, I realized this was where that camera shy freak had made his scene. I was glad he seemed to be gone, but his absence was discomforting. Nothing had changed since I left this area, the gate still locked, but the floor along my right had shattered from some climatic event. A thin edge of cement remained, enough for me to strafe along I gambled. It looked sturdy enough with rebar exposed at the crumbling edge, the drop wasn’t far enough to hurt if I did manage to fall.

The Asylum was shut down years ago, and degraded to a condemned state before the Murkoff Corpotration reopened it for their research. They didn’t even bother with the minimal of repairs to maintain it, they barely shoveled out the collapsed ruble from walls and floors. I could just picture the memo

All staff must use Cell 52-E to reach the other side of the upper floors

I began to wonder if some of the patients locked away were ever looked in on, or if Murkoff only focused on those used in their research. Even a doomed dog was fed up until he was put down. Those affiliated with Murkoff were some of the lowest of the lowest bastards out there.

Carefully I slide my back along the rough wall and tested my weight on what remained of the walkway. It felt more than sturdy, as I continued to slink along little by little. I tried to focus on my footing and not get distracted by the lost souls, locked in their broken routine. The man that had been smashing his skull against the walls had sat down and, I think he was mumbling to himself while he persisted to crack the side of his head on the corner of a pillar.

They could have easily killed me, the opportunity was still there should they decide to pursue - hunt me down. But the humane side of me felt sickened to the core. Something about this, everything that was done here, the way they were left, was all wrong. If there was a way to escape Mount Massive, why had they not left this place? Or had others already fled? The Warrant for Seizure indicated so, before all of this came about.

When I reached the other side, I barely recalled the twins and their sick promise. They were absent.

“You, ah, didn’t wait until I finished.” I sprang back as the man from the room I omitted to shut, sprang across the distance and shoved at the door. “But I saved some for you. Just wait.” He turned and skipped down the steps like a jolly school boy, his voice full of merriment. “Just wait…Mm! Hmm!”

Maybe I should have shut his door AND propped the little chair in front of it, for good measure.

The open hall behind me was the only available route. The lights above had failed in this section, but I could make out dark blood splatters scrawled on the wall across from me, illuminated by an open door. I wanted to avoid using the cameras NV as much as possible, but odd sounds were nearby somewhere in the dark. Beside me was a set of bars, but pressed against them ‘gazing’ up at me was another discarded man tied up in a straightjacket with bindings coiled about his mouth and eyes.

It was easy to feel sorry for him, and attempt to undo the cruelty done to him. But my instincts warned me to hold my ground, and this time I listened. The worst killers of our world could feign normalcy, but the soil in their basement could conceal the bodies of many duped by this illusion. I easily recognized a makeshift muzzle.

From this point on I burned it into my thoughts, if I didn’t I was damned. Speak with no one. Trust no one. EVERYONE wanted to kill me in some way. The MHS cop warned me to hide, well I could fuckin hide.

Ahead, someone, probably their ‘Father’ Martin, scrawled a new message for me in red.

God annoys…

I blinked and read again.

God Always Provides a Way.

Follow the blood

Below the wording was a red streak, another wide mark was on the ground leading into some sort of pressurized chamber. The interior was lined with what looked like foil or thermal material of some type, most likely a fire retardant. I examined the large pipes that ran along the upper corners, connecting into pressurized caps. As I entered my attention dropped to the floor, where there was a pair of bloody shoeprints I recognized. The door hissed shut upon my entry and a shriek of hydraulics spooked me. My mind flashed to Auschwitz, death camps and gas chambers. I knew at once this wasn’t to be my demise, it was a light chemical spray to sterilize the air. Though it did manage to stall my heart for a second.

Once the pumps ceased, the opposite door opened and I stepped out. I was still shaken, but continued on without hitch. Another broken segregation gate and beyond that stairs that curled up and around leading to the next floor. Behind the first set of steps lay the crushed pieces of a wheelchair, I ducked to check behind them for anything valuable to my progress but there was nothing, aside from more low key patient files discussing prescriptions for the none volatile class. The sounds of muttering came to me, and I took the concrete steps softly gazing up at the floor above.

On the wall was a large arrow indicating my route, I touched the edge to certify the blood was fresh, still sliding down the brick wall. A large plate read A Block. The Block I just came from was B Block. Good to know.

The voice grew louder, and echoed as I made the first landing. Another locked grate, but an area I was excused from exploring.

Continuing up the steps I could pick up an overbearing reek of old copper, along with the source of the voice. Another emaciated patient scooted sideways, pressing his knuckles into the weathered cement wall until he had worn the skin away leaving bloody smears.

“Down the drain. With the blood, he said.” He seemed fully lost in the wall and strafed right, then left, repeating his words. “Only way out is down the drain.”

Behind him slouched against the wall was what looked like a doctor, he was dressed in thick white scrubs stained black with blood. My shoes squelched in the fluid as I neared him, and I turned my eyes back to the patient as he continued with his song and dance. I raised the camera and filmed his jargon, then turned to the dead man. It looked as though he had been sliced in multiple areas and all his blood poured out onto the floor, I stepped over the puddle and looked into a crimson bucket across from him filled completely with the thick black clumps.

My stomach did a flip and I retreated to the far side of the hall, another dead end blocked with crap. I sat down on the desk to gather myself while I watched the patient shuffle and repeat. “Down the drain,” he said. I took a shallow breath through my collar and exhaled.

This reminded me of the dead man I found in the lavatory, with “Witness” painted on the wall above him. Down the drain. With the blood. I guess I knew where all the blood scribbles came from. It was never a mystery in the first place.

There was another file on the desk beside me. I checked my friend before I turned to the folder and did my best to record the pages with the night vision.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT “FATHER” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD

Helen-

Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program. My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since canceling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some “higher calling” have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you’re saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can’t imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality.

Please advise.

Dr. Neil Wolfram

Martin Archimbaud. Yep, sounded like my guy. It felt good to know for certain he was the one leaving all these messages for me.

Fuck you Murkoff. Why couldn’t you just let the man finger paint? It would have saved so many lives.

My heel slipped in the blood as I tried to step over it, but I caught myself before I could lose my balance. I shuffled along the floor following a set of bare feet prints stained thick with blood leading along the same route, to a hole in the concrete and rebar where the drooping arrow on the wall directed my path down into it.

“With the blood, he said.”

Sighing, I eased myself down the opening and looked around. Another corridor, blood stained floor, walls eroded and bleached, the usual. Furniture was crammed down the way with dark streaks across the surface, and another pressurized chamber with blood indicating through a sealed door.

I took note that this was the room I had seen from the other side of the gate, and cursed my bad luck colorfully.

The door failed to open on my approach, it was either locked due to malfunction or just flat out locked. There should be a way around, but the path marked out for me was through there. I wouldn’t rationalize following a blood trail left by a psychotic ‘priest,’ but maybe he would show me the way OUT of this place if I humored him.

I didn’t want to think about his plans if this was all some elaborate delusion of his, right before he or one of the other patients decided to murder me. In the distance I could hear screaming, or someone sobbing, or something between the two. It seemed like there was always someone crying out, for whatever reason. I had a suspicion that for many it was their last cry before death.

Or escape through finality.

Light on my feet. Be observant. And above all else, survive.

I covered my nose as the heavy stench of rot hit me hard. Another corpse, right beside the desk I crawled over. Everyone with a half a mind in this place was dead.

“Just shut up and let me think for a minute.”

The sound of grunts and meaty thwacks came from around the corner. I dove down against the wall and listened as the violence continued. It sounded like someone was sobbing and thumping about with wild abandon. “Quiet! Quiet! Ah!” Then it ended.

This place was horrible. I hated this place. Down the drain. Gotta get out. I repeated these meditations to myself as I crawled under a murky window with trails of soggy red slipping down. The wall would end in a few feet, I would be exposed to whomever was there.

Slowly, I peeked around the edge into what looked like an office, or check station. Another corpse of the asylum, and fresh I presumed. A patient stood over the body with a wet club, droplets still dripped from the desk onto the crushed man. It might’ve been my nerves, but I swore the body jerked as the last impulses left what was left of his brain.

The patient turned his head, then spun fully to where I was. I froze in place coiled in a crouch ready to sprint. I was right in the middle of the opening, there in full view of the murderer.

“I’d like you to stay quiet.”

He remained where he was and I stayed right where I was on my hands and knee. Caught in a stupor, I nodded and scooted away.

That was weird.

I checked a Security door from my humbled position, and he gently reminded me to be quiet. I used the shelf in the next hall to pull myself up and get going. I just needed to stay quiet. That corpse was quiet.

At the halls end waited a metal door which I carefully opened, without so much as a whisper. Inside the room a figure stood tall staring up at monitors mounted high on the wall. Below them was a darkened window, I was between figuring out what was marked on the glass and the man as he spoke to open air.

“Trying to trap us in here.” Camera stupid, get your camera. I lifted it and checked the visor, needed to hit record too. Of all things….

“Not a lot they can do about it lying in their own steaming guts, is there?”

The variants were responsible for this shit hole disaster. But how did they manage to kill the Security personal, and the MHS? As far as body count went (excluding limbs and pieces) those that could be identified had all been staff, very few of the slain had been patients. This statistic should be reversed, unless they moved their dead. I didn’t believe enough of them had the cognitive faculty for that, but I hardly viewed a blood stain that was unaccounted for. I was barely scraping the surface of this horror mystery.

“Who…?” He had spied me when the door creaked as I leaned in a little. “You’re one of Murkoff sons of bitches, aren’t you? I want to show you something.”

He had nearly reached me at the end of that sentence, but I had whirled away to run. He wanted to kill me. Thought I was Murkoff or something, maybe I looked too normal for him. I didn’t feel healthy in thought.

“You FUCKER!”

I tried the metal door across from the librarian, locked. No shit. I darted off as my pursuer skid around the corner. There was no other place for me to go, no place to hide! Maybe I could get back up the drain, it was my only option I could see.

At the halls darkened end, all but invisible was the hairline creep of light from a door! I picked up speed smashing it open with an arm, in the same motion I spun about catching the edge and threw it shut. I didn’t see if he had followed this far, or if his hoots had done him in.

I looked around, another office. There was a desk, filing cabinets that hadn’t found the hall yet, a barred room with lockers and janitorial equipment. I walked the perimeter and found an open cell door, through the NV feed I could make out a bed but little else. I entered and shut the gate and slipped under the bed. Here I lay safely secured by my only ally, the shadows. He would know I had no place to hide, no place to run. If only there was a way I could lock that gate.

The door knob twisted and the door opened. My breath caught as I turned my face into my shoulder and shut my eyes.

“Son’s of bitches.” I heard his footfalls fade. The door of a locker opened and shut, all in the same motion. “Sooner or later. Doesn’t matter.” I pried an eye open as he paced the room, he paused to examine the bars of the room I hid within. I stare at him unblinking, it felt like my heart and blood ceased all at once. If he came in he would find me.

But the closed gate deterred him, and he swung away knocking over the computer monitor out of spite. The screen crashed and flashed out beside my head, I hadn’t flinched from the explosion and saw bright spots as a result. “Doesn’t matter.” Satisfied with his inspection, he turned and exited the room whistling an off tune melody.

Even after his song faded, and the clack of a door echoed to the room, I waited. I could never overcome this icy clutch of feebleness I felt, the overbearing weight that my life was out of my control. I shoved myself a little more under the bed until my back pressed against the wall. For a moment I felt safe.

People live in famine, mothers watch their children starve. Families are torn apart by war, yet life goes on. Men kill children because their leader orders it, then live free and safe because they are still useful.

The world had fucked up shit in it. I was going to get out of here, I was going to survive and tell the story. Others had survived. My will couldn’t be broken, no matter what they did. I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. There will always be the worst, waiting just around the corner.

I pushed my arms out and crawled from under the bed. A little puddle of blood had stained my elbow, but it was so insignificant. This was probably my most favorite room in this entire place. It was so…tame.

“They weren’t experiments.” His sudden voice didn’t alarm me, I think I knew he was there the whole time. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, staring into the dark and where his shape moved. “They were rituals. A conjuring.”

A conjuring. This seemed along the same lines the Priest was on about. This ‘Walrider’ he called it, same as in the project reports that Murkoff based their studies. And they found it in the mountains.

I rose to my feet and left, trying to find the door so I could shut it, only to recall it was on the other side of the door frame. He was still muttering behind it as I tiptoed through the hall, listening for the echo of steps not my own. It sounded like the patient left through the metal gates, but I hadn’t seen the quiet man yet.

Cautious and quietly, I stepped beside the wall that separated us. He was still there, now staring at the cold corpse. He didn’t seem too interested as I passed by toward the control room, this suited me.

I peered into the open room before waltzing right in. Desk with monitor to my left, control panel where I left it, and lockers with a desk situated in front of them on the far right. I crossed over to the panel where a button sat on the terminal, one that looked important or might shed some light on my whereabouts. I gave it a swat and cringed when the lights behind the glass blazed a nasty yellow, the doors hissed as they opened.

Follow the blood.

I had to hand it to the ‘Father’ Martin, he was getting creative with his grim messages. If I moved side to side I could tell the arrow indicating my path was painted inside the sterilizing chamber, and Follow was scripted on the glass. It would have been more impressive if the message wasn’t written in blood.

My battery was running low on power, best to fix that now while everything was calm. I decided to use one that I had salvaged from the guard and popped it in, but was dismayed to find it only had half strength. Probably because it was some off brand Murkoff had ordered, typical. Better than nothing.

I listened, picking up the faint pats of bare feet echoing from the hall. The doors had made a good deal of noise when I activated them.

The camera went to its hoister, and I moved quickly to the lockers and slipped inside. Two lockers. Wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out if both were empty….

I held my breath when he entered. Indeed, it was the librarian. He approached my side of the room, checking the brightened window as he twisted the sticky club in his red hands. He was thinking of leaving, there was no one in this room. Just turn and leave, there would be no more noises, at least not until I was safe beyond those doors.

His gaze fell on the lockers. I swallowed as he moved over and pulled the latch on one. There were two lockers, someone was in the second one. That was what he was thinking.

He shut the door and turned to the next, right when I decided to throw it open and flew out. The door smashed into his chest, as a result I couldn’t clear the door and tumbled when my foot glanced the sharp lining of the interior. He toppled to his knees as I rolled into the filing cabinet.

“Come back here!” He had already made it to his feet and was nearly upon me as I scrambled to get up, my vision distorted by vertigo like in a bad dream. I bolted for the open hall dead ahead.

A sharp whistled cut through the air and I felt the crushing blow to my shoulder, causing me to stagger. The walls quivered as my vision warped, the pain began a slow march up my shoulder into my neck. I didn’t know if it was broken, quickly I decided it couldn’t be.

I zipped around the corners and flew over the desk, the patient had trouble keeping up from whatever Murkoff had done to him, or I was just moving too fast for my own good. I skipped across the bloody threshold of the sterilizer’s doors, they shut at once and misted the area with their foul smelling spray. Even after the other door opened I knelt down for a beat, to calm my nerves and test my shoulder. It was hurt, not fractured, but it would bruise up later. Regardless of what could happen, I needed my arms no matter what. Hell, if they were tethered by little tendons, or bloody-butchered stumps I would still use them. I couldn’t afford not to.

Red streaks and an arrow greeted me on the other side. At least it was something. I stepped out, checking around the corner and listened. No sounds, nothing but the occasional distant shriek. I ventured into the decrepit hall and tried the Security door, locked of course. The hall ahead was still inviting and the familiar echoes of cracking came to me, I stepped over a fire extinguisher as I went. I wanted to kick the stupid thing but knowing this place it would spew ice or blood, or something else horrible. The hall took a left, but in an alcove at its end was another dead man, but I wasn’t keeping count. Looked like another one of Murkoff’s Research division, he seemed a long way from home.

In actuality, I was losing my patience with them. I had seen so many corpses, dead and crushed in every way imaginable, and why? Why the fuck did they lose control of this place? Why wasn’t anyone alive? Why couldn’t they have gotten out, called someone, and kept me from joining them in this shithole?

I paused and sighed as I reached the corner. I wasn’t being fair. I had entered under my own terms, though I had misgivings, I ignored them until it was too late. The one to blame here was not the people duped into working the system. It was me. I had to look in the mirror and remind myself, I had climbed into that window. I wanted the story. I was getting the fuckin story of a lifetime.

Just had to survive it first.

“We gave him a chance.”

Oh for Christ’s sake….

“That we did.”

“I’d say we were more than fair.”

“Paragons of patience.”

The voices drifting around the corner sounded amused, or pleased, or every sort of happy I could describe. I glanced around the edge ready to bolt if necessary, but it looked like they had another one of those beautiful metal gates between them and me. I breathed a sigh of relief, and winced. My ribs hated me.

“Job-like in the suppression of our desires.”

“But now.”

“Now.”

“Now we indulge.”

“Yes.”

“His tongue and his liver.”

“Yours.”

“Mine.”

My options seemed unfairly limited.

I stepped out from behind the safety zone and moved forward, keeping eyes locked on the twins. They watched my every move with a morbid fascination I was not comfortable with. The gate between us might have looked locked, or they might wait until I neared and then they would burst through. They couldn’t know I was trapped here, if they had plans they would wait until I was too close that they could catch me with little effort. But I had no idea what was going on here.

Aside from the discussion of how to divide me up. I refused to imagine what those plans entailed.

The first door on the segregation section had been torn off and left in the middle of the floor. I stepped on it as I examined the area keeping a portion of my attention on the twins, always. They were on the other side of the second gate with weapons that could slip through the bars easily to deal fatal injuries. Beyond the frame on the left was another door labeled Security, I didn’t know if it was locked or not and I didn’t plan to get close enough to find out. They said nothing more, content to palm the flat side of their weapons and teeter anxiously as I weighed my ‘options.’ On my right was a smashed out window with a dark crimson stain stretched on the sill, but that presented no better route. Was the mark another indication of my path by the ‘Father?’

I looked out without getting too close, viewing a long drop to Block B where I first explored. The man that had been smashing his skull into walls had resumed his mission, and patrolled, sobbing about voices. From the distance he was easily identified by his blood drenched face, as his actions. I thought he would’ve succumbed to the self-mutilation long ago.

I pretended not to notice the twins as I climbed onto the sill and slipped over, grabbing the ledge on the other side and hung there. My shoes scuffed against the wall, but my grip was firm despite my wounded arm. There were no other areas of interest to the right, but I knew the twins could judge my actions and would wait for me wherever I decided to go. If I slipped under their view I might have a chance to get up on the other side and take off before they could surprise me.

Given there was any place to go once I was there. A locked door could be waiting, or a blocked corridor. The fresh bruise in my muscle alerted me to action, as visions of my body plummeting to certain death haunted the forefront of my mind. I hastened my movements locking it in my mind that I must not let go, no matter what. Was there even a way in, a shattered window that was away from those two?

There was, but it wasn’t far enough to be worthwhile. At this point my arm was burning, I needed to rest it or I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up. From there my only option would be to drop.

I braced my toes against the wall and heaved up over the frame enough to see into the hall.

They were gone.

#miles upshure #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction #outlast

1 note · View note

cinnalock · 5 years ago

Text

TWST Mond Twin Headcanons

((A masterlist of all the random facts and trivia bits for the Mond twins. I may create separate posts of new things in the future, but those new bits will always be added/archived in this post! As with some of my other character lists/profiles, a “last edited” date will be posted to inform when the last addition was.

Diamond Crown Academy, Katherine’s school, is created by @phoenix-manga.

Last Edited: 5-15-2020, added DCA Festival headcanons, corrected an old headcanon, newly added headcanons are in bold font.))

GENERAL HEADCANONS: headcanons that don't necessarily fit into a specific category, mainly little general snippets about the twins.

The Mond twins are a...peculiar set of siblings. They're friendly enough at their own schools, but get them together and you'll likely never see one without the other. They're very attached and seem to only trust each other. Despite how nice they seem, there always seems to be the aura that you talking to them feels like you're intruding in their space and better play by their rules because of it.

There's a rumor that the twins aren't entirely human, if they're human at all. Some believe they're fae or fairy. The twins have never addressed these rumors themselves and, if confronted with them, tend to give vague answers that neither confirm nor deny. Some believe that in of itself confirms the rumors, but the Monds have been known to be mischievous and may simply get entertainment out of confusing their classmates.

Despite their cunning, secretive behavior, the twins aren't bad or evil. They're mainly mischievous and distrustful of others. They're neutral at their worst, just wanting to protect each other above all else. They might relish in the chaos of something like a prank, but destruction and devastation doesn't sit well with them. They're not above schmoozing and sweet-talking to get something like an extension on homework or the last tart in the lunch line, but they wouldn't betray a friend to serve themselves. Ultimately, it's better to be on their good side, but being on their bad side isn't much of an inconvenience, unless the situation is very, VERY bad.

In regards to the above headcanon, the twins mostly represent characters that appear to be on the villain’s side before ultimately abandoning or straight-up betraying them, or characters that you’re absolutely sure are the main villains before the actual villain’s plot comes to light and you realize they were working against the evil.

"Canonically" for TWST Katherine might not be part of NRC due to the "all-boys school" angle, but at the very least she'd visit a lot; if she was part of a NRC dorm, it would be Ignihyde like her brother despite everyone and their grandmother expecting her to be sorted into Pomefiore. In Ignihyde, she'd specialize in web design, but she'd also have a knack for engineering; seeing various pieces like a giant puzzle to put together to make things work. Many classmates would come to her for help with building their own PCs.

Thomas and Katherine share a bank account, but have their own cards attached to it. Both earn relatively the same amount of money in their side jobs. Thomas' payments might be more substantial in the moment, but Katherine is commissioned much more frequently, either through bulk orders of products made by her own hand or companies paying substantial amounts for the rights to various recipes they pay her to concoct.

As proud as Thomas is of his sister's accomplishments, Katherine sends him a hysterical amount of perfumed goods of her own creation, asking for critiques. He does what he can, but to reduce them overwhelming his dorm room, he usually does his initial "testing" with them once before leaving them in a box on Pomefiore's doorstep.

Katherine's animal companion at DCA is an orchid mantis named Lamarie; while normally only the companion's owners can hear them speak, Thomas can hear Lamarie talk as well.

Lamarie is a very conceited, boastful little bug to the point where Vil would describe her as "full of herself" if he could hear her speak. Despite her selfish attitude, she cares about Katherine dearly and will go to great lengths to protect her, even if the effort isn't always necessary.

The Monds use a similar fragrance mainly comprising of cloves and fresh rosemary. Thomas' cologne also contains hints spearmint and bergamot. Katherine's perfume also contains hints of lavender and patchouli. Their respective scents are present in various products made by Katherine, and they regularly bathe with the pure oil mixtures stirred into their bath water. This leaves their smells being particularly persistent (almost overwhelming) and while Katherine says there's no magic additives, non- or weak-magicked beings tend to find themselves being slowly entranced or even "hypnotized" by the smell after a certain period, weakening their resolve and rationality.

While their favorite food is chestnuts, both of the twins' favorite dish is chicken curry, though Katherine likes Indian-style curry while Thomas likes Japanese-style curry. While both enjoy a certain level of spiciness, they tend to exaggerate their ability to tolerate it, leading to some...interesting scenarios when the host/cook takes their word on such.

While curry is their favorite food, Katherine enjoys caviar tasting, though Thomas finds caviar gross. However, Thomas enjoys artisan cheeses while Katherine loathes it.

Both twins love boba drinks, particularly ones with lots of fancy toppings. Thomas eats the toppings out of the whip cream with a spoon before drinking, Katherine likes to drink the toppings through her straw as they sink into the drink.

The twins are relatively neutral when it comes to sweets, though once in a blue moon they get plagued by a ravenous sweet tooth. They prefer baked goods over candy when it comes to satisfying their sugar cravings. Thomas is a straightforward cake-lover, especially chocolate (god tier: chocolate lava cake); Katherine will say her favorite dessert is French macarons because of the aesthetic, but she'll sneak out at the crack of dawn to get donuts for the aforementioned sugar craving above.

Thomas is naturally gifted in herbology and plant-based magic. Katherine grew into it in her teens with lots of training and practice, but she had the terrible luck of frequently killing plants when she was a child. When Thomas discovered his affinity, he'd often revive the plants to keep Katherine from crying. Katherine's prized possession is a lamb's tail succulent Thomas gave her when they were kids that he guided her into keeping alive. Thomas doesn't have a passion for herbology, but he keeps a small potted lilac tree in his dorm, as Katherine gave it to him as the first plant she was able to successfully grow during her first year at DCA.

On the flip side, Thomas could burn cereal as a child. Like how he helped Katherine with gardening, Katherine has tried to help his cooking skills. He learned well enough, but without a dedicated cooking class at NRC (chemistry being the closest thing, which HAS surprisingly helped), his learning process has been slow. He's an okay cook now, and what he does make is at least edible if not enjoyable, but it's definitely not pretty. (Thomas: *standing casually in front of a collapsed cake* "Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon appetite.")

While Thomas is in the board game club, if the club is cancelled or on the days it doesn't meet, he sometimes sits in on magical shift or track and field clubs to help get regular exercise in; he also helps in tutoring/instructing junior students in the clubs.

If the gardening research club doesn't meet, Katherine might show up to the greenhouse/club room to watch and fuss over the plants, even if she doesn't actually interfere with them because she wants to be a good gardener. Sometimes other clubs, usually the volleyball club, will drag her to their meetings to keep her from worrying.

Thomas is usually on the magical shift team for Ignihyde during the tournament, but he's willing to yield his position on the team if there's 7 players stronger than he is.

BACKSTORY HEADCANONS: headcanons relating to their backstory or explanations of how their origins affect other aspects of their life.

The twins were taught how to read, write, and most basic skills by Mim, including how to use magic. This was to her advantage so they could be independent enough to follow her orders (and not bother her when she had no tasks for them).

However, King Arthur adapted magic into his being over his long life, both by being tutored by Merlin for so long and then over the course of his main journeys and triumphs. Spending so much time with the twins as kits, he imbued them with a little of this magic and is the main reason they remember him so well despite how young they were.

In short, the twins had an adaptation to both good and black magic when they were young.

The twins can change between being human and being squirrels. They themselves have wondered if they could transform midway into a hybrid form, but they’re worried about getting “stuck” and haven’t tried. They also don’t want to try because being born as squirrels is a secret they’ve kept from their classmates (they believe it’s a secret to the teachers and staff as well, but both Crowley and Citrouille are well aware of this, despite not knowing full details of the twins’ origins).

Since Mim is an incredibly powerful sorcerer, the twins adapted a human lifespan once they were transformed by her. They were only a few months old as young squirrels when she transformed them and they had become children as humans, but they also started to age as humans as time went on.

The twins adore mainstream human cuisine, but they still have the tendency to snack on nuts and berries they pluck straight off the plant. They have to be careful of this habit because while they can digest certain things like fresh acorns, they have to be mindful that someone might notice them eating raw foods that would normally be poisonous to humans, such as uncooked acorns.

Naturally, the twins excel at Animal Linguistics. They have to be particularly careful about this because animals on campus risk revealing the twins’ secret to other students proficient in Animal Linguistics if they’re spotted transforming. They have to feign natural excellency at the subject as humans, but also not be found out when transforming into squirrels to use their natural forms to their advantage.

The twins don’t remember Merlin very well from the short time he was looking after them. While he seemed kind enough in wanting to save them from Mim, they’re not interested in reuniting with him because they don’t know his true intentions.

What they don’t know is that Merlin had managed to locate them when they started school, but has decided to leave them alone for the most part. His original agreement with Arthur’s son was to make sure they were released safely into the wild and he sees their current situation as a way to interpret it. He’s normally away, but sometimes he checks in, guiding them as a disembodied voice or animating objects to lead them in the right direction. The twins write this off as normal absurdity in their magic-filled schools and don’t realize it’s him.

The twins weren't sorted into Savanaclaw or Sagamore despite being animal-humans partially because they're not clear hybrids. Another, bigger reason is that their memories from being in nature are not pleasant ones (first being orphaned as kits and then living under Mim's hand) and they want to distance themselves from nature and their "origins" as much as possible.

They put a lot of effort into learning as much as they could about the modern world in such a short amount of time. Their knowledge is certainly passable, but they still slip up here and there. They prioritized learning alchemy for potions that could help them stay awake to study longer or help retain information a bit better. The same came with learning how to use computers as they noticed it was important in the current society. It was difficult for them when they were in hiding before they enrolled, but their fear possibly being enslaved by another witch encourage them to study hard and get stronger in both knowledge and resolve.

Lamarie knows they’re origins and the twins know she knows, but she keeps their secret to respect their wishes and protect Katherine, worried that the witch from their past might be trying to find them.

Lilia and Malleus are also highly aware that the twins aren't human, but they keep it to themselves.

One reason the twins use such strong fragrances in their products is because when they were still hiding at NRC, one persistent Savannaclaw student could pick up on their scent in rooms they were previously in during the night. Even if they were in human form in that room, the student specifically mentioned picking up on the scent of "squirrel" so it lead the twins to believe that even as humans their natural scent/musk smells animalistic. They threw the student off their literal scent before he could find them out by slipping a potion into his drinks and food to give him horrible allergies for the rest of his time at NRC, making him unable to smell clearly until he graduated.

IN-GAME HEADCANONS: headcanons regarding how the twins would work as canon characters in the actual game.

Thomas' unique magic is called "Found Your Weak Spot". He zeroes in on an opponent's weakness, whether it's physical, emotional, or magical and identifies how to exploit it; his attacks become critical.

Katherine's unique magic is called "Take a Deep Breath". A pleasant, but abundant fragrance overtakes her opponents, confusing their minds and slowing their movements, making their attacks much easier to dodge.

If they were in the game, they'd have an overblot boss battle as a special event. During the event, a side story would unfold where the player finds out about their past. The event would reward the player for participating by giving them rare cards where the twins unlock a human-squirrel hybrid form (similar to Savanaclaw students). The cards would depict stories of the twins trying to come to terms with being more open about their origins with their classmates, as well as trying to adjust to their hybrid forms.

CHARACTER RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS: headcanons explaining how the twins, either separately or together, interact with canon or other OC characters.

During holidays where students can visit home, the twins stay at NRC, normally spending it having huge gaming marathons with Idia. While it took years of getting to know Thomas for Idia to open up to the idea, he enjoys how they're much more willing to venture out to restock on snacks and other supplies in his place. Ortho, unsurprisingly, has to be the voice of reason and makes sure the trio doesn't die from their diet of pizza and chocolate pretzels during this time.

Going back to how the twins have relatively normal diets, they will eat the most decadent, indulgent food concoctions (think burgers with jelly donuts as buns or hotdogs with s’more toppings) in front of Vil just to horrify him. Vil’s motions to have them banned from Pomefiore dorm and a restraining order from him personally have gone unapproved.

While not particularly kid-oriented, the twins are very good at interacting with Ortho. Thomas tries to look after him when Idia isn't around, particularly performing small maintenance on Ortho's suit (such as replacing worn wires or tightening bolts) when it wears a little from extensive use in the middle of the school day. Katherine has had less interaction with Ortho, but gives him little trinkets and souvenirs from DCA when she visits Thomas.

Cheka doesn't know the twins all that well, but he likes their long hair worn in braids (or, as he calls them, their "head-tails").

HOLIDAY HEADCANONS: headcanons specifically centered around how the twins celebrate the holidays.

During their first Christmas at NRC when they were hiding, they'd sneak into dorms and watch holiday movies any students were watching. They were enamored by gingerbread houses and managed to get a boxed kit each year to decorate, but now that they're older, they decide on a design and Katherine will bake the pieces herself when she visits NRC during the holiday break. Ortho typically joins them and has fun helping decorate the structure; he tries to get Idia to join, but the older Shroud tends to hyper fixate on one area to decorate and over-obsesses on how to make it "perfect" to not ruin the overall look of the gingerbread house. They're all glad Idia joins them, but they worry about whether or not he's actually having fun with it.

DCA FESTIVAL HEADCANONS: headcanons regarding the festival held by Diamond Crown Academy.

Katherine gives her bath products to be sold at the perfume booths by the alchemy students. She checks in occasionally to see if they need more of her products (and sometimes to man a stall for awhile so someone else can take a break), but she's normally involved in the more physically active attractions.

Katherine's duties for the festival rotates throughout the course of it. Since one of her strongest subjects is Obstacle Run (see: squirrel), she spends a good amount of time at the obstacle course being a potential challenger for the visiting students to race against.

Katherine is part of an idol group, but with rotating performances from different groups, she doesn't have to spend a lot of time on stage.

Despite not being a dorm leader, a lot of DCA students recognize Thomas as Katherine's brother (either as a formal acquaintance or just "hey, he looks exactly like the girl from Chateau Beastiale") so the native students are more open to approaching him out of familiarity. Some students even "drag" him to a certain booth or attraction to get his opinion on their hard work.

The first few years, Thomas was content to just wander around on his own. He tried hanging out with Rook during the festival for a bit, but the attention Rook tends to get got a little boring for Thomas to put up with. Now he just trades off who he hangs out with, if he hangs out with anyone at all while Katherine's busy.

Thomas doesn't realize it, but he has a bit of a "prince charming" reputation himself. This is because of his long hair and charming demeanor, but DCA students fawned over him at a distance one time while he was helping Katherine fix her hair before one of her performances, people swooning over his caring "older brother" instinct.

Aside from watching Katherine's group, Thomas tries to distance himself from the idol performances. Whether it comes from wanting to tease their colleague's brother or just wanting Thomas' attention, some groups will drag him on stage after their initial performance and encourage him to try and dance along to one of their songs. He goes along despite being embarrassed because he'd find it more embarrassing to "run away" or cause some sort of scene at Katherine's school by protesting.

Thomas usually spends his time trying out different foods, but he'll also find himself in the art gallery, trying to see if there's any pieces inspired by King Arthur or the twins' original home world. If there is, he purchases it immediately if he artist lets him, but given the unlimited points of inspiration in the world, he almost never sees any pieces.

He also spends a surprising amount of time at the Futterwacken dorm because the sentient tea sets stir a strange feeling of nostalgia in him. While he doesn't interact with Riddle too often, them both enjoying the tea parties at the festival allows them to catch up and have fun in familiar company, even if they don't usually hang out at NRC.

It's through the above that Thomas came into a possession of a very strange sugar bowl. The dish's enthusiasm humored him a great deal and when he asked about it, it brought attention to how nobody at DCA actually knew where that particular sugar bowl had come from and, with the staff's permission, they allowed Thomas to buy it and take it back to his dorm. The little bowl's antics still continue to amuse him, but he can't seem to make it understand that he doesn't want sugar in anything other than coffee or tea. He doesn't drink energy drinks or do his alchemy homework in his room anymore...

SPICY HEADCANONS: a link to general headcanons regarding NSFW headcanons about the twins. This set of headcanons will always linked at the bottom of the post. These headcanons will typically contain explict, sexual details so please do not read if you are not comfortable with such. (no link exists at this time)

#mond twins

11 notes · View notes

5-crofters-jams · 6 years ago

Text

So ADHD Roman, am I right?

A bullet point fic

Word count: Just about 1.2k

Warnings: Medicinal drug reference, panic attacks, self deprecation

Roman who was never diagnosed as a child because he was a bright kid and never had issues learning

Roman who didn't see anything wrong with giving the people at his table the answers to worksheets

Roman who would always blurt out the answer before anyone else could

Roman who never had an inside voice

Roman who spent the entirety of second grade at a desk alone by the door because he was "too distracting"

Roman who was always high energy, but also developed subtle tics like rubbing his nose or shaking his leg

Roman who constantly fidgets with anything he can get his hands on

Roman who never seemed to be able to get his homework done one time

Roman who began to struggle in middle school when it came to finishing tasks and getting organized, but still managed to pull through

Roman who tried hard not to cry in eighth grade when he got his first-ever B on a report card in English, solely because he forgot to turn in a singular assignment

Roman who begins to muddle through freshman year

Roman who may be easily distracted, but isn't dumb

Roman who has to tell himself this when more Bs and even Cs follow

Roman who realizes he has a problem in tenth grade when final projects roll around and he has to do them all in one night

Roman who doesn't sleep that night and still doesn't finish everything

Roman who's on the brink of panic but still can't force himself to concentrate

Roman who can't "buckle down and do it" like his parents tell him to

Roman who turns in his first incomplete essay and buries himself in Patton's sweater, trying his best not to cry on the bus and failing as he writes his English teacher an email of apology

Roman who can't keep a schedule and can't conceptualize time

Roman who grows so terrified of failure he can barely start an assignment

Roman who turns in another incomplete essay

Roman who makes the conscious choice not to take AP English because he knows he can't handle it, and it hurts him

Roman who knows he's only doing so well because of his impeccable memory and good test taking skills

Roman who's so frustrated with himself because he's better than this, he knows he could be better if... if something...

Roman who won't move on from a topic until he understands it completely, hyperfocusing on a math problem for twenty minutes trying everything he can to work it out, even when people tell him to move on and come back to it later

Roman who acts out grand stories alone in his room and leaves homework to the wayside as he stays up unholy hours

Roman who gets the sudden urge to write poetry instead of sleeping

Roman who fixates on fandoms for years at a time until a new one forcefully yanks away his interest

Roman who gets complimented in theatre for being smart because of how quickly he memorizes his lines, but can't memorize a math formula

Roman who goes to the therapist for fear of having OCD and is shocked when she mentions ADHD instead

Roman who takes the tests and goes through the motions and is genuinely surprised that his IQ is as high as it is and wonders if there was a mistake on the sheet

Roman who's finally officially diagnosed, though it's not what he expected

Roman who insists on getting the first medication he can be on to "fix himself"

Roman who doesn't notice a huge difference in himself on adderall, though Patton swears he's more relaxed and less fidgety

Roman bringing this up at a med evaluation and the doctor suggesting he take a higher dosage

Roman who goes from ten total milligrams to forty over the course of one day

Roman who can't sleep that night

Roman who takes another twenty milligrams the next morning

Roman who can barely eat the whole day

Roman who's almost fine until his hands and face start to feel as though they're vibrating in last period

Roman who tries so hard to stick it out and see the class through, but looks at the clock and realizes he can't take another half an hour of this

Roman who has to rationalize everything aloud to himself or else he can't process it in the moment of adrenaline

Roman who has to talk himself down from a panic attack in the bathroom

Roman who tells the teacher this, and luckily she lets him sit outside in the hall and try to eat something

Roman who's absolutely petrified, but doesn't show it

Roman who's packing up his things and talking to his friend Virgil about what's going on with him, verbally reassuring himself just as much as Virgil that he was going to be fine

Roman who hates how he starts to panic again and tear up when Virgil makes a passing joke about Roman landing in the hospital, even as Virgil profusely apologizes once Roman told him how much that comment set him off

Roman who makes a comment about his current state to his kinda friend Logan, who tells him he has ADHD too and knows exactly what he's going through

Roman who almost wants to cry with relief knowing that what was happening to him was normal and that he wasn't headed to an early grave due to an accidental overdose

Roman who guiltily tells his mom that they're going to have to cancel their college visit that night due to his current state of still feeling the effects of the panic attack

Roman who's mom knows her son and takes him to the urgent care to quell his overthought worries

Roman who nervously rambles and over describes his symptoms along with their probable causes to the nurses and doctors as they run a few minor tests

Roman who realizes with relief that the effects wear off with time, just as they said they would

Roman who comes home absolutely wiped out and wants to sleep for twelve hours, but unfortunately has school the next day

Roman who doesn't take any meds whatsoever for at least week for fear of that happening again

Roman who's mom gives him paperwork to turn in to the special ed department to work out any accommodations he might need

Roman who almost doesn't turn it in because kids are mean and kids will talk and they tell him that special ed was a place for the dumb kids, and no matter how untrue that may be, he fell into a pit of self-consciousness and insecurity

Roman who outwardly insists with gusto that he's just fine and won't ask for help

Roman who has to assure himself he's not dumb every time he struggles to finish a late night assignment or finishes a test last because he spent a good portion of the time thinking about how he would direct a production of Newsies

Roman who is smart, but disorganized. Creative, but struggles with executive dysfunction

Roman who's got a long way yet to go, but is trying his damnedest to be the best he can be.

#Roman Sanders #Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides fic #Sanders Sides fanfiction #Thomas Sanders #Rolo writes

515 notes · View notes

savage-rhi · 5 years ago

Text

😔

Hey guys, a quick update on my end of things.

-My peer support specialist program has been canceled. I will not be able to pursue this career nor get my license until fall unless the virus is still rampant at that time.

-I lost my school job in full. There was no feasible way the company could afford us with all the school cancelations. We’re all still with the company, but technically we all got ‘fired’ so that we can get unemployment in my state without much hassle (Oregon) and we will all be rehired when this thing blows over.

-I was supposed to get my ‘final’ paycheck today and it hasn’t processed yet and I have a bill due.

-I have been trying to get unemployment, but the phones and the website has been bombarded to the point where it is near impossible to interact with someone to navigate the system. I have already been rejected once because of the ridiculous technicalities the Oregon Unemployment guidelines have and have had to reapply. They need to ease up on them because we are dealing with a pandemic.

-I managed to get enough food that I can ration out for almost three weeks.

-I’ve been stuck trying to get prescription refills for my fibro, arthritis, and hypothyroidism because of the chaos.

-Currently, I’m trying to seek remote work (preferably something with writing) so I can avoid interacting with too many people since I am at risk of getting really sick if I catch corona.

-I’m having difficulty finding and obtaining food for my reptiles (snakes and lizards) because of this mess.

-I have gotten a few bills postponed, but I am still dealing with rent, student loan debt, and credit card debt from paying off a hospital bill way back when.

There’s a lot happening, and I’m trying hard to get to the good. I hope everyone affected by this pandemic is safe and has enough supplies. You guys mean a lot to me, so hang in there. I know I’m going to try my best to.

#gotta get to the good #stressful times guys #im trying to focus on writing and doing things that make me happy #but its been really hard these last two days #im sorry to everyone i haven't had much come up right now

7 notes · View notes

deniscollins · 5 years ago

Text

The Hardest Questions Doctors May Face: Who Will Be Saved? Who Won’t?

If you were a medical director and had 10 ventilators with 30 people needing the, thus can only save the life of 10 out of the 30, how would you determine who gets a ventilator by: (1) age (preference to young), (2) highest likelihood of survival, (3) most in need, (4) lottery, (5) first-come, first-served, (6) combination (if so, which ones), (7) something else (if so, what)? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

The medical director of the intensive care unit had to choose which patients’ lives would be supported by ventilators and other equipment. Hurricane Sandy was bearing down on Bellevue Hospital in New York City in 2012, and the main generators were about to fail. Dr. Laura Evans would be left with only six power outlets for the unit’s 50 patients.

Hospital officials asked her to decide which ones would get the lifesaving resources. “Laura,” one official said. “We need a list.” After gathering other professionals, Dr. Evans checked off the names of the lucky few.

Now, she and doctors at hospitals across the country may have to make similarly wrenching decisions about rationing on a far bigger scale. Epidemic experts predict an explosive growth in the number of critically ill patients, combined with severe shortages of equipment, supplies, staffing and hospital beds in areas of the U.S. where coronavirus infections are surging, hot spots that include New York, California and Washington State.

Health workers are urging efforts to suppress the outbreak and expand medical capacity so that rationing will be unnecessary. But if forced, they ask, how do they make the least terrible decision? How do they minimize deaths? Who even gets to decide, and how are their choices justified to the public?

Medical providers are considering these questions based on what first occurred in China, where many sick patients were initially turned away from hospitals, and now is unfolding in Italy, where overwhelmed doctors are withholding ventilators from older, sicker adults so they can go to younger, healthier patients.

Choosing between patients “goes against the way we used to think about our profession, against the way we think about our behavior with patients,” said Dr. Marco Metra, chief of cardiology at a hospital in one of Italy’s hardest-hit regions.

In the United States, some guidelines already exist for this grim task. In an effort little known even among doctors, federal grant programs helped hospitals, states and the Veterans Health Administration develop what are essentially rationing plans for a severe pandemic. Now those plans, some of which may be outdated, are being revisited for the coronavirus outbreak.

But little research has been done to see whether the strategies would save more lives or years of life compared with a random lottery to assign ventilators or critical care beds — an option some support to avoid bias against people with disabilities and others.

Some commonly recommended rationing strategies, researchers found, could paradoxically increase the number of deaths. And protocols involve value judgments as much as medical ones, and have to take into account the public’s trust.

If hospitals withhold treatment by age, where do they draw the line? If they give lower priority to those with certain underlying health conditions, they may in effect be offering black Americans less treatment than white Americans. If physicians try to redirect resources — putting a patient on a ventilator for a few days, then giving it to someone else who appears to have better prospects — more people may die because few would get adequate treatment. And if many patients have a similar chance of survival, what fair way is there to make a choice?

The federal government, so far at least, is not providing national rationing guidelines for the coronavirus outbreak. Officials from various states, medical associations and hospitals are discussing their own plans, potentially resulting in very different decisions on life-and-death matters about which there are deep disagreements, even among medical professionals.

“You have to be really clear about what you are trying to achieve,” said Christina Pagel, a British researcher who studied the problem during the 2009 H1N1 flu pandemic. “Maybe you end up saving more people but at the end you have got a society at war with itself. Some people are going to be told they don’t matter enough.”

‘The Most Good’

Just before the coronavirus outbreak, Dr. Evans, the physician at Bellevue, moved across the country to direct the intensive care unit at the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle. The city became one of the first areas in the United States to see community spread of the virus.

The hospital is doing whatever it can to prevent the need to ration — what Dr. Evans referred to as “an ethical obligation.” Like other institutions, it is trying to increase supplies, training staff to act in roles that may be outside their usual jobs and postponing elective surgeries to free up space for coronavirus patients. Some cities are racing to construct new hospitals.

Strategies to avoid rationing during the pandemic were published by the National Academy of Medicine. But hospitals across the country vary in their adherence to such steps. At the University of Miami’s flagship hospital, surgeons were told last Monday to cancel elective surgeries, but across the street at Jackson Memorial Hospital, they were “given wide discretion over whether to cancel or proceed,” according to an update sent to physicians.

Dr. Evans is working with health leaders in Washington State to figure out how to implement triage plans. Their goal, she said, would be “doing the most good for the most people and being fair and equitable and transparent in the process.”

But guidance endorsed and distributed by the Washington State Health Department last week suggested that triage teams under crisis conditions should consider transferring patients out of the hospital or to palliative care if their baseline functioning was marked by “loss of reserves in energy, physical ability, cognition and general health.”

The concept of triage stems from Napoleon’s battlefields. The French military leader’s chief surgeon, Baron Dominique Jean Larrey, concluded that medics should attend to the most dangerously wounded first, without regard to rank or distinction. Later, doctors added other criteria to mass casualty triage, including how likely someone was to survive treatment or how long it would take to care for them.

Protocols for rationing critical care and ventilators in a pandemic had their beginning during the anthrax mailings after the Sept. 11 attacks, but have not previously been implemented.

Dr. Frederick M. Burkle Jr., a former Vietnam War physician, laid out ideas for how to handle the victims of a large-scale bioterrorist event. After the SARS outbreak stressed Toronto hospitals in 2003, some of his ideas were proposed by Canadian doctors, and they made their way into many American plans after the H1N1 pandemic in 2009. “I have said to my wife, ‘I think I developed a monster here,’” Dr. Burkle said in an interview.

What worried him was that the protocols often had rigid exclusion criteria for ventilators or even hospital admission. Some used age as a cutoff or pre-existing conditions like advanced cancer, kidney failure or severe neurological impairment. Dr. Burkle, though, had emphasized the importance of reassessing the level of resources sometimes on a daily or hourly basis in an effort to minimize the need to deny care.

Also, the plans might not achieve their goals of maximizing survival. For example, most called for reassigning a ventilator after several days if a patient was not improving, allowing it to be allocated to a different patient.

But rapidly cycling ventilators might not give anyone enough chance to improve. When the coronavirus causes severe pneumonia, doctors are finding that patients require treatment for weeks.

In Canada, a study of H1N1 patients found that 70 percent of those who would have been withdrawn from ventilators after a five-day time trial if a rationing plan had been implemented actually survived with continued care.

Researchers at a British hospital had similar findings, concluding that “a new model of triage needs to be developed.”

A Score Card and a Lottery

Many of the original plans in the U.S. were developed exclusively by medical personnel. But in Seattle, public health officials gathered community input on a possible plan more than a decade ago.

Some citizens feared that using predicted survival to determine access to resources — a common strategy — might be inherently discriminatory, according to a report on the exercise. Citing “institutional racism in the health care system,” they were concerned that the metrics for some groups, like African-Americans and immigrants, would be skewed because they had not received the same quality of care.

There were similar findings in Maryland, where researchers at Johns Hopkins engaged residents across the state in deliberations over several years.

The researchers presented them with several options. Hospitals could assign ventilators on a first-come, first-served basis. Some thought that could disadvantage people who lived far from hospitals. A lottery struck other participants as more fair.

Others argued for a more outcome-oriented approach. One goal could be saving the highest number of lives, regardless of factors like age. A different goal could be saving the most years of life, a strategy favoring younger, healthier patients. Participants also considered whether those playing a valuable role in a pandemic, like medical workers who risked their lives, should be made a priority.

After the project ended, the Hopkins researchers designed a framework that assigns scores to patients based on estimated probability of short- and long-term survival. The latter was defined by whether the person had a pre-existing life expectancy of at least a year. Ventilators would be provided, as available, according to their ranking. The framework recommends a lottery for lifesaving resources when patients have identical scores. Stage of life may also be used as a “tiebreaker.” Decisions should be made by designated triage officers, not individual doctors caring for patients, and there should be a limited appeals process in cases of resource withdrawal, the protocol said.

The public input led the Hopkins researchers not to incorporate most exclusion criteria.

Dr. Lee Daugherty Biddison, one of the effort’s leaders, said that was because most participants were uncomfortable excluding patients with underlying health issues. Preconditions don’t always predict survival from respiratory viruses, and having chronic diseases like diabetes, kidney failure and high blood pressure often tracks with access to medical care. Rationing based on these conditions would be “essentially punishing people for their station in life,” Dr. Biddison said.

The Hopkins group published a description of the framework last year, and doctors from other Maryland hospitals are teleconferencing twice a day to prepare to implement the plan if conditions grow extreme. Dr. Biddison has also been sharing the recommendations with doctors across the country.

In Pennsylvania, Dr. Douglas B. White, chairman of ethics in critical care medicine at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine, is using the Hopkins protocol to help prepare hospitals in his state.

In Colorado, Dr. Matthew Wynia, a bioethicist and infectious disease doctor, is working on a plan that would also assign a score. In his rubric, the first considerations are odds of survival and expected length of treatment. He said there was wide agreement among planners “not to make decisions on perceived social worth, race, ethnic background and long-term disability status,” which some fear could happen if doctors had to make seat-of-the-pants judgments without guidelines.

He is also trying to ensure that patients on admission to Colorado hospitals are asked whether they would forgo a ventilator if there were not enough for everyone. “One thing everyone agrees on is that the most morally defensible way to decide would be to ask the patients,” Dr. Wynia said.

He supports the idea of reassigning ventilators in certain cases. “If things are clearly getting worse, it’s really hard to justify a stance of once you’re on a vent, you own it, no matter how many people have to die in the meantime,” Dr. Wynia said.

Unlike in Italy, where age has been used in rationing treatment, some people developing protocols elsewhere have de-emphasized it. “There are arguments about valuing the young over the old that I am personally very uncomfortable with,” Dr. Pagel, the British researcher, said, including that young people should be a higher priority because they have more life ahead of them.

“Where is your threshold? Is a 20-year-old really more valuable than a 50-year-old, or are 50-year-olds actually more useful for your economy, because they have experience and skills that 20-year-olds don’t have?”

A Right to Know

As Hurricane Sandy intensified outside Bellevue in 2012, Dr. Evans referred to New York State guidelines, since updated — which some hospital leaders have said they will follow if overwhelmed by the coronavirus — on how to allocate ventilators in a pandemic using a scoring system that tries to estimate someone’s chance of survival. She pulled together an ad hoc committee of doctors, ethicists and nurses. “Having a system and procedures gave us a sense we had some control of the situation,” she recalled.

For those about to lose electricity, she and her colleagues stationed two staff members at the bedside of all patients who relied on ventilators, preparing to manually squeeze oxygen into their lungs with flexible Ambu bags.

Looking back, Dr. Evans feels the patients and their families had the right to know that their machines would lose power, but in the crisis they hadn’t been told. The doctors also did not think to ask whether any patients or their families might volunteer to give up a power outlet so that it could be provided to someone else. “It wasn’t even on my radar,” Dr. Evans said.

In the end, it was improvisation that prevented tragic rationing at Bellevue. The generator fuel pumps failed, but a chain of volunteers hand-carried diesel up 13 flights of stairs. Dr. Evans’s patients were all maintained on backup power until they were transferred to other hospitals.

“I remember it really vividly,” she said of the experience. “It’s going to stay with me my entire professional career.”

#Hospitals #Doctors #Rationing

2 notes · View notes