#and only then you can come back and debate policy with me like an adult

[kelluinox]

Why does my family cling to Israel and Israel's continued existence? Simple. You see, when we were being persecuted and killed by the Nazis, and my family was chased out and was stripped of their citizenship, they tried to go to America. Only America turned them away. They had nowhere else to go. No one would accept them. No one wanted them. You know the only place that did? Israel

[hjohn3]

The Sectarianism of Keir Starmer

Why the Labour Leader’s Treatment of Jeremy Corbyn Does Himself and His Party No Service

By Honest John

“Let me be very clear, Jeremy Corbyn will not stand for Labour at the next general election. What I said about the party changing I meant and we are not going back… It will never again be a party of narrow interests… If you don’t like that… I say the door is open and you can leave.” - Keir Starmer, 15th February 2023

KEIR STARMER, in a speech to party faithful at the Toynbee Hall in East London on 15th February, reached the culmination of his campaign of dissociation of his Labour Party from that led by Jeremy Corbyn by confirming the permanent removal of the Labour whip from the former leader. Starmer stated that Corbyn will not be permitted to stand as a Labour candidate for North Islington at the next General Election, a seat he has represented since 1983. This decision is the denouement of a political headache that has afflicted Starmer ever since he took the bold step of removing the Labour whip from Corbyn in October 2020, following the latter’s unapologetic response to the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) inquiry into anti semitism within Labour under Corbyn’s leadership. The EHRC found the party itself to be in breach of equalities legislation and the former leader culpable in failing to address an acknowledged problem of explicit or implicit anti Jewish racism against party members by left wing activists within Labour. Ever since that step, the question as to whether Corbyn should have the whip restored and so avoid Labour division in one of its safest seats, has remained a dilemma for the leadership. Now we are clear.

Starmer, acknowledging the personal toxicity of Corbyn at the 2019 General Election has, since becoming Labour leader, sought to portray Labour under his leadership as fundamentally transformed from the allegedly “hard left” version of the party led by Corbyn from 2015 until 2020, and which lost so badly in 2019. Politically, this of course makes sense, but Starmer’s actions, which have comprised attacks and party fixes to marginalise the left of the party, have often seemed gratuitous and partisan. With the effective expulsion of Corbyn from the Labour Party and an invitation to all Corbyn sympathisers to join him in leaving Labour, Starmer has moved into vindictive and risky territory, that does little to enhance his much sought reputation as an “adult” moderate and, in a very real way, represents an ill thought out assault on the very essence of the Labour Party itself.

Let’s make no mistake: Corbyn has been a key member of the sectarian left since the days of Tony Benn. He also represents the increasingly outmoded politics of “anti imperialism” when it comes to international affairs, based on a crude Trotskyist critique of post imperial economic and military power exercised by “the West”. It is this strand of his thinking that led him to not only retain an unthinking loyalty to Putin’s Russia but also to his connections and sympathies with an anti semitic Islamism in the Middle East, as part of his unquestioning support of the Palestinians against the Israeli state. There is little doubt that left wing anti semitism prospered under his leadership of the Labour Party disguising itself as “anti Zionism”. Corbyn’s sectarian mindset rendered him incapable of distinguishing between attested cases of gross anti Jewish racism by activists within the party and allegations of such by his political enemies on the right and centre of the party: in Corbyn’s mind no left wing supporter of his could possibly be anti semitic - the allegations therefore had to be malign fabrications by the right of the party and the loathed “centrists” out to undermine the left. Sectarianism has long been the curse of the Labour Party, and owes less to policy positions or debates about political philosophy between rival ideological tendencies, than it does to which factional gang certain committed members align themselves with: an infantile and self defeating political children’s playground.

The problem with Starmer’s positioning, however, is that it is every bit as sectarian as anything practiced by the caucuses of the left. In fact in some ways it is worse, because it pretends not to be. Rather, Starmer’s undermining, removal, and insulting of any party member with past or present association with Corbyn or his support group Momentum, is presented as Labour regaining some alleged “middle ground” which the Corbynistas wrenched away during their calamitous period in power. What Starmer and his outriders betray is a shocking lack of knowledge of Labour history and a willingness to airbrush inconvenient truths, such as the unexpectedly strong showing by Labour under Corbyn in the 2017 General Election, in much the same way as the left tried to pretend thirteen years of Labour government under Blair and Brown were somehow illegitimate and not “real’ Labour governments at all. This knee jerk and childish sectarianism is as central to the Starmer project as it was to that of Corbyn: both tendencies are fundamentally destructive. Labour can win power by denying its past (Tony Blair with his “New Labour” invention was a master of this) but it cannot govern effectively unless it marshals all the resources of the big tent of left of centre politics required by the First Past The Post U.K. voting system. Just as Labour cannot take and hold power without the political calculus and ruthlessness of the centrist leaderships so derided by the left, so it cannot govern in the interests of the people it seeks to represent without the ideas and intellectual heft so often found on the left of the party: if either wing fundamentally destabilises the other, then Labour as a progressive force for actual change becomes fatally undermined. The closest Labour came to this act of political hari-kiri occurred in 1983 when the Bennite left, bolstered by Trotskyist entryists, provoked the desertion of the Labour right to a new Social Democratic Party and presided over a collapse in Labour vote share to just 28% in the General Election that year. I see very little difference between this nadir of Labour solidarity and Starmer’s ill judged call on party supporters who don’t like his treatment of Corbyn to leave.

Starmer’s assertion that the Labour Party is “unrecognisable from that of 2019” also does not stand up to the most cursory of scrutiny. Every eye catching, transformative and politically popular policy that Labour currently espouse, either could have, or did, come from the Party manifestos of 2017 and 2019. There is nothing Blairite about current Labour plans for a nationalised U.K. wide energy company; about plans to re-industrialise Britain through green energy alternatives; about fundamental constitutional reform, including abolition of he House of Lords; or about active government management of the post Brexit economy through stimulus economics to attract inward investment as outlined by Starmer at Davos, itself supported by a Sovereign Wealth Fund (the same proposed public investment model as John McDonnell’s National Investment Bank). The fact of the matter is that current Labour policy is rooted fundamentally in its Corbynist recent past, representing that very alignment of serious political intent with transformative change mentioned above that propels Labour into power. The criticism of Starmer from the centrist media, is that Labour’s vision remains too cautious given the problems facing the country: his political allies want him to be more radical, not less.

This brings us to the personal inconsistency of Starmer. He speaks in the language of an internal cultural revolution, when the policy programme he advocates indicates anything but. He visibly squirms when asked about the years he sat on Corbyn’s front bench, implying he was fighting the good fight against anti semitism and extremism, when all the evidence is that for much of the time his relationships with Corbyn’s team were cordial. He prefers to ignore the fact he won the Labour leadership by exhorting members to respect the traditions of both Jeremy Corbyn and Tony Blair, including the release of ten “pledges” on issues close to the membership’s heart, all but two of which have been since quietly jettisoned. He is continually caught out taking new positions that flatly contradict those he claimed to hold as recently as two years ago. There is a place for pragmatism and the desire to win elections, particularly for Labour leaders whose battles to secure power are always dispiritingly uphill, but the apparent emptiness at the heart of Starmer’s politics and the flexibility of his principles cannot but be a cause for concern when he wishes to contrast himself to the seedy corruption of Johnson and the rank hypocrisy of Sunak.

There is a final, troubling aspect to the treatment of Corbyn which repeats itself in Labour history with monotonous and depressing regularity: it is the lack of respect with which the Labour Party so often holds its previous leaders. Whether it is the hostile view of arch traitor Ramsay McDonald (the charismatic working class leader who first got Labour elected in 1924); the trimming and opportunist Harold Wilson, as scornfully dismissed by the left (who won four General Elections and secured the freedoms for women, racial minorities and gay people we now take for granted); Tony Blair the liar (who won Labour three elections and oversaw significant improvements to public services and living standards after Thatcherism), or toxic Jeremy Corbyn (who in 2017 obtained Labour’s best General Election result since 1997 and seeded Labour’s current transformative policy programme), it seems deep rooted sectarianism will always overcome decency, respect for duty and service and forgiveness for the inevitable mistakes fallible humans will make when undertaking one of the most thankless tasks in British politics.

The term “broad church” is used too frequently now to perhaps be meaningful, but this inevitable consequence of the FPTP electoral system has huge strength in representing a variety of left wing traditions, a wide range of demographics and, fundamentally, a level of shared values across the spectrum of a party that the often gleeful internecine disputes within Labour frequently deny. No one benefits from this self defeatism but the Tories - more often in power than out. It is perhaps a folorn hope, but if Starmer is serious about introducing a new, less divisive, more inclusive and courteous brand of politics to the U.K., he could do worse than start that process in his own back yard.

19th February 2023

[qqueenofhades]

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all). 

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 4: The Rebellious Teenager

DSMPsona created by anon

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Hel had lived on the Dream SMP server for longer than they cared to remember. Their parents had moved them and their siblings to the server rather early on, before there was anything more than the main faction. It was peaceful, for a good while, and Hel did their studies, made friends, and lived a calm life.

Then, though, a man by the name of Wilbur Soot, with the help of his right-hand man, TommyInnit, started a revolution, fighting for independence from the rest of the server, and things seemed to almost immediately fall into chaos.

Hel, the oldest of their siblings and right around the same age as TommyInnit himself, did what their parents told them to do: Stay out of trouble. Dream, the Admin of the server, was decidedly not happy with L’Manburg’s defiance, and each side rallied their forces to prepare for a war.

“Hel,” their mother said as they stared out the window at respawned troops running back toward the battlefield, smoke billowing into the sky, “Stay out of it. Don’t get caught in the crossfire because you’re curious. You’ll just end up making enemies, and they’ll come after your siblings just to get back at you, I promise you they will.”

A hand rested on their shoulder. They turned their head to meet their mother’s firm gaze. “Stay out of it.”

And so Hel stayed out of it.

Their friends made bets on which side would win and how.

“I’ll say Dream will win by killing all of them for… three diamonds.”

“Ha, c’mon, that’s lame! I’ll say Dream wins by killing them all and imprisoning them when they respawn for, uh, let’s say five diamonds.”

“I bet Dream kills them all until all their lives are gone for, uh, three diamonds.”

Hel was the only one who bet that L’Manburg would end up winning. They took home most of the prize pool, with one of their friends getting a small cut for correctly guessing that Dream would have a traitor working for him within L’Manburg.

“Who was the traitor?” One of their friends asked them, as Hel was the one who had been the most interested in the members of the Revolution.

Hel shrugged. That information had been kept rather underwraps.

“Oh, well. Anyway, what do you think about King Eret being in charge, now?”

“A puppet monarch if ever I’ve seen one.”

“Yeah, but a pretty puppet monarch.”

“Point taken.”

After L’Manburg gained independence, Hel came home from school one day to boxes lining the front room of the house.

“What’s going on?”

“Mom and Dad decided we’re moving to L’Manburg,” their younger sister said, passing by with her arms full of books that she dropped into a nearby box. “Now that the war is over, they decided that they like President Soot’s policies more, I guess.”

Hel raised an eyebrow but grabbed a box and moved upstairs to begin packing away their own things.

“Why didn’t you fight for L’Manburg?” Their new neighbor, someone who had, asked them about a week after they’d moved in.

“Wanted to stay out of trouble,” Hel replied simply. The neighbor shrugged, passed over a welcome gift of flowers from the Prime Path Flower Shop, and left. Hel shifted the bundle of daffodils in their hands before moving to put them into a vase.

A bit of time passed, and the L’Manburg elections were announced. Hel’s parents and siblings all stayed rather distant from politics.

“No need to waste time paying attention to something that doesn’t matter anyway,” their father said as he held the ladder so their mother could paint the new wood on a corner of their house that had gotten blown apart during a recent conflict between VP Tommy and Dream.

“At least this doesn’t cost us anything to redo,” their mother said each time, as President Soot allocated funds to anyone who needed to rebuild because of a conflict that they weren’t involved in.

“Still need to do the labor,” Hel responded every time, often on their hands and knees to assist their parents.

Their mother would hum vaguely, then, and continue working.

Hel could understand their parents not wanting to pay attention while it was just POG2020 in the running, but when SWAG2020 announced their candidacy, their family still didn’t care. There were stakes now, things that could change in the event that the administration changed, but still their parents didn’t even bother listening to what each candidate promised.

“There are how many parties, now?” Their mother asked one evening when Hel mentioned the debates.

“Four. POG2020, SWAG2020, SCHLATT2020, and COCONUT2020,” Hel replied, despite the fact that they had just talked about this.

Their mother furrowed her eyebrows. “Which one is led by Secretary Underscore, again?”

“None of them.”

As the elections approached, Hel found themselves getting more and more nervous. There were people, ones who had moved into L’Manburg and the server itself long after the Revolution and so had never witnessed Wilbur Soot’s leadership in action, who were passionately supporting SWAG2020.

“A change in leadership is needed,” one of their friends, someone who had moved from a larger survival server with their family about a week-and-a-half after the L’Manburg Revolution ended. “President Soot and VP Tommy have been in charge this whole time! A new perspective is necessary for the country to develop.”

When the election results were announced, Hel wondered if this was what their friend had meant by ‘a new perspective.’

Their parents hadn’t come to hear the results, nor to witness the inauguration that would immediately follow, but Hel was there in the stands, watching the members of the four campaigns standing on the stage above.

President Soot announced the victory of SCHLATT2020 thanks to the coalition government, and he sat with VP Tommy in reserved seats just a few rows ahead of Hel as Schlatt took the microphone for himself.

Then, before Hel could even blink, the leaders of the previous administration were being chased out of the event, and then ex-President Soot fell over, an arrow in his back and screams for VP Tommy on his lips/, and then his body was gone, returned to the server for the second time, with only one more chance before it would stay there for good.

Hel heard whispers of an internal rebellion, led by Niki Nihachu, who were in support of the Pogtopia rebellion that was sprouting up under direction of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, and immediately went to the bakery.

“Hello,” Niki Nihachu said, looking rather exhausted as she grabbed a cupcake for another customer and began to bag it. “How can I help you today?”

Hel wet their lips, remembering what one of their friends told them to say. “Feel free to call me crazy, but I was actually wondering if you had anything made with cave crawlers?”

The customer in front of them gave them an odd look as they paid for their cupcake.

“I’ll see if I can find something,” Nihachu said, cracking a smile. “Could you wait for a few minutes?”

Hel nodded and the other customer hurried out of the shop a moment later. Nihachu helped two more people who entered the bakery before she moved into the back room, beckoning at them to follow.

“Niki, nice to meet you,” she said, holding out a hand. Hel took her hand in theirs and shook it firmly.

“I’m Hel, it’s nice to meet you, too,” they replied. “I’ve been trying to get my parents to move to Pogtopia to support the rebellion, but they don’t want to, so I’m here to help however I can.”

Niki smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

They snuck around with their friends involved in Niki’s internal rebellion, listening to what the baker told them to do, silently tipping her extra money to compensate for her increased taxes, and, one night, as they were sneaking back into their house in Manburg after helping vandalize the White House, the lights flicked on as they moved to go up the stairs.

Hel winced. They took in a deep breath and turned around to see their parents standing there, arms crossed, their oldest younger sibling standing next to them.

“Hey, guys,” Hel said, forcing a smile. “I was just grabbing some water…”

Their mother glared, and they felt their heart sink in their chest.

“I wasn’t doing anything dangerous!” Hel exclaimed five minutes later, sat on the couch with their parents looming over them. Their siblings weren’t being very discreet where they stood on the stairs, peering around the corner.

“You’re part of a rebellion!” Their father replied. “That, by definition, is dangerous!”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me!” Hel shot back. “I’m in my final year of school, I’m basically an adult!”

“But you’re not, Hel, you’re not!”

"Well someone has to be!" Hel growled out. "Schlatt is ruining this country!"

"You don't need to be worrying about that," their mother said. "You work on your studies, and play with your friends, and stop it with all this rebellion talk."

"I'm not going to go live in Hypixel like you and Dad did!" Hel said. "I don't want to go to a 'big' server to 'find myself!' I'm going to stay here and I am going to fight for what I care about!"

"What, you're just going to leave? Go join the rebellion. Leave you family behind?" Their mother asked, her nostrils flaring and hair wild.

Hel grit their teeth. "Watch me."

Their parents calling their name behind them, younger siblings frozen around the corner, Hel shouldered their bag again and stalked out the door, slamming it closed as they went. Their face hot and eyes stinging, Hel went to the spot on the Manburg border that they had learned was never surveilled, glanced around, and then slipped into the forest.

A few hours later, they ran into a Pogtopia scouting group, who attacked them until they managed to say the newest code that they had been given for the rebellion. One member of the group split off to lead them back through the forest farther.

"Pogtopia isn't the most... luxurious, I guess," the scout said, "But it's not forever." They turned and faced a dirty wall of rock. The scout knocked on the rock in a rather quick pattern, and a moment later, the wall fell away to reveal the tired face of a guard. The scout nodded to the guard, who returned the greeting, and Hel followed them inside, the rock wall closing behind them. As the scout led them down the stairs, they looked back at Hel and said, "I hope you like potatoes."

Before Hel could ask what they were talking about, they went around the final turn in the staircase and emerged in an enormous ravine. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, bridges strung across to allow access to rooms dug into the walls. The bottom of the ravine was expanded out, and people moved past one another with a surprising amount of purpose.

"Welcome to Pogtopia," the scout said, patting Hel on the shoulder. They realized that they had been staring. The scout cracked a smile. "C'mon. Let's get you sorted."

Hel was given a bunk a few hours after, a chest for themself, and was officially a member of Pogtopia. As they talked with friends that they hadn't seen since the election, they pretended that their heart didn't feel a bit empty.

For the months following, Hel assisted where they could. They helped establish firmer contact with Nihachu and the internal rebellion. They gave any information they had, and contacted trustworthy friends of theirs to get insider information. They attended training to learn how to wield a weapon, and they was taught how to disguise themselves, and quiet their footsteps, and, for some reason, how to prepare potatoes.

"Sometimes we need extra hands," the kitchen head who had asked President Soot to require the class told Hel. "Technoblade grows a lot of potatoes."

Hel found that that was true very quickly when, a week later, they were called out of training early to help out at the kitchens and watched as a piglin hybrid lugged in barrels and barrels of potatoes.

"This enough?" The hybrid asked gruffly once he'd brought in the sixth and final barrel.

The Head Chef nodded, a gentle smile on her face. "Yes, this will be good for the week, thank you, Technoblade."

Technoblade gave her a nod in return before turning and leaving the room without another word.

"We prepare everything other than dinner in advance," the Head Chef told Hel after the hybrid was gone. "And sometimes he shows up with more than this. Thankfully we had enough forewarning to get some help here before he showed up."

Other than the cold, damp nature of the ravine, and the general serious, somber feeling that clouded everything, Pogtopia wasn't the worst place to live. Hel enjoyed themself more than they had living with their parents, and they felt like they had a purpose, much more than when all they did was study.

"Tomorrow, November 16th, we shall fight the combined forces of Manburg and the Greater SMP to determine the fate of our country," President Soot said. Everyone had seen the deterioration of their leader, there was no way to miss it, and the mania in his eyes was present even now, but he was smiling, and he sounded hopeful, so the people couldn't help but feel the same. "Those of you who wish to fight have already indicated so, and everyone else has been given their jobs."

Niki Nihachu, who had fully joined Pogtopia after the Manburg Festival, stepped forward. "Remember, you might be fighting against friends. You might be fighting against family. The Manburg and Greater SMP forces will be shooting to kill. You must be prepared to do the same."

"We will not ask you to sacrifice your morals," President Soot continued, "But if you do not think that you would be able to kill if you're backed into a corner, then feel free to pull yourself from the forces. Make sure you do it by the end of the night."

Soot's fingers tapped aggressively against his leg, and he kept glancing up to the roof of the ravine. Then, without another word, he was gone, Niki trailing behind him.

The people of Pogtopia who had been present and not just listening over the loudspeakers dispersed to go prepare for the battle the next day. As they did, there was a crackle above them again and, just as it had twice every day for weeks, VP Tommy's voice came through the speakers.

"Hello, Pogtopia!" He exclaimed, static filling his words thanks to his volume. Someone hissed at him, and he quieted. "Er, sorry. This is Big Man TommyInnit, just reminding you again not to touch any of the buttons on the walls if you don't want everyone to die! Thanks!" There was another crackle, and the voice disappeared.

Hel exchanged glances with the person next to them and shifted a bit more away from the wall before continuing on.

The battle the following day went by quickly. Their family was nowhere to be seen, and Hel had been put on ranged combat, anyway. They bowed down anyone not on their side, and hoped that none of the people they were killing were on their last life.

When all was said and done, Hel stood watching the newly-inaugurated President Tubbo speak of rebuilding their country, and Hel felt pride swell up in their chest feeling that, now that they've fought for L'Manburg, they could truly call it theirs.

Then, there was a hissing below them. People in the crowd around them screamed. Hel spun around, watching in confusion as the people ran. The ground shook, then everything froze for a moment, and then they were gone.

Hel shot up in their bunk in Pogtopia. Their hands shook, their face was hot, tears falling from their eyes. Someone grabbed at them, and they let out a cry, whacking the hand away.

"Hey, Hel, calm down, calm down."

They blinked and focused in on the Head Chef, standing in front of them with a gentle smile.

"What happened?" She asked.

Hel's mouth was dry. They wet their lips.

"We... We won," Hel said.

The Head Chef gasped and relayed the information to someone at the door, who called it out to the rest of the occupants of the ravine. The remaining members of Pogtopia could be heard cheering.

"Wait, if we won..." The Head Chef looked down at them. "How did you die?"

Hel, as well as the other Pogtopia members who were respawning from the explosion and following fight, explained what had happened. Apparently, Hel got off lucky, as Technoblade had then spawned Withers. That was when they all noticed the notification that had shot through their communicators, one that informed the whole server of Wilbur Soot's death.

"That was his last life," the Head Chef said, and she sounded like she wasn't particularly surprised. Her arms, at some point, had ended up embracing Hel.

"So, we won, but our country is gone, and whatever is left is being led by a teenager?" Someone asked.

Hel, sixteen-years-old and freshly dead themself, buried their face in their hands and pretended that the Head Chef's arms, holding them close, were their parents' instead.

[ao3-sucks]

An Archive of Someone’s Own: my experiences being groomed in fandom circles on AO3

TW: Childhood sexual abuse, grooming, mentions of incest and rape.

I used to be a big writer of fanfiction. It was the logical choice for me. I loved to write and create bold and immersive worlds, and I craved an audience who would enjoy my work as much as I did. Since my writing wasn’t actually good, I needed a community of other amateurs who wouldn’t mind that, and by tweaking my characters and settings into ones from canonical media, I got the audience I so craved.

I started writing fanfiction online when I was 14, posting initially on FanFiction.net and then moving to AO3 a few months later. As I got back into writing original fiction towards the end of high school, I lost interest in this community, and it’s been a long time since I posted anything much on AO3.

I’ve always struggled with the fact I display a lot of symptoms of CSA, and for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why. Throughout my teen years, I refused to get changed or bathe when anyone was even vaguely nearby, constantly paranoid about being spied on; I developed a severe touch phobia, and would have frequent panic attacks from something as small as brushing arms with a passerby; I resolutely identified as asexual and refused to get into anything resembling a relationship with others because the very concept disgusted and repulsed me.

Weird, considering I had grown up pretty normal and all of these symptoms had started around my early teens. It was only when I told my friends about my friendship with a 30 year old I had met online that the pieces started falling into place for me.

Child grooming is usually discussed in the context of one adult going out of their way to befriend a child with the goal of lowering their resistance to sexual abuse, through normalisation and friendliness. I’d like to talk about how that worked on the fanfiction website AO3. Since it’s an open website and most communication takes place between anonymous users or accounts in the comments section of a work, there is very little delineation between spaces for adults to discuss whatever dark topics they like and spaces for kids to do the same.

This frequently leads to pretty inappropriate conversations between people of widely varying ages and life experiences, which is how I ended up talking sex as a fourteen year old with people ranging from a couple of years older than me, who were generally okay, to more than twice my age. The 30 year old in question listed on her profile how many pedophilic ships she loved, and she knew my age but pushed me to keep discussing sexual topics with her. Sounds like a red flag, yeah? Well. I was 14, and very stupid.

This 30 year old woman, who I will call Aku (because it’s similar to her screen name and because it’s funny to name her after the bad guy from Samurai Jack) would start conversations with me whenever I posted anything to AO3 and would refuse to take no for an answer when I tried to back out of conversations with her, and since these conversations were public and occurring within comments, I didn’t want to be rude to her since this was taking place on content I was trying to promote.

I told her my age multiple times and she would either pretend she forgot from last time (saying her memory is super bad) or continue as though it was just trivia about me and not a sign she shouldn’t have been pushing me. My primary objection to what she would say to me (since most of it was just her being annoying) was her insistence on sexualising everything I wrote, and her determination to push me into writing pornographic content, which I eventually gave in to.

Yes, she was a terrible person. She emailed me using her personal email address, so I know her full name and place of residence, because she’s an idiot. These emails also contain sexually explicit materials. Nothing much ever happened between us except for these very creepy interactions and the fact we remained online friends for a few years. But here’s the thing: she wasn’t the only person pushing me into creating sexual content. Lots of people would comment on my writing demanding that I show explicit sexual content when I really didn’t want to.

After a while it felt like I couldn’t write a longer, romantic fanfiction without including explicit sexual content. Like my work wasn’t valid without it. Other, more popular writers were usually sexual in their content, and I wanted to be like them and bring in the views, right? So, when I look at my back catalog of works, I can see how my content moved from completely non-sexual to featuring sexual content over time, and the views usually came with. In this way, I was in an environment that was encouraging me on many levels to sexualise my own work, which impacted the way I thought about my creative process.

Here’s another example I remember. When I was a young sprout, I remember reading down someone’s list of fanfiction recommendations and seeing a work called Hug Therapy, which I promptly read. While the work is marked as explicit and containing the Loki/Thor pairing, the use of relationship and rating tags on AO3 is so poorly regulated that it didn’t really mean anything to me to see either of those. People tag hardcore material as non-explicit and tag friendships as relationships, because there’s no motivation to tag properly. Plus, someone I followed here on Tumblr had recommended it to me.

Now, you wouldn’t know from the listing, but while this piece starts out as comedy, it turns out in the end to include rape, incest, and BDSM in very explicit terms. The fact it was tagged as being explicit didn’t slow me down, because the liberal use of these tags could mean that an explicit tag was just there because sexual content was implied or mentioned, which I thought would be the case based on the rest of the listing. Out of curiosity, I recently tried to report this work to the moderators for containing no warnings about incest or rape, and I got this in response:

“Selecting “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings” satisfies a creator’s obligation under the warnings policy. Users who wish to avoid specific elements entirely should not access fanworks marked with “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings”. Our Terms of Service note: “You understand that using the Archive may expose you to material that is offensive, triggering, erroneous, sexually explicit, indecent, blasphemous, objectionable, grammatically incorrect, or badly spelled. ….. This decision is in accordance with our policy of maximum inclusiveness; we have therefore closed this case and will not be investigating further.”

Which, yeah, I guess. The frustration comes from how ‘Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings’ is an extremely commonly used tag, and most things that it’s used on are totally harmless.

This fanfiction, which I was recommended by a friend, is hugely popular, in the top 60 most read fanfictions in the entire fandom. You wanna hear the kicker? The author, Astolat, is one of the founders of AO3. They’re not just some random author who isn’t following the rules. They’re a creator of the whole website, and they made the rules. This is pretty telling about how seriously the website actually takes protecting their users.

My final example I want to give is one of fetish content. People in fetish communities generally (not always) say that fetishes are probably something one should work up to after the onset of sexual activity, especially potentially harmful stuff like BDSM. In the circles I was running in, if you weren’t sporting a fetish or two (no matter your age) you were a boring bitch.

Maybe this isn’t true of everywhere in the fanfiction community, but I used to feel that bizarre pressure until I got out. Bear in mind that my main time in this community was from ages 14 to 17. I never made my age a secret, either. I told people outright I was that age, I was in high school, I was playing hockey and studying The Great Gatsby when I wasn’t online.

Since I was in the Avengers fandom and I liked Loki and the Asgardians, I was frequently exposed to incestuous content between Loki and Thor, and a lot of it came out of nowhere or was poorly tagged. This was considered the norm, and while I at first felt completely horrified and repulsed, within a year or two I no longer gave a shit. It’s only in the last few years as I’ve begun to unpack everything that I’ve started to get that strong revulsion reaction to incestuous content.

In the circles I was in, it was relentlessly normal. Normal to the point that people who disliked it were usually shouted down. Even to this day, debate rages on in fandom spaces about whether or not content like this normalises this kind of abuse. In my own personal experience, which I don’t usually like to talk about, it absolutely does.

In real life, this normalisation started to have serious consequences for my mental health and interpersonal relationships. In fanfiction, any occasion when you are alone with someone could become sexual, any familial relationship is possibly sexual, and it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. I became incredibly anxious around male family members for fear of being sexually assaulted, and my OCD, which I had been developing since I was a child, turned from thoughts of physical violence to thoughts of graphically sexually assaulted by anyone and everyone around me.

My fear of being touched got to the point where I would have panic attacks if anyone came anywhere close to touching me. I quit sports, fucked up my romantic relationships, and didn’t hug anyone, not even members of my family, for years. All the while, I had bought my first laptop and was consuming more fanfiction than ever before. I struggled with my sexuality growing up, as I am bisexual, and while fanfiction provided LGBT content to help me, the content was frequently so disturbing that I viewed any expression of sexuality as something evil and predatory.

The community on AO3, whether you like it or not, is often sexual, and provides no barriers between the casual user looking for content and extremely intense fetish material. It’s sometimes called the Pornhub of fanfiction, but considering the wide range of people who use it, it’s more like if you opened Youtube and saw niche hardcore fetish videos just on the front page, recommended and trending.

Sure, you have to click a little button to confirm you’re 18 before you can actually read a story, but the tags and descriptions of readily available works can be extremely explicit. Fanfiction also brings you into close contact with fellow readers and the author, and encourages you to become a content creator, which in some ways makes it more dangerous.

I was affected much more strongly by what I saw than most people would be, because I was already treading shaky ground. But I’m also not the only person out there who has been hurt in this way. Most of my friends who grew up in fandom can report the impact that fanfiction culture had on them. One of my friends from high school knew a panoply of porn terms at age 14 or so due to reading fanfiction, and another of my other friends at high school almost exclusively read rape porn because it was her favourite. I didn’t have friends who watched porn; I had friends who read fanfiction. These are just as troubling to me as any other accounts of young people consuming visual porn from a very early age.

It’s frequently cited that fanfiction gives minority groups the opportunity for creative outlet. It was a great place for me to cut my teeth as a content creator, and a source of acceptance and kindness when times were tough. Fanfiction communities have historically been the domain of women and minorities, and create a space for these people to tell their own stories.

It’s largely because of this that fanfiction communities fear censorship and strict moderation, as they have been attacked in the past on homophobic or misogynistic grounds, resulting in mass deletions of works or the shutdown of websites. But there must be some middle ground between total censorship and the kind of free rein that puts vulnerable people in danger, and I strongly encourage the board of AO3 to seek this middle ground out.

But it’s the community itself that needs to shape up; AO3 is, after all, a community-led website built by fans for fans, so the fact that this website has such issues is a reflection of the issues that run deeply within the people who created it. Aku didn’t talk to me with the intention of doing me harm, or so I believe at this time, and she didn’t pursue me as a lone wolf or in isolation.

She was simply a particularly brazen member of a community that was used to having inappropriate conversations with young people and sexualising everything they did. Even people my own age were jokingly pushing me into discussing and consuming extremely sexual content. It was just normal. That’s what I want to say here. Inside the world of fandom on AO3, the grooming of children with sexual content is normal. And that’s scary.

- Mod Daft

[jedifighterpilot2727]

So, there are a few things that have happened to me this past week, (micro-aggressions, we’ll call them), that I’ve debated even bringing up on here. However, since I watched AOC’s speech about aggression against women on the house floor, I think I should. 

Twice, in the past week, I’ve had confrontations with people at work. 

Now, granted, in the past seven years I’ve had plenty of confrontations. It’s the nature of the work - I’m a liaison between multiple different aspects of patient care and it’s a lot to juggle - sometimes I have to step on a few toes to get all the ducks in a row - it happens. Usually when it happens, it’s with another woman (the majority of people I work with are women), and it either blows over or we meet up after and share or viewpoints on what happened and one or both (usually both), will apologize and everyone goes about their day.

However, over the last week, both such confrontations have been with men.

One, with a resident who wanted me to ignore an attending physicians order to make his life easier.

Two, with a CRNA who neglected to mention certain aspects of a patient’s status and then proceeded to try and undermine my responsibilities by going against hospital policy.

Both times, I called them out - politely and professionally - as it happened.

Because of the nature of my job, there happened to be other people around to witness these confrontations.

Now mind you, I have more experience than both of these men and they both decided to talk down to me when I called them out. I refused to put up with it and stood my ground. Then, in the middle of me doing my job they each decided to make it a point to call me out in front of everyone and ask to speak to me privately.

There are a few things wrong with that.

You do not get to demean someone publicly and then apologize in private - if you did it in public, you apologize in public.

If they truly wanted ‘to speak privately’ they should have come up to me after and calmly and quietly asked if we could talk -  a scenario that I am perfectly fine with and has happened a multitude of times in my career.

You should never ever ever crook your finger at another adult and demand that they leave the room with you so that you can say who knows what to them. (You should be even more cognizant of the implied connotations of that if you’re a man speaking to a woman. Sexual harassment is not a good look.)

Finally, would you speak to a male the same way that you’re speaking to this woman? No? Then you probably shouldn’t be speaking that way to a woman either.

The worst part (or the best, I suppose), is that I had a new nurse with me both times. A new nurse who might not have stood up the same way that I did in the first place, or if they had, they would have been subjected to the demeaning act of being called outside for a presumed ‘scolding’.

It’s so important that women not only stand up for themselves but also call out toxic behavior so that younger women know that they shouldn’t put up with it either.

Point of the story, I felt kind of like a bitch for standing up for myself. Was I a bitch for standing up for my patient? Was I a bitch for refusing to back down? Was I a bitch for refusing to let these men call me out and privately harass me?

Maybe so.

Maybe I am a bitch.

But if women like AOC are considered bitches then I want to be a bitch.

Bitches get stuff done.

Oh, and the two men? They eventually apologized to me in front of the same people who they talked down to me in front of.

And the new nurses? They got a good lesson in standing up for themselves and their patients.

Tl;dr - sometimes all it takes is one woman standing up for herself to see that you should do the same

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Joe from the Princess Diaries quoting Eleanor Roosevelt.

[valhallanrose]

The Glacier House

This is a rewrite of A Kindling, of Sorts. While the same premise, it is vastly different in terms of content. Astoria is still thirteen, as is Sachairi, and Edrine is twelve, and this fic occurs two years after Canary in a Coal Mine. 

Pronouns used in this fic: Astoria (she/they), Edrine (she/they/he)

Edrine refers to Avery as “Ava”, pronounced ‘Ah-vah’, rhyming with Mama, as a parental endearment. 

4.6k words. Cautionary CW for discussions of food and some real shitty parenting.

Title: The Glacier House by The Crane Wives

In the early hours of morning, Castle Kintyre began to stir, the hearths burning high to combat the mid-winter cold and staff passing through the halls to begin their duties for the day. Many of the Canonach family would not wake for a while yet, emerging slowly over the course of the next few hours to stumble to the breakfast table for their morning caffeination. 

Of all the children who lived in the castle, only one would willingly rise with the sun, leaving Catriona the sole person awake in their bedroom that morning. 

They slowly pushed themself up from the cushions and yawned, stretching their arms over their head as far as they could go until their back popped. And then they stretched out their legs, a little quicker than they meant to, only for their foot to come into contact with a head of curly hair. 

Edrine yelped, bolting upright with a bleary expression on her face and her curls sticking up in nearly every direction as she rubbed a hand over her face. 

“Ow...Catty, why’d you kick me?” She mumbled, yawning and covering her mouth with one hand. “That was rude. We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Would you prefer I kick you after breakfast?”

“At least it’d be a respectable hour.” Edrine swung out a foot, launching her toes into the remaining slumbering party’s side with a dramatic sigh. “Get up, Sachy, if I have to be awake, you have to be awake. I don’t think Catriona actually sleeps.”

The child in question scoffed, gathering the cushions up and tossing them loosely on the bed. “I do sleep. I simply prefer not to spend all morning sleeping like you lot.”

“Boohoo, I like to relax, is that such a terrible thing?”

“Both of you, shut up.” Sachairi groaned as he pressed his face into a throw pillow. “The hour is ungodly and one of us has to have the beauty rest to be the pretty one.”

Edrine let out a cry of indignation and smacked him with a pillow as Catriona pointedly ignored them both, picking up the brush from the vanity and carefully pulling it through their hair. They would continue to watch with some amusement before Sachairi sat up, eyeing Catriona skeptically.

“Wait, you’re actually getting ready? Why? It’s hours before breakfast is ready.”

“Well, cousin, if you actually got up early, you’d know at this hour you can raid the kitchens and get nearly anything you want. I for one don’t like to dodge Erskine’s grubby hands to get to the butteries every morning.”

“Erskine?” Edrine echoed, and Sachairi nodded with a grimace. 

“Aunt Flora’s kid. They’re two and they tend to always have sticky hands, no matter how often they’re washed. Good thinking, Catty.”

“It may shock you, but I am, in fact, intelligent.”

“Shocking.” Edrine drawled, only to yelp and laugh as Catriona turned around and whipped the nearest throw pillow at them with a look of wild indignation on their face. She threw it back, and the room dissolved into chaos, laughter mixing with the morning birdsong through the cracked window 

They didn’t notice the bedroom door open until Sachairi threw a pillow that sailed through the opening and smacked firmly against Myrna’s face, all three of them freezing in place as it dropped quietly to the floor and left her startled expression in its place. 

Myrna lifted a brow, adjusting her grip on her cane so she could lean down to pick up the offending pillow. She dusted it off and weighed it in her hand, considering it before she looked up to look at the children again. 

“Who threw this?”

The trio looked at each other nervously for a moment before Sachairi sheepishly raised a hand. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Myrna, I didn’t know you were -”

Sachairi was promptly cut off as Myrna whipped it back, hitting his chest and making him take a step back - only to trip over a few pillows on the floor and falling square on his ass. Catriona slapped a hand over their mouth as Edrine buried her face in her pillow, laughter hardly muffled.

“Good throw, Sachairi, your arm is getting better.” Myrna’s lips twitched, as if threatening a laugh of her own, and she folded her hands over the top of her cane. “I just wanted to warn you all to be careful if you go out on the grounds today. Sholto, Grace, and Rabbie have decided to go hunting, and I don’t want anyone getting squished under a horse. Sounds fair?”

“Sounds fair.” They all chirped, and Myrna nodded, reaching for the doorknob and starting to pull the door shut. 

“Also, I’d get to the kitchens soon if I were you. I hear they’re making cinnamon-sugar scones as part of breakfast this morning, and you can get first dibs when the batch comes out.”

And, as if she knew what chaos would ensue, Myrna closed the door just as all three children exchanged a look and dove for their respective outfits that had been laid out the night before, taking turns in the bathroom to change and shoving each other around playfully to use the mirror attached to Catriona’s vanity. 

Stifling laughter as to not wake any still sleeping members of the family, they descended the stairs - arms linked, with Sachairi on the right and Edrine on the left and Catriona happily in the middle - and snuck into the kitchens. They peered around the corner through the bustling room, only for their eyes to zero in on the batch of scones on a tray left unattended on the counter. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Barclay boomed, making all three of them jump noticeably before Catriona turned and pouted up at him with the sweetest look they could muster. 

Barclay had been the head of the kitchens for as long as most of the family could remember, and while he was rather no-nonsense with the adults, he had a soft spot for the children in the family. Sort of like another uncle - not that any of the Canonachs needed more aunts and uncles - who kept an eye out for them and made sure they took care of themselves. But he was uncannily quiet in step, meaning none of the younger crew got away with truly stealing things so much as he just pretended not to see it. 

“Those just came out of the oven. You’ll burn your fingers.” He opened the warming cupboard over their head and pulled out a fabric wrapped bundle, depositing it neatly in Catriona’s arms. “Take these instead and scoot. And take an apple on your way out for my peace of mind.”

He waved his hands, shooing them away, but Catriona caught his smile when they called out a “Thank you!” over their shoulder and ran out giggling to find a place to eat. 

*     *     *     *     *

Catriona tended to avoid the breakfast table, usually full of some degree of bickering and healthy debate over clan affairs. It’d been especially intense since their mother had become Baroness, opening a door for new policy and leadership to see what new directions they could lead the clan in now that a new generation had come to the forefront. 

So instead, the three of them squeezed into a window nook overlooking the grounds, picking at their scones and watching the cattle in the distance through idle conversation. 

“You two don’t have lessons, do you?” Edrine asked around a mouthful of scone, and Catriona shook their head, idly twisting off the apple stem as they spoke. 

“No, we’re off until after Hogmanay. Our tutors are all going home for the holidays - our last lesson was the day before you all arrived.” 

Sachairi snorted, flicking his own apple stem at his cousin once he tore it free. “Like you’re not going to spend most of the holiday holed up in the library. If Edrine weren’t here, you’d probably be there right now.”

“Well, it’s not like I can do much else on my own. I don’t need to ask permission to read.” Catriona mused, and Sachairi nodded with a sigh, then elbowed their arm lightly. 

“Fair enough. Maybe we can ask Edrine’s parents to take us to Rosafearn, though. I think you’d like the decorations they’re putting up in the square.”

“Mama and Ava want to go, so I’m sure they’ll say yes.” Edrine piped up, leaning her head on Catriona’s shoulder. “Myrna told Ava that the hot chocolate is better here than it is in Ardaleith and they think she’s full of shit.”

Sachairi laughed around his scone, then choked, leaving Catriona to frantically smack his back until he stopped coughing and waved them off. Edrine seemed completely unbothered, taking the opportunity to instead break a piece off his scone when he wasn’t paying attention. 

“You don’t think your mom will come with us, do you?” 

Catriona shook their head, dusting off their hands of the cinnamon and sugar and folding the fabric napkin neatly in their lap. “Probably not. She’s been all about the ‘new happy family’ since Malcolm was born, so I think she’ll leave us be. Fine with me, though, mother always makes things weird with Avery.”

Edrine nodded and sighed, lacing her fingers together behind her head and leaning back against the windowpane. “Yeah...Ava won’t tell me, but I think they had an argument a while ago. Baroness Senga didn’t even invite us this year, Malvina and Myrna did. I don’t think she even said hello when we got here.”

“Auntie doesn’t like most of the clan leaders, so I wouldn’t take it personally.” Sachairi shrugged, then raised a brow at Catriona’s perplexed expression. “Contrary to what you may believe, I do listen to things.”

Both Edrine and Catriona looked incredulous at that, and Sachairi rolled his eyes, playfully shoving Catriona into Edrine’s side and shaking his head. 

“Whatever. Catty, since you’re done, can you go ask Avery or Rima if they want to go into town today?”

“You just want me to ask because you know Avery likes me.”

“It’s a strategy.” Sachairi lightly nudged them off the window seat, waving as they rolled their eyes and began the walk down the hall toward the guest wing where the Maollosas had been offered rooms. 

Catriona was happy to wander for a little while - they weren’t sure where Avery or Rima could be, so it was something of a necessity - and they hummed softly to themself as they passed through halls and the library and peered out windows to see if they had gone to the gardens, but knowing they couldn’t venture upstairs yet unless Sachairi or Edrine came to find them first. 

They were about to walk past the slightly cracked door to the dining room - the place the family usually shared their meals when there were no greater events in the castle - when they paused, hearing familiar voices drifting out into the quiet hallway. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, Senga.”

“I certainly don’t have to speak to you outside of clan affairs, and you are not here on clan business.”

Curious, Catriona crept closer, realizing that the first they heard was Avery and almost pushing the door open - and then freezing when they heard their mother’s voice in response. 

They peered in the gap in the door, watching with wide eyes as Avery put together a breakfast plate from the spread slowly being placed over the table. 

“You have every right to hold what happened over my head, but there’s no reason we can’t be civil when we share the same space, at least for the sake of Edrine and Catriona -”

“You do not get to speak to me about my child.” Senga’s plate clattered to the table, making Catriona jump slightly at the sudden sound. “I don’t want their name in your mouth until I hear an apology first, Maollosa, and being civil is not throwing you out the second I found out my mother invited you here.”

“Oh, only surnames now? Fine, we’ll play it your way.” Avery set their plate down far more neatly, popping a berry into their mouth. “I regret that I created an issue in your home and I apologize for what resulted, but I won’t apologize for my actions. You did a bloody awful thing, keeping the truth from Catriona, and it was high time someone told them.”

“It was not your place -”

“When would you have told them? When they turned sixteen, in the middle of their declaration? ‘Surprise, Catriona, you’re an heir to the nation, but we didn’t think you deserved to know that until we announced it to the rest of Rosinmoor. Hope you don’t mind!’” 

“Well, what you did certainly wasn’t much better, was it? They were inconsolable, Avery, blubbering absolute nonsense about not wanting to be the oldest and asking me about abdication, of all things. It was too much for them, they’re fragile, you should know that if you think you know what’s best for them.”

Catriona slowly leaned out of the gap, still listening, but feeling the familiar burn of tears in the corners of their eyes as they leaned against the wall beside the door and let out a shaky sigh.

So it was their fault, then. They wondered idly if they should apologize to Avery for getting so upset all that time ago, or if it were too late now. 

Avery’s voice rose slightly, their calm exterior breaking as Senga’s own tone changed to one of anger that Catriona knew well.

“Gods above, Senga, maybe they do want to abdicate, maybe they’ll change their mind, but that doesn’t change how large of a secret you kept from them. Catriona -”

“Do not say their name -”

“Catriona is not as fragile as you think they are, which you’d know if you gave them more than scraps of your time and attention.” Avery hissed. “We told Edrine at eight - eight - with at least an age appropriate version so she wasn’t blindsided when other clans started asking questions. This is an unavoidable fact of our lives, and they should know what choices they have to make one day, no matter how much time you can give them before you have to step down.”

“It doesn’t matter, Avery, the outcome would have been the same no matter when I told them. Get off your high horse and let it go. That’s how you can get your civility.”

There were a few long, heavy beats of pause where Catriona dared peek back inside, only to quickly lean back out of sight 

They’d never seen Avery look so angry. 

“What the hell do you mean ‘the outcome would have been the same’?”

“Catriona knows their obligations to the clan, and I won’t allow them anything other than what they’ve been raised for all these years. As the oldest, it is the duty they were born for. I would think you of all people, with your own child as your heir, would understand that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can look that child in the eye, see how miserable they are the way they’re living now, and insist that what you’re doing is right. I don’t understand why it is so important to you that Catriona be the next Baronet when Sachairi is only two months younger and just as capable, and seems to actually be interested in -”

Avery suddenly stopped mid sentence, and by Senga’s snarled ‘what?’, must have been making some clear expression that revealed their train of thought. 

“Son of a bitch, you did it on purpose.” Avery said, so quiet that Catriona had to strain to hear. “You had them to make sure that if you didn’t get the title, you could get your hands on it through them. You were third in line, but if Grace or Quinn had taken the Barony, Sachairi still wouldn’t be heir because you had a child first.”

Catriona’s heart stalled in their chest, eyes fixed on the door as if staring through it to look at the place where they heard their mother’s voice last. 

Please, mother, say it’s not true. Say that something, anything, please, please -

“And if I did?”

She hadn’t denied it.

Catriona nearly crumpled, staggering back from the door and turning to run, not caring in the slightest if their mother or Avery heard their footsteps as they raced through the passages to try and find somewhere to hide. The tears welled up and began to spill over, but they clasped a hand over their mouth to try and stifle the sound as they ran blindly through the passages to try and reach their bedroom.

A part of them had wondered - they were smart, and some things they had been told simply didn’t make sense - and especially so since Avery had told them the truth, but to hear it confirmed made it feel like their heart was breaking into pieces. 

They paid no mind to their mother’s rules when they darted up the stairs, two at a time, trying to make it to their bedroom before they completely broke down -

Only to crash directly into their grandmother. 

Myrna stumbled, leaning hard on her cane with one hand and wrapping her arm around Catriona’s shoulders to catch them both until they both regained their footing. She’d hardly opened her mouth to ask if they were alright before she noticed the tears spilling down her grandchild’s cheeks as they rushed to apologize.

Finding their grandmother, the most comforting presence they knew, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, granny, I didn’t mean to -”

Myrna took a good look at them, really looked at them, then quickly pulled them back in for a hug that left Astoria burying their face in the fabric of Myrna’s shirt to try and stifle their whimpers. 

“Oh, please, darling, don’t apologize. I’ve suffered worse than a simple tumble.” Myrna kissed the top of their head, smoothing a hand over their hair for a moment before she cupped their cheek in one hand. “What’s wrong? I know you wouldn’t cry like this over a simple bump. Come, come, we’ll go sit. Take a breath for me, alright?”

Shakily, Catriona nodded, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves as Myrna gently led them to their bedroom and closed the door behind them. Myrna crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and then gently patted the space beside her for them to sit. 

“Deep breaths, darling, I’ll be here.” Myrna set her cane aside to wrap both arms around Catriona, hushing them gently and rubbing a hand up and down their back to try and soothe them as best she could. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me what happened, yes?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, they calmed, enough to try their best to recount what they’d overheard in the dining room, unable to meet Myrna’s eyes as they repeated the phrases that stuck out in their mind and refused to escape. They only managed to look up when they finished and their granny said nothing, the silence between them so thick and heavy they thought they could cut it with a knife.

Myrna looked like fury hardly contained - white knuckled grip on the quilt, expression dark, angrier than Catriona had ever seen their usually energetic grandmother in all their years. 

“Are you...are you mad at me, granny?” They asked timidly, shrinking back as Myrna shook her head slightly. “I know it’s bad to eavesdrop…”

“No, I’m not upset with you.” Myrna got out, eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet as her jaw visibly ticked. “But I am furious with your mother. The absolute nerve of her - Avery is a guilty party, starting this where anyone could hear, but far less so than her - 

They flinched as Myrna shot to her feet, cane abandoned as she paced slowly around the carpet. “Please don’t tell them I was listening, granny, mother would get so upset with me for spying…”

“That’s her own damn fault for saying it in the first place.” Myrna snarled, then froze when Catriona let out a small whimper at the intensity of her tone. 

She let out a breath, trying to calm herself down enough so that she could school her expression back into one of neutral calm. For as angry as she was...there were more important things at hand. 

Slowly, Myrna stepped closer, kneeling in front of Catriona after a bit of effort and clasping their hands tightly in both of her own.

“I want you to listen to me, and I need you to listen well. You understand?”

Catriona nodded, lowering their eyes to their clasped hands as Myrna leaned her forehead against theirs and let out a sigh.

“No human is perfect. I make mistakes, your great aunts and uncles and your cousins make mistakes, your father made mistakes in the time I knew him. Your mother is no exception - she has made many mistakes in her lifetime, Catriona, but you are not one of them, and damn her for making you think otherwise. There is not a day that goes by where I am not grateful for your birth, a day where I am not filled with joy when I come home and see the way you smile at me and welcome me back, a day where I do not love you for who you are and how proud I am to call you my grandchild.” 

Myrna squeezed their hands again as she heard Catriona sniffle, uncaring of the tears of her own that were beginning to slide down her cheeks. “Astor loved you. Balfour loved you, gods rest them both. Your cousins love you. I love you. You are so, so loved, my darling, and it breaks my heart to know that you have doubted it for even a moment as a result of someone else’s cruel words.”

She released Catriona’s hands to cup their cheeks, tilting their head down to press a few kisses to their brow. 

“What do I do, granny?” Catriona whispered, laying their hands over Myrna’s and squeezing their eyes shut. “Mum said...mum said she had me so I could be the Baronet, but I don’t…”

Myrna leaned back slightly, enough to look Catriona in the eye when she tipped their chin up and waited for them to tentatively meet her gaze despite the tears that filled both their eyes. 

“Damn the barony. Damn all of it, Catty, because the barony means nothing if you are not happy. No title, no amount of money, no amount of power, nothing is worth giving up your happiness. No matter what your mother says, you have a choice, and if that choice is throwing everything she wanted for you at her feet, then I will stand behind you because I know it is what you want. No one can make you be anything that you don’t want to be.”

Catriona tried to swipe at their cheeks, but the tears only fell faster before Myrna pulled them into a tight embrace right there on the fur rug beneath them both. They sat together a long, long while, Catriona’s face buried in Myrna’s neck and Myrna holding onto Catriona like she was afraid they’d disappear. It would only be when Catriona quieted that Myrna would speak up, her voice gentle and thick with emotion all her own that she’d been trying to keep at bay for the sake of comforting their grandchild.

“Sweetheart, I want you to think about something.” Myrna murmured, prompting Catriona to lift their head and look up at her to show she was listening. “I won’t be staying here after Hogmanay ends. I have to go north, up to Prakra to speak to some colleagues, and then I’ll be going to Firent to work on a dig site. I’ll be gone from here for about two months, perhaps longer if I’m asked elsewhere. But...I want you to think about coming with me this time.”

“Come with you?” Catriona echoed, and Myrna nodded, smoothing some of Catriona’s hair back from their face. 

“You’ve spent your whole life here in Rosinmoor. I want to give you the chance to see the world, see what’s beyond our home - give you a chance to see what you could possibly become.” Myrna swiped a thumb across Catriona’s damp cheek, smiling a little despite herself. “I want you to know that you have choices, and I want you to understand how much bigger life is than it is here at Castle Kintyre.”

“What...what about mom?”

“Your mother may be Baroness, but she sure as hell has no authority over me. If you tell me you want to go, you’re going, and if I have to fight tooth and nail to make it happen, I will.” Myrna let out a playful growl, prodding at Catriona’s sides with tickling fingers and smiling when a peal of laughter fell from their lips and they shoved her hands away. “You don’t have to decide now, but -”

Astoria shook their head, looking up at Myrna with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “No, I...I want to go. I want to go to Prakra, Firent, anywhere you go. I want to see it all for as long as you’ll let me. I just...don’t want to be here right now.”

A smile broke across Myrna’s lips, and carefully, she reached for her cane - not before bringing Catriona in for another tight embrace. 

“Trust me, my dear, you’re welcome to follow me anywhere. You’re far more welcome company than some of my other traveling companions.” She rose, gently nudging Catriona toward her wardrobe. “Pack your bags, darling.”

Surprised, Catriona stood, brows furrowing as she looked at Myrna. “Where are we going?”

“I have a little place down in Rosafearn. A cottage, where Balfour and I used to stay when we wanted to get away from the castle. I’m going to go get Edrine and Sachairi, and we can spend a few nights there so you can have some space away from home. I’ll deal with your mother later.”

*     *     *     *     *

Once they’d settled in at the cottage, Catriona nearly stumbled into the bed Myrna made up for them, kissing their brow and telling them she’d be back soon with her cousin, her friend, and their things to spend the rest of the holiday away from the castle. 

They didn’t know how much time it had been when the door cracked open, though by the time Myrna came back, the midmorning sun was peeking through the curtains just as the door cracked open and two familiar faces poked their heads inside. Catriona waved for them to come in, but didn’t move - not that Edrine seemed to mind, climbing into the bed beside them and cuddling up to their side. 

“Are you okay?” She whispered, and Catriona shook their head slowly, letting out a shaky breath.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“...not really.” They murmured, closing their eyes as they felt Sachairi drop into bed with them as well - his head resting on Catriona’s stomach and his legs hanging off the side. 

“That’s okay.” He said, finding their hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Catriona nodded slowly, their other hand finding Edrine’s and squeezing them both tightly. 

“Thank you.” They breathed, feeling themself sink into the bed as Myrna gently closed the bedroom door and plunged them all into relative quiet. 

When the next morning came, they’d realize the exhilaration they felt at the sense of freedom for the first time in all their thirteen years, but for now…

For now they wanted to forget the world completely.

[otakween]

I'm Standing on a Million Lives - Volume 10

A nice "bridging" volume. We get the end of the Rainbow Stair arc, some downtime and then straight into the Black Work arc! That last arc felt pretty long but I also took a mini reading hiatus that could have contributed to that. Wonder how many volumes this new arc will stretch across...

Ch. 45

-It seems we're going to wrap up the Rainbow Stair arc soon. Again, I kinda wish they just did that in the previous volume but oh well.

-Kusue and Yusuke debate whether it's worth it to stop murdering people after you start to "save your soul." Kusue is a catholic confirmed!

Ch. 46

-So we get a chapter mainly from Cantil's perspective. We learn that he (and Fatina) are older than they look due to creature magic. Malita then becomes Cantil/Fatina's apprentice because she wants a new start. Cantil muses about the time skip mechanic and how he might not even be alive the next time the heroes come around.

-I think it was a good idea to give Cantil's POV. He emphasizes how Yusuke's a kid and still very malleable. Since he's not going to be around he asks Glenda to keep an eye on Yusuke for him. Some of the writing in this part was a little too "all hail Yusuke" for my tastes, but at least there was some healthy skepticism thrown in there.

-We get a very unsatisfying Q&A segment with the Game Master. Learned nothing.

-The players plan for improving the Ihar-Nemore society was interesting, but it all seemed to go a little too smoothly and quickly towards the end. I feel like realistically there would be more push back and these kinds of changes would take years, not months. Also, it was a little too convenient how everything in this fantasy world was an exact parallel to real world crises. Well, I guess there's only so many ways humans can interact/mess up, no matter where you are.

-Was that a Fortnite reference at the end there? Another reminder that Yusuke's a child.

Ch. 47

-We get a nice, in-between arcs, beach episode. Definitely nice to have these "real world" chapters for balance. We also get to see how the characters dynamics shift from world to world.

-While I think Yusuke and Yuka's inner monologues about how they're not used to the "IRL" world are exaggerated, I can kind of relate. Especially during the pandemic, I'm in isolation for the majority of the year, so I'm also the stereotypical, under-socialized geek.

-We see some other players in the USA and the host of the gathering reveals that the fantasy world and the real world are already connected via a small portal. It will be interesting to see how the players pool their knowledge.

-Seeing all these players together makes me wonder how many players died and didn't make it to the gathering. Considering how rigorous the quests have been so far, presumably some people couldn't cut it.

-You can tell this series doesn't prioritize ecchi based on how modestly dressed all the girls were at the beach. That's kind of refreshing.

Ch. 48

-Yaaay new guy! I really like his design/personality. Plus, we get a more balanced group with another adult and male. Funny to see an isekai lover get isekai'd.

-I totally related to Habaki's job struggles. His reasons for not quitting and his thoughts on how his job sapped all his energy and prevented him from reading any challenging books. Too real. (Of course, my job is way cushier than his, but I think these are universal struggles for any full-time employee).

-I guess the Game Master can help Yusuke commit real-world crimes so long as it helps with the mission. Until they revealed that I was like "uh...why is he doing something so risky??"

-It's pretty ridiculous that the Game Master has to drive Yusuke to save Habaki. Can't he just teleport him? lol. Also, another Seaman reference.

-We see the I'm Standing on a Million Lives manga in the background at the bookstore which hurts my brain

-When the people at Habaki's company were like "EVERYTHING'S RUINED!" I was kinda laughing because I work in systems and if everyone busted up our PCs it wouldn't be that big of a deal and we could recover pretty quickly. Luckily, they do acknowledge cloud storage which made it more believable.

Ch. 49

-We get another non-fiction section, this time about the WHO's recommendations for presenting suicide in fiction. Very interesting and mature of the author to acknowledge the problematic nature of his own text. It kind of felt like the disclaimer you see before some shows these days in streaming.

-After the blurb about suicide we get another one about "black" companies and "invincible" people. I had never heard the term "invincible people" in this context before, so that was fascinating. I feel like we don't categorize people the same way in the US. If someone does something dangerous because their life's falling apart, I think we would probably just pull out the psychology terms (narcissistic, personality disorder, sociopath etc.). In Japan they have all these archetypes (NEET, Hikkikomori, Invincible Person). I guess we probably have some, but you don't hear about them as much.

-So, the previous quest was completely pointless because the cities they saved were almost immediately destroyed. Womp wommmmp.

-The fact that "black" = corrupt in Japan is definitely awkward, but I understand it's just a cultural difference...

-The new storyline of a policy being put in place that no longer makes sense but a lot of people have died so there's no turning back, sounds very familiar. I'm sure you can compare it to a lot of things but it reminds me of the Afghanistan war...

-I guess it's a good thing that Malita left Ihar-Nemore when she did! I expect we'll see her again in the near future.

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (47)- Convicting

Ao3 | FF.net

If you asked Adrien or Marinette how much time they spent in that courtroom, they wouldn’t have an answer. 

The truth was several days. They were testifying against Bianca Furtoli and Edward Savage. Every other employee under them would also face the judge, but to spare the victims, Adrien and Marinette’s presence was only required for the first two. 

How can justice be served for such terrible atrocities? Where does one even start? This had been the hot debate on the news and talk shows for many weeks following the incident. 

But now, it was time to face whatever punishment the court thought suited them. This meant dredging up everything, footage, testimonies, and extremely painful memories. 

On that gloomy gray March day, Marinette and Adrien may as well have been back in their dungeon. As it was, they sat at a table in the front of the courtroom, while the voices of the spectators washed over them. Their families and Alya, Nino, and Chloe sat behind them, as a wall of solitude, and a source of comfort.

The Palais de Justice was a beautiful historic building, the gothic fortress where Marie Antoinette met her end. A truly monumental chamber to hold the biggest trial in recent Parisian history. And since it was such a huge trial, the State of France decided to move the trial straight up to the Cour de Cassation, the Supreme Court. Marinette glanced around the room, letting her attention wander over the gold plated rococo filigree scrawled along the walls and ceiling. There was so much to take in, she could get lost in it. She wished she could.

They were flanked on either side, a lawyer next to Marinette, and Adrien’s bodyguard on the outside by Adrien. Police officers stood in every corner. 

It was a picture of order and safety. Nothing bad could happen. 

Marinette repeated this to herself, even as the hulking, orange suited form of Edward Savauge was led in, four officers connected to him with handcuffs. Though he was clearly outnumbered, he still looked like he could take all of the officers binding him. Strong and smart, a deadly combination. 

The Judges entered, nine in total. With one man to preside over them as the president. A rotund man with large jowls and a long pointed nose. His eyes were dark, inset, and held no mercy. This was a man that would decide the future of all those that had harmed Marinette and Adrien:  

Magistrate Severin Madeesi.

As Edward approached the bench, the courtroom grew dark. Dark as night. Just like the night in the alley way when it all began. 

The walls were washed into shipping containers. Bright lights shone forward, casting Edward’s inhuman shadow on the wall. 

Judge Madeesi stood where that young man had stood before he was gunned down. But this man was unafraid, stoic, and serious. 

"This is a criminal case brought by the City of Paris charging the defendant, Edward Savauge, with act of assisting in the kidnap and torture of Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The City claims that Savauge, with an impulsive intent to cause harm, enlisted the help of several men to subdue and torture a minor and young adult. While initially cleared of involvement, new evidence has come to light and the case is to be reviewed.”

The judge looked up, the headlights from the vehicle turning his glasses white. “Mr. Savauge, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

This was the moment. The men around Savauge withdrew their guns, aiming them at the judge.

“Nothing personal kid.”

“RUN!” Marinette screamed. “DON’T SHOOT!” 

—

She hadn’t even lasted five minutes in the courtroom. Marinette sat outside in the hall, head resting on her knees as she breathed hard. Sabine and Emilie sat on either side of her, just rubbing her arms and offering her comfort. 

“It wasn’t really like that.” Marinette muttered. “There was nothing to be afraid of…but it felt so real…”

“It was real to you.” Sabine said. “And that just goes to show how much pain he caused.”

“I’m so weak…”

“No, you’re not.” Sabine squeezed her arm. “After what they did to you, you’re still here. That’s profound.” 

“I ran away.” 

Sabine coaxed her head up, to look her in the eye. “Not when it counted, you didn’t. The reason he got off last time was because you weren’t there to testify. Ladybug, you take your time to gather strength. And when you’re ready, you march into that courtroom, and you tell the Judge exactly what he did. Things he said or threats, whatever you can remember.”

“What if it doesn’t make a difference?”

“It will. I promise, it will.”

Marinette rubbed her hands together, her skin cold and clammy, and her fingers trembling. A red, black spotted hand grabbed hers tightly, and squeezed. 

Fearful, Marinette raised her eyes to look at Ladybug. The vision just smiled at her, “I’m with you. I was there. You just let me do the talking.”

Marinette nodded her head, and climbed to shaky legs. Ladybug took hold of both of her wrists and walked her back into the courtroom, like a puppet. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, are you ready to continue?” Asked the judge. 

“Yes, your honor.” 

Ladybug led her back up front, and had her sit in her chair next to Adrien, Ladybug’s hands pressing into her shoulders to keep her seated. 

How many hours passed that way? Frozen in her seat as the prosecution rehashed the crimes and evidence from the first trial. The fingerprints from the guns, the body outline on the ground, the car left at the crime scene. Everything that should have stacked against Savauge, but only didn’t because of his influence and loopholes. 

“And now, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” addressed Judge Madeesi. “Thank you for willing to testify.”

“Please address me as Ladybug,” she squeaked out, with no authority. 

Judge Madeesi gave her a strange look, then corrected, “Alright, Miss Ladybug. The floor is yours.”

Marinette felt Ladybug’s hands hook under her armpits and raise her up out of the seat, then she walked forward to the bench. 

The headlights were so bright, and Edward Savauge’s silhouette was so huge…she started crying. 

But Ladybug started to talk, to answer for her. “It was an average nightly patrol for Chat and I. We had separated. I went to the docks, and he had gone to Barbes Boulevard. When I arrived at the docks, I saw a bright light being shone down an alleyway of shipping containers. A young man stood in the light, like an interrogation.” 

“Can you remember the young man?”

“He was called Charles. And he owed Mr. Savauge a lot of money.” 

“Did you know it was Mr. Savauge when you arrived?”

“Not until I listened into the conversation. Charles called him Eddy, and then Mr. Savauge.” 

“What else did Charles say?”

Marinette sobbed, just replaying that moment where she watched him die over and over, but Ladybug spoke calmly. “He begged for his life, begged for more time. Mr. Savauge suggested he work off his debt as a prostitute. Charles refused, stating that he had a girl. Then Mr. Savauge said he knew that Charles had a life insurance policy, and that he was worth more dead than alive.” 

Despite Ladybug holding her up under her arms, Marinette had to brace herself on the railing of the bench. 

“And then what happened?” Asked Judge Madeesi, softly. 

“He told his men to open fire, and I jumped in front of Charles, my yo-yo creating a shield.”

“What prompted you to get involved?”

“I knew I was going to talk to him at some point, because he had said he knew who Hawkmoth was. When he told his men to open fire, I knew I had to intervene. I would have, regardless of his knowledge.”

“And did he ever tell you?”

“He said it was a figure of speech. That he knew everything, even Hawkmoth’s identity, even though he didn’t.” 

“Would you be able to explain the circumstances surrounding Charles Exavier’s death?” 

“I was protecting him, behind my yo-yo shield. He told me to cover him…and he darted out from behind. I saw him get shot. He didn’t even scream.”

“And then?”

“They kept firing at me, until Chat arrived for backup, and took out the thugs from behind. Once they stopped firing, I was able to subdue Savauge with my Yo-yo and call the police.” 

“Did Savauge say anything to you at this time?”

“He told me his name, said that he was very powerful and if I tried to do anything to him, I’d suffer instead. He said if I agreed to let him go, he’d leave me alone. But I refused and he said we were enemies instead. He was silent then, until the police came.”

Judge Madeesi made some notes as he listened to her testimony, and then asked, “there was an instance, after you freed yourself from capture that you were akumatized and went after Savauge yourself in revenge. Do you remember anything about this exchange?”

Ladybug’s strong arms disappeared from under her arms, and she slid to her knees, crying. 

Judge Madeesi waited patiently. “Take the time you need to collect yourself. Your testimony is crucial to this trial.” 

Different hands, black and splattered with blood, wrapped around her torso and heaved her to her feet. 

“You’re a soldier, stand or die.” 

The judge gave her another concerned look. “Is that something he said to you?”

“Lady Lacrima.” Marinette whimpered out. “Her name is Lady Lacrima. She’s speaking for me. My akuma.” 

Judge Madeesi folded his hands in front of his face. “Go on.” 

To everyone else, Marinette simply shifted her shoulders, before she began her tale in gruesome detail and tongue dripping with venom. “He knew we were coming for him. He packed his flat with cannon fodder. Some of them weren’t even armed. Just bodies to tear through and waste our time before we could get to him. He should have been punished for his crimes, but he wasn’t. He was just living it up in his fancy penthouse. I decided to play with him. He had a record sitting out by the player, called Una Furtiva Lacrima. I put it on, to scare him, to let him know I was there. And when I found him, he was sitting in a study, drinking wine and smoking a cigar.” She snarled. “He spoke with confidence and joked, but I could smell his fear. It smelled like rotting garbage. He was a liar, and it filled up to his neck with deceit. He tried to barter with me. He tried to offer me whatever I wanted in exchange for his life. He said no one had ever beaten him, or gotten as far as we had. He had never served prison time since he was young. He bragged. I don’t know if he was trying to intimidate me, or flatter me. But it didn’t work.” 

“You killed him,” stated the judge, knowing the very public aftermath of that interaction. 

“Marinette wouldn’t, she’s too weak. And Ladybug’s too good. But I…Grimalkin and I have no qualms. We did what no one else in this city had the guts to do. And if you don’t put him away, I’ll come for you next.” 

Marinette wretched free from the hands holding her. “She doesn’t mean that! I’m not that person! I don’t want to hurt anyone! Please!” She cupped a hand over her mouth. 

“That’s all the questions I have for you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You can sit back down.”

Marinette took shaky steps back to her chair, before collapsing into it. Adrien was there immediately, combing through her hair and kissing her cheek. 

“I don’t know what happened…” She whispered. 

“Trauma.” He answered for her. 

“Edward Savauge,” Judge Madeesi spoke. “You will return at a later date for your sentencing. The validity of Miss Dupain-Cheng’s testimony must be checked, and then we will reach a decision.”

—

Bianca Furtoli, the most hated woman in the world, laid face down in a cell. Any day now, she would be facing the judge and forced to confess to everything. 

But today, she laid on her cot, cheeks itchy from the constant tears. Sleep evaded her, as every time she closed her eyes, she felt the heat licking at her bones. Hell was around the corner. 

“Furtoli, do you have any family you want to reach out too?”

“I have no family.” Not anymore. No biological family left alive, and none of her previously trusted friends could she even bear to look at. No, she was alone now. 

Regardless, there was a woman sitting in a metal chair just outside her cell. A notepad resting on her crossed legs as she bounced her leg. She looked completely unbothered to be sitting in front of Salo.

“What do you want?” Bianca asked. 

“My name is Bonnie. I’m a court ordered psychologist. I’m here to determine if you are sane to face trial.”

“I’m sane, and I’m aware. I’m a monster who has done horrible things. My moral compass was broken, and now I must face the consequences of my actions.” 

Bonnie gave her a considerate look. “Doesn’t quite sound like the ramblings of an insane woman. The officers made it sound like you had gone off the deep end.” 

“On the contrary, I think this is the most sane I’ve been in my whole life.” She rolled over to lay on her back and look at the ceiling. “Or perhaps I’m only aware of the world happening around me, and my place in the machine.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

“I thought…before, before I died and went to hell…I thought that I was the center of everything. I know people are intrinsically selfish, but…I thought I was the only real person. I thought I was in control, and I could do whatever I wanted, once I figured out how to get around the rules.” 

“When did you first decide this?” 

“I was born in Sicily, to a rather poor family. My grandmother was a devout catholic, and my mother tried. My father was an abusive bastard. He did whatever he wanted to me and my brothers, and my mother didn’t do anything to stop it.” 

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I thought it was unfair…for a while. Until I learned that I didn’t have to take it. I ran away. I was in control of my own life, and decided to do what I wanted. I stole a car, robbed a few houses…it was fine. I married early, still in high school. He was a good kid, probably the only man I ever really loved.” 

Bonnie’s pen flew across her page, trying to take this all in.

“Don’t get me wrong, I loved Edward…but only for his power. The control he subjected over people was…thrilling. I had never met anyone that felt the same way about it as I did.” 

“You liked to control people?” Bonnie asked, as if she didn’t know that this patient had kidnapped and tortured two children for over a month. 

“Oh yes,” Said Bianca, with nostalgia. “It started with my husband. My first husband, Joe. I loved to dominate him in bed. He didn’t like it, but I’d tie him up and bang his brains out. Even when he was asleep.” 

“You are aware that having sex with someone, even your spouse, without permission is rape?” 

“Yes, I know. He complained about it a lot. So I started seeing other men, and dominating them. I got good at it. I got paid for it. Then when Joe got a disease from me, he told me to get lost. I wasn’t about to take that from him…so I stabbed him, right in the eye.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. Not at that time. He had to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life. He also joined the police and tried to do everything in his power to arrest me. I killed him a little over a month ago, when he got a little too close to finding me.” She rolled onto her side, making eye contact with Bonnie. “Listen to me. I sound like a gleeful little child. I can see on your face that you’re disgusted with me. I should be disgusted. But I’m not. It was fun.”

“You’re talking about Detective Bertony, right? Joseph Bertony? I wasn’t expecting you to confess to his murder.” 

“I’m not hiding things anymore. Whatever anyone wants to know, I’ll tell. You’re here to help me, right?”

“I’m here to gauge whether you’re fit to stand trial. If you aren’t, you’ll be transferred to a psych ward.” 

Bianca shook her head. “That won’t work for me. I have to go to jail. I have to pay my debt to society. I have to…” She clenched her eyes shut as a heat wave took over her body. “I have to right my wrongs before I die.” 

“That’s a lot of work.” 

“But you’ll help me sort it out, right? You’ll tell me what to do?”

Bonnie flipped over another page in her notebook. “I’ll try, at least.” Taking a deep breath, she plowed on. “So, was Joseph your first murder then?”

“No, not hardly.” Bianca scoffed. “That honor falls to my father.” 

“You killed your father?”

“And my mother. He was barely human, and he treated me like dirt. He had to go. And my mother never stopped him, so she had to go too.”

“Dare I ask how you did this?”

“Arson. I burned my old house down. I got my brothers out at least. They went to go live with Nonna, and I bolted all the doors and windows shut…and then burned the whole thing to the ground.” She let her lips turn into a sick smile. “They’re still burning to this day. And I don’t care.” 

Bonnie concealed her nausea well, and changed the subject. “When did you meet Mr. Savauge?” 

“He was a client of my personal business.” 

“Your dominatrix business?” 

“Yep. He was a regular. One day, he asked if I was as good as causing pain for pain as I was at pain for pleasure. I said I wasn’t sure, but I’d love to try. It felt like my real calling. Torturing people for kicks? I didn’t usually have to capture them myself.” 

“And you never felt any empathy? Remorse?”

“Not a bit.” 

“Not even now? After your trip to hell?”

Bianca slammed her eyes shut, the hot flash taking her swiftly. She could feel the maggots gnawing at her skin and she rubbed her arms to rid the sensation. “I’m not sure what this feeling is. It’s unfamiliar to me. I feel sick, and nauseous. But more when I remember what I saw, rather than what I did to them.” 

“What would you say to them? If they were standing here?”

Bianca twisted in her cot, feeling uncomfortable and ill. “I’d say sorry.” 

“Because you really are sorry?”

Bianca laid face down on the cot again, hiding her face for a moment, before peering out to answer. “I remember some nights, when I was a child, and my father would hurt me…the pain, the fear, the unfairness…I think that’s probably how they felt.” 

“That’s empathy.” Bonnie assured. “Trying to feel what someone else feels. That’s a good thing. Psychopaths don’t usually feel that way.” 

“Then there’s hope for me?”

“Quite possibly.” 

In her notebook, Bonnie wrote one more note. Able to stand trial, but unfit for society. My recommendation, life without parole.

—

After the recess, the court reconvened. With assurances from their family and friends, Marinette and Adrien were ready to take on the second part of the trial. 

After what their lawyer, M. Mercier, had said about his meeting with Salo’s lawyer, it was likely that the trial was going to be short. Salo had taken a plea deal, and all they had to do was show up. 

Marinette was cautious. Yes, there was undeniable evidence this time. There wasn’t a person in Paris that didn’t know what she had done. But this woman was slippery and had wiggled free from punishment this far. Would this finally stick?

Finally, the doors opened and a woman was escorted in. Not the woman they had remembered. There was no leather, no red hair, no sunglasses. Instead, there was an orange jumpsuit, and black hair, cut shoulder length and matted into a dirty mess. The look on her face was haunted, and exhausted. 

Like Edward Savauge, she was escorted in with four men, but they were practically dragging her. 

"This is a criminal case brought by the City of Paris charging the defendant, Bianca Furtoli, with act of malicious and premeditated kidnap and torture, and murder of several individuals, including minors. The City claims that Furtoli, with an impulsive intent to cause harm, enlisted the help of several men to subdue and torture individuals under the pretense of debt or revenge. While she had several accomplices, most worked under threat or for hire, while Furtoli was in complete control of the operation.”

Marinette couldn’t tear her eyes away from Salo. She looked completely different. She shook in her hand cuffs, and looked incredibly small. 

“Miss Bianca Furtoli, in the case of Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste, how do you plead?”

“Guilty!” The plea vomited from her mouth. 

“In the case of Adrianne Bisset, how do you plead?”

“Guilty!”

“In the case of Marcel Weaver, how do you plead?”

“Guilty!”

On and on, judge Madeesi listed off victims of Salo’s brutal tortures and murders. Every single one, she pleaded guilty to. No insanity pleas, nothing. She owned up to every single one. 

“I have papers here from a psychologist who conducted a rudimentary evaluation to see if you were fit to stand trial. I have her sentencing recommendation. After reviewing the tapes that you yourself posted on the internet, speaking with your lawyer, and for the well being of your surviving victims, I see no point in pushing back your sentencing for a later date.”

Bianca trembled and put her face in her hands. 

“Therefore, I sentence you, Bianca Furtoli, to serve 48 life sentences back to back, one for each of your victims, with no chance for parole. You will be taken from here, and escorted to a high security Prison outside of Paris, where you shall remain for the rest of your days.” 

Marinette never thought she’d witness someone weeping tears of joy after being sentenced to life in prison, but she never really considered Salo sane in the first place. 

She was being urged away from the bench. “Wait!” Called Salo. “I need to talk to them before I go!” 

“Who?”

“Marinette and Adrien. Please.” 

Judge Madeesi looked skeptical, but waved her on.

And then Salo looked at them, her eyes full of emotions too wild to decipher. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “There’s nothing I can say to fix this. There’s nothing I can do to help. But because of you, I can start living the way I should. Thank you.” 

I hate you. I’ll kill you. I hope you rot. These were all sentences that ran through both Adrien and Marinette’s minds as Salo wrapped up her apology.

Adrien looked away. 

Marinette just shook her head. “I will never forgive you.”

—

Later that evening, after celebratory cupcakes, Adrien and Marinette retired early to their room, despite the company that still remained in the bakery. 

“You’ve had a long day,” Sabine cooed. “Don’t feel obligated to stay and talk.” 

“Thanks mom,” Marinette yawned. “I’m kind of done with today anyway. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

Up in their room, Marinette stretched and went to her pajama drawer. 

“Are you actually tired?” Asked Adrien. 

“A little, I thought I’d stay up and watch some youtube. Why?”

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Can Chat Noir take you somewhere?” 

“A surprise?”

“A good one.” 

“Okay then.” She smiled at him. Together, they climbed up to her balcony and transformed. 

“Follow me, we’re going to make a few stops first, and uh…just bear with me.” 

“Okay?” She chuckled. 

He led her across rooftops, some familiar for patrol, some only traversed every once in a while. 

His first stop was out back of a grocer, by the dumpster. 

“Romantic?” Ladybug chuckled.

“I said bear with me!” He laughed back. Then he started digging through the garbage. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Bottles, glass…breakables.” 

“Okay…” She assisted him in his treasure hunt, pilfering through the bags to pull out some empty jars and glass bottles. He had a bag with him, and put them in it. 

“Where to next?” She asked. 

“I think we need more stuff.” And he leapt back up to the roofs. 

They stopped at several more places like that, gathering breakables. 

“What are we doing with all this?”

“Surprise. I think you’ll like it.” 

This time, he led her farther away from downtown, to a grittier part of the city. He stopped on a tall building that was butted up to another building pretty closely. There was a small alley in between, but looked too small for most people to even go down. He dropped his bag on the edge of the roof, looking down into the alley. 

“Is this your surprise?” 

“Yep.” He grinned. “I used to come here when I was feeling really overwhelmed and trapped. I’d just come here and break shit. After, I’d just feel better.” 

“Isn’t that littering?”

“Just try it, it’s cathartic.” 

Ladybug took a glass bottle out of the bag, held it over the edge, and let it go. 

She watched as it travelled down the several stories, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the dark. Then it shattered, skittering across the ground with a burst of sound and flickering remnants. 

“It was...kind of fun?” She hesitated. 

Chat Noir took his own bottle, a brown beer bottle, and threw it down, the wind whistling past the opening before it hit a wall and bounced, hitting the other and shattering. The pieces clattered like rain down below. 

At first, she didn’t get it. It was littering, despite what he argued, and they were making a mess. 

But then something clicked. 

When Adrien found out about his mother, he trashed his room. Absolutely destroyed it. And then he felt better afterwards. 

“I see.” She said softly, as he broke his third bottle. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you for sharing this with me. You know I love you, even at your weakest.” 

“Are you sure, My Lady?” 

“Of course. Do you love me?” 

“Yes.” He said it so strongly, so surely, it should have dissuaded any need for arguing. But it didn’t. 

“Because you want to, or you have to?”

“Have to?”

“Yeah…everyone has kind of been forcing us to make our marriage official, which, I don’t mind. I really don’t…but I don’t want to if you just think it’s the proper thing to do.”

“Marinette, we’ve talked about this before. I love you, for you. I always have. I’m marrying you because I want to. Yeah, it’s earlier in life than we expected, but I think it’s good for us. Why all the doubt all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know…I just got a weird feeling. It must just be the anxiety.”

“I know what to do.” 

“What?” 

“To get you to believe me. To believe I’m all for this, all for us.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Plagg, Claws in.” A flash of green, and Adrien stood there. His smile smoothed into something softer, more meaningful. His hand came to caress her arm, down to her wrist, to hold her hand gently. 

Then he got down on one knee. 

“Adrien?” She breathed. 

He couldn’t even speak for a moment, just looking up at her, with her hand resting daintily in his. 

He reached into his pocket.

“Oh my god.”

The box in his other hand was small and white, and she didn’t even look at the ring before she started sobbing. 

“No, please don’t cry,” Adrien whispered with misty eyes. 

“Happy tears!” She shouted. “I swear!” She rubbed her face as her whole body trembled with emotion. “Yes! Yes I will!” 

“You’ll marry me?”

“I was going to anyway!” She laughed. 

Adrien stood, and opened the box so she could see it. “It’s a Vintage Marquette cut. And a rose gold band. Since you like pink so much.” 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “You didn’t have to get me something fancy.”

“I wanted to. You’re my princess, and I want to spoil you.” He flipped over her hand to expose the branded scar with ‘Chat Noir’ engraved into her skin. He lifted her hand to his face and kissed her palm. “I never wanted to lay claim to you like this. But what’s done is done.” 

“At least we match.” 

“I don’t mind it. In fact, I smile every time I see it. Because despite everything we went through, I have you.” 

Marinette held her tears back long enough for him to slip the ring on her finger, before she threw her arms around his neck. He squeezed her tightly to him, petting her hair and kissing her cheeks. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

As if divine providence, Marinette glanced up and saw, spectacularly, a shooting star. “A shooting star!” 

“What? Really!?”

“Yes!”

“Quick, make a wish!” 

She pulled away to look at him. “There’s nothing else I want.” 

He squeezed her arms. “You get a free wish, woman! Make a wish!” 

—

I had always planned for Adrien to propose at the end of this chapter. Little did I know that MY OWN BOYFRIEND WOULD PROPOSE WHILE I WAS WORKING ON IT!!!!! 

The shooting star actually happened immediately after our proposal. It was so magical and borderline corny. I couldn’t resist putting it in this chapter!!!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN UNDERGRADUATES

One of the cases he decided was brought by the owner of a food shop. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy, it makes us especially likely to invest. Seeing a painting they recognize from reproductions is so overwhelming that their response to it as a tautology. There's nothing more valuable than an unmet need that is just becoming fixable. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made. Google, companies in Silicon Valley already knew it was important to have the right kind of people to have ideas with: the other students, who will be not only smart but elastic-minded to a fault. Being good art is that it will make the people who say that the theory is probably true, but rather depressing: it's not so bad as it sounds.

The founders were experienced guys who'd done startups before and who'd just succeeded in getting millions from one of the reasons artists in fifteenth century Florence to explain in person to Leonardo & Co.1 If Microsoft was the Empire, they were the Rebel Alliance. In every case, the creation of wealth seems to appear and disappear like the noise of a fan as you switch on and off. One often hears a policy criticized on the grounds that it would increase the income gap between rich and poor? Perhaps this tends to attract people who are bad at understanding. It would work on a moon base where we had to buy air by the liter. It seemed obvious that beauty, for example, as property in the way we do. It could be the reason they don't have to wait to be an adult.

The answer, I realized, is that my m. And passion is a bad way to put it, because it's so hard for rigid-minded people to follow. That's to be expected. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using forceful words. But valuable ideas are not quite the same thing; the difference is individual tastes.2 Don't talk about secondary matters at length. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed to be nothing more than a tenth of your time working on new stuff. Now a lot of people in the Valley is watching them. In either case you let yourself be defined by what they tell you to do.3

Of course, space aliens probably wouldn't find human faces engaging. Rebellion is almost as stupid as obedience. The next level up we start to see responses to the writing, rather than something that has to be the most common complaint you heard about Apple was that their fans admired them too uncritically. Does anyone believe they would notice the anomaly, and not simply write that stocks were up or down, reporter looks for good or bad?4 Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years.5 Simplicity takes effort—genius, even. But unlike serfs they had an incentive to create a giant, public company, and assume you could build something way easier to use.

Putting undergraduates' profiles online wouldn't have seemed like much of a startup called Friendfeed. That would definitely happen if programmers started to use handhelds as development machines—if handhelds displaced laptops the way laptops displaced desktops. Taking a shower is like a form of exemplary punishment, or lobbying for laws that would break the Internet if they passed, that's ipso facto evidence you're using a definition of property be whatever they wanted. Back in the 90s. Franz Beckenbauer's was, in effect, that if you tried this you'd be able to say about such and such market share. The average person looks at it and thinks: how amazingly skillful.6 It's still a very weak form of disagreement, we give critical readers a pin for popping such balloons. If one blows up in your face, start another. Ten weeks is not much time. Everyone at Rehearsal Day. Merely being aware of them usually prevents them from working. If I could tell startups only ten sentences, this would be one of them.

What counts as property depends on what you mean by worth. It would have been. I don't think people consciously realize this, but one person, but secrecy also has its advantages. Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups. It's also true that there are quite a few marketplaces out there that serve this same market. Obviously the world sucked, so why wouldn't they? There was not much point. There are always great ideas sitting right under our noses. England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, the conflict was military. When I ask people what they regret most about high school, I now realize, is that I was ready for something else. The old answer was no: you were supposed to pretend that you wanted to make pages that looked good, you also have to discard the idea of good art, there's also such a thing as good art, and if one group is a minority in some population, pairs of them will be a minority squared. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made.

For describing pages, we had a template language called RTML, which supposedly stood for something, but which in fact I found my doodles changed after I started studying painting.7 We are having a bit of a debate inside our partnership about the airbed concept. It was thus subjective rather than objective. Don't fix Windows, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me. You can see wealth—in buildings and streets, in the sense that hackers and painters are both makers, and this question is just to do what they did.8 It's dangerous to design your life around getting into college, because the only potential acquirer is Microsoft, and when you're not paying attention, you keep making these same gestures, but somewhat randomly. No matter how much to how many voters, and adjust their message so precisely in response, that they tend to split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row?

So is it meaningless to talk about it publicly till long afterward.9 The way Apple runs the App Store is full of half-baked applications. If I were talking to a roomful of people than you would in conversation.10 The problem is, it's hard to get the gold out of it. Where does wealth come from?11 You can demonstrate your respect for one another in more subtle ways.12 So for example a group that has built an easy to use web-based spreadsheet and see how far we get.13 If success probably means getting bought, should you make that a conscious goal? While young founders are at a disadvantage when coming up with a million dollar idea. I'd like to reply with another question: why do people think it's hard?

Notes

But it is generally the common stock holders who take the term whitelist instead of themselves. There's comparatively little from it. I couldn't convince Fred Wilson to fund them. I've come to you about it.

Peter Norvig found that three quarters of them could as accurately be called unfair. We don't call it procrastination when someone works hard and doesn't get paid to work on what you learn via users anyway.

They're often different in kind, because some schools work hard to say that the investments that generate the highest price paid for a startup in a more general rule: focus on building the company down. Enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very visible in Silicon Valley.

In many ways the New Deal was a kid that you'd want to get jobs. Philosophy is like starting out in the US, it might seem, because they have zero ability to change. If the rich paid high taxes? The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston.

Don't be evil. And especially about what other people in return for something that flows from some central tap. I'm convinced there were, we found Dave Shen there, only for startups to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long. I think investors currently err too far on the dollar.

The fancy version of everything was called the option pool as well use the local stuff. Philosophy is like starting out in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically by sharding it.

This is everyday life in general. So, can I make it easy. Believe it or not, under current US law, writing and visual design.

But which of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite: when we say it's ipso facto right to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to justify choices inaction in particular.

An influx of inexpensive but mediocre investors. Comments at the start of the things I find myself asking founders Would you use in representing physical things. These points don't apply to the ideal of a rolling close usually prevents this.

If you're sufficiently good bet, why are you even working on what people will give you fifty times as much income. When a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. No one writing a dictionary from scratch, rather than giving grants.

For similar reasons, avoid the topic. It's not only the leaves who suffer. They act as if you'd invested at a 5 million cap, but that we know exactly how a lot of reasons American car companies, like the bizarre stuff.

Foster, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the exercise of stock the VCs should be designed to live in a request.

Odds are people who are good presenters, but to do certain kinds of work the upper middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the first version was mostly Lisp, Wiley, 1985, p. So during the 2002-03 season was 2. Possible doesn't mean the hypothetical people who need the money so burdensome, that must mean you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what you're doing.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Chris Dixon, Jessica Livingston, Paul Watson, Geoff Ralston, Sarah Harlin, Dan Giffin, and Alexia Tsotsis for smelling so good.

[lastsonlost]

With the coronavirus pandemic surging and initial vaccine supplies limited, the United States faces a hard choice: Should the country’s immunization program focus in the early months on the elderly and people with serious medical conditions, who are dying of the virus at the highest rates, or on essential workers, an expansive category encompassing Americans who have borne the greatest risk of infection?

Health care workers and the frailest of the elderly — residents of long-term-care facilities — will almost certainly get the first shots, under guidelines the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued on Thursday. But with vaccination expected to start this month, the debate among federal and state health officials about who goes next, and lobbying from outside groups to be included, is growing more urgent.

It’s a question increasingly guided by concerns over the inequities laid bare by the pandemic, from disproportionately high rates of infection and death among poor people and people of color to disparate access to testing, child care and technology for online schooling.

“It’s damnable that we are even being placed in this position that we have to make these choices,” said the Rev. William J. Barber II, a co-chairman of the Poor People’s Campaign, a national coalition that calls attention to the challenges of the working poor. “But if we have to make the choice, we cannot once again leave poor and low-wealth essential workers to be last.”

Ultimately, the choice comes down to whether preventing death or curbing the spread of the virus and returning to some semblance of normalcy is the highest priority. “If your goal is to maximize the preservation of human life, then you would bias the vaccine toward older Americans,” Dr. Scott Gottlieb, the former Food and Drug Administration commissioner, said recently. “If your goal is to reduce the rate of infection, then you would prioritize essential workers. So it depends what impact you’re trying to achieve.”

The trade-off between the two is muddied by the fact that the definition of “essential workers” used by the C.D.C. comprises nearly 70 percent of the American work force, sweeping in not just grocery store clerks and emergency responders, but tugboat operators, exterminators and nuclear energy workers. Some labor economists and public health officials consider the category overbroad and say it should be narrowed to only those who interact in person with the public.

An independent committee of medical experts that advises the C.D.C. on immunization practices will soon vote on whom to recommend for the second phase of vaccination — “Phase 1b.” In a meeting last month, all voting members of the committee indicated support for putting essential workers ahead of people 65 and older and those with high-risk health conditions.

Historically, the committee relied on scientific evidence to inform its decisions. But now the members are weighing social justice concerns as well, noted Lisa A. Prosser, a professor of health policy and decision sciences at the University of Michigan.

“To me the issue of ethics is very significant, very important for this country,” Dr. Peter Szilagyi, a committee member and a pediatrics professor at the University of California, Los Angeles, said at the time, “and clearly favors the essential worker group because of the high proportion of minority, low-income and low-education workers among essential workers.”

That position runs counter to frameworks proposed by the World Health Organization, the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, and many countries, which say that reducing deaths should be the unequivocal priority and that older and sicker people should thus go before the workers, a view shared by many in public health and medicine.

Dr. Robert Redfield, the C.D.C. director and the nation’s top public health official, reminded the advisory committee of the importance of older people, saying in a statement on Thursday that he looked forward to “future recommendations that, based on vaccine availability, demonstrate that we as a nation also prioritize the elderly.”

Once the committee votes, Dr. Redfield will decide whether to accept its recommendations as the official guidance of the agency. Only rarely does a C.D.C. director reject a recommendation from the committee, whose 14 members are selected by the Health and Human Services secretary, serve four-and-a-half-year terms and have never confronted a task as high in profile as this one.

But ultimately, the decision will be up to governors and state and local health officials. They are not required to follow C.D.C. guidelines, though historically they have done so.

There are about 90 million essential workers nationwide, as defined by a division of the Department of Homeland Security that compiled a roster of jobs that help maintain critical infrastructure during a pandemic. That list is long, and because there won’t be enough doses to reach everyone at first, states are preparing to make tough decisions: Louisiana’s preliminary plan, for example, puts prison guards and food processing workers ahead of teachers and grocery employees. Nevada’s prioritizes education and public transit workers over those in retail and food processing.

At this early point, many state plans put at least some people who are older and live independently, or people who have medical conditions, ahead of most essential workers, though that could change after the C.D.C. committee makes a formal recommendation on the next phase.

One occupation whose priority is being hotly debated is teaching. The C.D.C. includes educators as essential workers. But not everyone agrees with that designation.

Marc Lipsitch, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at Harvard’s T.H. Chan School of Public Health, argued that teachers should not be included as essential workers, if a central goal of the committee is to reduce health inequities.

“Teachers have middle-class salaries, are very often white, and they have college degrees,” he said. “Of course they should be treated better, but they are not among the most mistreated of workers.”

Elise Gould, a senior economist at the Economic Policy Institute, disagreed. Teachers not only ensure that children don’t fall further behind in their education, she said, but are also critical to the work force at large.

“When you talk about disproportionate impact and you’re concerned about people getting back into the labor force, many are mothers, and they will have a harder time if their children don’t have a reliable place to go,” she said. “And if you think generally about people who have jobs where they can’t telework, they are disproportionately Black and brown. They’ll have more of a challenge when child care is an issue.”

In September, academic researchers analyzed the Department of Homeland Security’s list of essential workers and found that it broadly mirrored the demographics of the American labor force. The researchers proposed a narrower, more vulnerable category — “frontline workers,” such as food deliverers, cashiers and emergency medical technicians, who must work face to face with others and are thus at greater risk of contracting the virus.

By this definition, said Francine D. Blau, a labor economist at Cornell University and an author of the study, teachers belong in the larger category of essential workers. However, when they work in classrooms rather than remotely, she said, they would fit into the “frontline” group. Individual states categorize teachers differently.

Dr. Blau said that if supplies are short, frontline workers should be emphasized. “These are a subset of essential workers who, given the nature of their jobs, must provide their labor in person. Prioritizing them makes sense given the heightened risk that they face.”

The analysis, a working paper for the National Bureau of Economic Research, is in line with other critics, who say that the list of essential workers is too wide-ranging.

“If groups are too large, then you’re not really focusing on priorities,” said Saad B. Omer, director of the Yale Institute for Global Health, who worked on the vaccination frameworks for the W.H.O. and the National Academies.

The essential workers on the federal list make up nearly 70 percent of the American labor force, the researchers said, compared with 42 percent for the frontline workers. Women made up 39 percent of frontline workers and, in certain occupations, far more. Frontline workers’ education levels are lower, as are their wages — on average, just under $22 an hour. The proportion of Black and Hispanic workers is higher than in the broader category of essential workers.

Some health policy experts said that to prioritize preventing deaths rather than reducing virus transmission was simply a pragmatic choice, because there won’t be enough vaccine initially available to make a meaningful dent in contagion. A more effective use of limited quantities, they say, is to save the lives of the most frail.

Moreover, vaccine trial results so far show only that the shots can protect the individuals who receive them. The trials have not yet demonstrated that a vaccinated person would not infect others. Though scientists believe that is likely to be the case, it has yet to be proved.

Harald Schmidt, an expert in ethics and health policy at the University of Pennsylvania, said that it is reasonable to put essential workers ahead of older adults, given their risks, and that they are disproportionately minorities. “Older populations are whiter, ” Dr. Schmidt said. “Society is structured in a way that enables them to live longer. Instead of giving additional health benefits to those who already had more of them, we can start to level the playing field a bit.”

But to protect older people more at risk, he called on the C.D.C. committee to also integrate the agency’s own “social vulnerability index.”

The index includes 15 measures derived from the census, such as overcrowded housing, lack of vehicle access and poverty, to determine how urgently a community needs health support, with the goal of reducing inequities.

In a new analysis of the states’ preliminary vaccine plans, Dr. Schmidt found that at least 18 states intended to apply the index. Tennessee, for one, has indicated that it will reserve some of its early allotments for disadvantaged communities.

Still, some people believe it is wrong to give racial and socioeconomic equity more weight than who is most likely to die.

“They need to have bombproof, fact-based, public-health-based reasons for why one group goes ahead of another,” said Chuck Ludlam, a former Senate aide and biotech industry lobbyist who protested putting essential workers ahead of older people in comments to the committee. “They have provided no explanation here that will withstand public scrutiny.”

Further complicating matters, the different priority groups discussed by the C.D.C. committee are overlapping — many essential workers have high-risk conditions, and some are older than 65. Some states have suggested that they will prioritize only essential workers who come face to face with the public, while others have not prioritized them at all.

Even some people whose allegiance lies with one group have made the case that others should have an earlier claim on the vaccine. Marc Perrone, president of the United Food and Commercial Workers Union, which represents 1.3 million grocery and food processing workers, said that despite the high rate of infection among his members, he thought that older adults should go first.

“Here’s the thing: Everybody’s got a grandmother or grandfather,” Mr. Perrone said. “And I do believe almost everybody in this country would want to protect them, or their aging parents.”

[gordonwilliamsweb]

If You Are Vaccinated, You Can Dance the Night Away

Marissa Castrigno was walking through downtown Wilmington, North Carolina, when she spotted the sign in the window of one of her favorite dance clubs. After months of being shuttered by the pandemic, Ibiza Nightclub was reopening April 30, it announced.

This story also ran on Raleigh News & Observer. It can be republished for free.

Thrilled, Castrigno immediately made plans with friends to be there.

About 50 miles north in Jacksonville, Kennedy Swift learned of Ibiza’s reopening on social media. He, too, decided to attend with friends.

But on the night of April 30, the two groups were in for a surprise — one they would react to in starkly different ways.

In addition to IDs, they learned, they’d need to show covid-19 vaccination cards for entry. The club was letting in only people who had had at least one shot.

“I was shocked,” said Swift, 21. He learned of the policy a few hours before the reopening, when the club posted it on its Facebook page.

He and his friends had to cancel their plans, since none of them was vaccinated.

“I’m not against [Ibiza] exercising their rights as a business,” Swift said. “I just think it’s foolish. … This will discourage a lot of former patrons from returning to the club.”

On the other hand, Castrigno and her friends, most of whom had been fully vaccinated since early April, felt the policy made their return to nightlife even better.

“There was raw excitement about going out to a place and feeling safe,” said Castrigno, 28.

Similar conversations are playing out across the country as vaccination rates increase and bars, clubs and other businesses navigate how to reopen. The concept of vaccine passports — which allow people who have been inoculated against covid and are at lower risk of contracting or spreading the disease to participate in certain activities — has been floated for clubs, cruise ships and other spaces where large groups gather in close quarters. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s recent announcement that vaccinated people can safely gather indoors and outdoors without masks has reignited the idea. Yet these passports remain highly controversial and their implementation is largely piecemeal. Many private businesses are making their own decisions, and governments in different parts of the country are adopting varying stances.

In New York, for instance, Gov. Andrew Cuomo announced in early May that places where proof of vaccination or a negative covid test are required can operate at a greater capacity. Some nightclubs there have implemented policies similar to Ibiza’s. In Florida, however, Gov. Ron DeSantis recently signed a law prohibiting businesses, schools and government offices from requiring proof of vaccination, with fines of up to $5,000 per incident.

For Ibiza Nightclub in southeastern North Carolina — a political battleground state — the vaccine card requirement is proving to be a lightning rod. The club’s Facebook post announcing the policy had sparked 70 comments as of mid-May, and posts across other platforms echoed different sides of the issue.

“I am thrilled to see a personal business putting the health and safety forward in order to keep their business running,” one comment read.

Others took a markedly different tone: “This is pretty dumb!”

“Discrimination, expect lawsuits,” read another.

The Honor Code

Last week, after the CDC said vaccinated adults could largely live their lives mask-free, Raleigh restaurant owner Hisine McNeill felt a troubling pang of déjà vu. He owns Alpha Dawgs, a sandwich shop in southeast Raleigh, and said small businesses like his carried the burden of mask enforcement for much of the pandemic. Now, he said, they’re tasked with trusting adults who say they’ve been vaccinated. He isn’t ready to do that.

“I don’t have the luxury of taking chances on an honor code,” McNeill said. “If I have an outbreak because someone didn’t wear a mask and have to close down, who’s going to help keep me open?”

McNeill opened Alpha Dawgs in 2018 and, like most restaurateurs, he said, struggled through the pandemic, professionally and personally. He said he has lost friends and family members and doesn’t believe the pandemic is over.

“I know people personally in the ICU still recovering from [covid],” McNeill said. “I don’t need any more examples about how serious this is.”

So McNeill posted a new requirement on the restaurant’s Facebook page. He asked everyone to continue wearing masks unless they were prepared to show him a vaccine card.

“To whom it may concern,” McNeill wrote. “If you decide to come into my establishment claiming that you are fully vaccinated, I WILL ASK TO SEE YOUR CARD. If you don’t want to provide it then you will have to wear a mask in my store. And if you still don’t want to comply with either then I have the right to deny service. Thank you for your cooperation.”

The day after he posted that statement, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper eased most covid-related restrictions in the state, including its mask mandate. The Alpha Dawgs post stirred some online debate over masks and vaccinations and led to a few responses, including one from the Raleigh Republican Club.

“Should you be in the area…,” it read. “Eat somewhere else….”

McNeill felt the Raleigh Republican Club was calling for a boycott. Afterward, he noticed multiple one-star reviews pop up on Google, not from people who had been to the restaurant, but people accusing McNeill of discrimination.

“This is not political for me, this is a personal belief,” McNeill said. “I have an 85-year-old grandmother I see every other week. I’m going to make sure she’s protected.”

Raleigh Republican Club board member Guy Smith said the group’s post was written collectively, but he didn’t see it as a call for a boycott.

“Our philosophical position is it’s his business, the owner can choose to do what they choose to do within the confines of the individual business,” Smith said. “Our philosophical position is, to demand someone to demonstrate they’re vaccinated with a card, we think that’s out of bounds.”

Smith said the group also condemns writing bogus reviews of a business.

McNeill said Alpha Dawgs’ business has not suffered from the online dust-up.

“I haven’t had any problems,” McNeill said. “Only the online harassment.”

The Nightclub Expected Opposition

Charles Smith, general manager of the club, said he knew the policy would garner backlash, but “we’ve always put the health and safety of both staff and our patrons, and their families, first.”

Since opening as a gay bar in 2001, Ibiza has been a pillar of the LGBTQ community in Wilmington. Although its clientele has expanded over time, it’s still known for drag shows on Friday nights.

Last year, the club shut down March 12, about a week before Gov. Cooper ordered all North Carolina bars and restaurants to stop dine-in service. Ibiza remained shuttered for 14 months, using the time to renovate, Smith said, and leaning on federal and state assistance for small businesses.

When it came to reopening, he said, “the question was: How do we provide the absolute safest experience alongside the nightlife experience we’ve been known for?”

It wouldn’t be easy. Nightclubs are a perfect cocktail of covid risks: lots of people socializing and dancing in close quarters. Alcohol lowering inhibitions. Music forcing people to speak louder, releasing more droplets into the air.

“The concept of social distancing in a nightclub is an oxymoron,” Smith said. And the club’s staff didn’t want to be “the police of nightlife,” trying to separate people on the dance floor, he added.

The safest option, it seemed, was to require people to be vaccinated.

The club waited till all adults in the state were eligible for vaccines before reopening. 

Now Ibiza requires patrons to present their vaccine cards or photos of the cards for entry. On reopening night, the club asked customers to wear masks and limited its capacity to 50%, per an executive order from the governor. But as of May 14, the state lifted its capacity restrictions and masking requirements.

Castrigno, who’d been looking forward to that night for weeks since she saw the sign in the club’s window, said it was “the most jubilant I’d ever seen Ibiza.” Several performers put on a drag show. Customers took turns dancing on poles. Some people wore masks with rhinestones to match their outfits, she said.

She wasn’t surprised that many people took the vaccine requirement in stride. “Queer people are well versed in the risks of public health crisis and protecting the community,” she said, referring to the AIDS crisis, which devastated the community in the ’80s and ’90s.

For James Colucci, who has been a customer since 2016, supporting Ibiza’s vaccine policy is about protecting the club’s employees. Some of them have “spearheaded the [LGBTQ] movement, so we can get together and have events like this,” he said.

But others say the policy is discriminatory and injects the nightclub into people’s personal health care decisions.

Joey Askew, a 37-year-old from Greenville, wrote on Ibiza’s Facebook page, “I’ll never go back to this club until they lift this mandate!!”

In an interview with KHN, Askew said he’s not ready to get the vaccine because there haven’t been lifetime studies of recipients to determine long-term side effects. He’s willing to wear a mask and maintain physical distance, but a vaccine requirement goes too far.

“A mask is something I can buy from anywhere and take off whenever I choose,” he said. “But I can’t take a vaccine out. It’s a permanent choice that [the club] is involving themselves in, and it’s not their place.”

In between the people condemning the club’s policy and those applauding it are many who are conflicted.

Mark Russell, 29, is a nurse in Washington, D.C., who cares for covid patients and contracted covid last year. He plans on visiting Ibiza Nightclub in late May while attending a small wedding in North Carolina where everyone will be vaccinated.

The club’s policy makes him feel safer, Russell said. But he also worries about its effect on people of color, who in many places have faced barriers to vaccination.

“It’s a battle in my own brain, thinking those two things,” Russell said.

For Heidi Martek, 55, the policy raised a personal question. “What about those who can’t get the vaccine?” she wrote on Ibiza’s Facebook page.

She has an autoimmune disease, making her body hypersensitive to any vaccine, Martek said, even the flu shot.

But when commenters on Facebook suggested she sue the club, Martek pushed back. The club is facing difficult choices, she told KHN, and there’s no right answer.

“Whether I can go in or not, I support them,” said Martek, who’s been a patron at Ibiza for six years.

She wants the club to survive the pandemic, unlike other establishments that have closed in the past year.

“It’s not like Wilmington is overwhelmed with LGBTQ clubs,” Martek said. “Ibiza is really important.”

News & Observer reporter Drew Jackson contributed to this story.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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This story can be republished for free (details).

If You Are Vaccinated, You Can Dance the Night Away published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[disneydreamlights]

Across the Stars: Chapter 2

AO3 | FFN

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Summary: Tensions between the Separatists and the Republic are climbing as the Senate debates whether there is need for an army. Anakin Skywalker, Senator of Tatooine, has recently returned to Coruscant to speak against its formation, resulting in an assassination attempt that forces him to reunite with long time friends Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and the newly knighted Padme Naberrie for his own protection. [Anidala]

(Or, an Attack of the Clones Roleswap AU)

The elevator ride up to the senator's apartment couldn't be over sooner, in Padmé's opinion, yet if it never ended she would have been thrilled. She looked out the window, trying to ignore the impossibly bright presence at the top of the building as they got closer and closer to the top floor of the building.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan pulled her attention away from the window she was gazing out of, and onto the ride up. The truth was, she wasn't sure. The elevator ride up to the senator's apartment felt impossibly long as it came nearer to the top floor of the building. "You're not normally this nervous, my Padawan."

Padmé laughed and gave a smile, hoping to seem more at ease. "I'm not your Padawan anymore." She had recently completed her trials, which probably helped explain her nerves. It was the first mission the council had deemed to give her since she'd been knighted, a matter of pride to her and Obi-Wan, and it was expected for her to be a little nervous. Though the nature of the mission, and who they were protecting, were more the cause than her new promotion.

An assassination attempt had been made on the Senator of Tatooine, Anakin Skywalker, and so she and Obi-Wan, by request of both the Chancellor and the council, had been assigned guard duty to the young man. To make sure no other attempts were made on his life. It was a compromise, she was sure, but Anakin knew them best after all. It was only natural they'd be sent to help.

Obi-Wan smiled at her. "So I keep forgetting." It was clear he hadn't, he'd been there when she was knighted after all. "But I'm sure it doesn't make things less nerve-wracking, I remember my first mission after being knighted wasn't much easier."

She couldn't imagine it would have been, he'd had a Padawan following him for the entire mission after all. "It was probably harder, you had to watch out for me too."

"So I did, though I'm sure that's probably not all that's plaguing you." Obi-Wan indicated her to express her worries. "So what else is wrong?"

"Not wrong, not necessarily." At this, Padmé couldn't help but keep the smile off her face. "I'm worried about Senator Skywalker, of course, but I'm also excited to get the chance to see him. It's been too long since we've seen him." Five years had passed since their last trip to Tatooine, and Padmé still remembered the young fourteen year old.

"That it has. Hopefully Anakin's been taking care of himself." They knew he had to have been, to some degree. He was a senator right now, and one didn't become a senator overnight with no hard work involved.

"I'm sure." She smiled. The elevator opened up, and Padmé and Obi-Wan walked into the apartment, watching the senator's advisors and Anakin himself discussing what they would need to do for the next meeting of the Senate.

It wasn't long before they were noticed. "Padmé, Obi-Wan." Before Anakin could even greet them, Shmi had come over, giving both Padmé and her Master a hug. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you as well, Shmi." Obi-Wan bowed to the woman after being released from the quick hug. Padmé hugged the woman back, happy to see her again as well. She was a compassionate woman, and Padmé couldn't deny a bit of excitement at seeing her alongside her son. "How has retirement from the Senate been serving you."

"I'm glad I'm not in it right now. The stress Ani has to deal with to stop this bill…" Shmi gave them a tired smile. Admittedly, Padmé hadn't been able to follow Coruscant's politics with her preparation for the trials, so for once she had little idea what Shmi was talking about. "You'll protect him, right?"

"We'll do our best." Padmé gave the woman a smile. That was what they were here for.

"Mom, what are you–" From the kitchen, Anakin's voice stopped as he looked at the two Jedi, a smile forming on his face. Padmé couldn't stop one from forming on hers as well.

In the five years since they had last seen each other, Anakin had grown up from the gangly young teen into an adult. His blond hair had grown longer, but darker, likely due to him having spent less time under the twin suns on Tatooine. He'd also grown considerably more attractive, and Padmé felt her face warm up several degrees. She tried not to think about it. "Ani?"

"Hello Knight Naberrie," so he knew she was no longer a Padawan, "Obi-Wan. It's nice to see you both. I'm surprised you two didn't try to stop by sooner."

"We've been off world on missions, with the Separatist unrest stirring, it's been difficult to find a moment of rest for any Jedi." Obi-Wan gave an exhausted smile to Anakin. "Not to mention, Padmé had to study for her trials."

"I heard." Anakin smirked. "I've been keeping an ear in the Jedi Temple's business to see what I could hear about you two." That surprised Padmé, at least a little bit. She knew they had parted as friends, but she hadn't expected he'd be able to keep tabs on them. "Congrats, Padmé. I knew you'd be able to do it. I'm sure you'll make a fine Jedi."

"Thank you, Anakin." She was flattered for sure. "I only with you could share this moment with me. I know how much you wanted to be a Jedi too." The little slave boy from Tatooine who'd been so eager to learn how to use a lightsaber when she'd shown him hers as an initiate was a far cry from the man sitting in front of her now.

"It's the past." He waved her off, though she detected a small wave of irritation in the Force at the reminder. "Besides, I can do just as much good for the world without one. That's why I'm a Senator now." He indicated for the two of them to follow him to another room. "Mom, can you discuss the plan for dealing with the Military Creation Act? I need to discuss security with Padmé and Obi-Wan."

"Of course." Shmi nodded, her voice turning slightly more serious. The reminder of why they had reunited was a slight damper on the mood. It should have been under much better circumstances. All of them agreed on that. "I'll keep everybody occupied." She returned to the Tatooine senatorial delegation as Anakin entered into the kitchen, grabbing a seat with the Force for Padmé and Obi-Wan to sit down on.

"Somebody's still been practicing." Obi-Wan noted, watching as Anakin looked away.

"I didn't want the training you both gave me to go to waste. I try not to use it around others. You both warned me to keep it a secret for a reason, after all." Anakin's position likely meant the Force wasn't useful for much, but Padmé didn't blame him for keeping up with it. She likely would've done the same in his position. "Which means I think we can rule out the whole extremely powerful Force sensitive thing as the reason I'm being targeted, though I'm pretty sure it's the only reason I've survived so far."

"I agree." Obi-Wan nodded. "Not that we're here to help you solve the mystery of whoever's trying to kill you. We're merely here to serve as your protection."

Anakin frowned. "What do you mean you're not here to help me figure it out. That's the most important thing. Bail and I both agreed I need to be there to help deal with the Military Creation Act. I can't do that if I'm being hunted down by assassins."

"It's not our mandate." Padmé explained, almost feeling bad for Anakin as she felt a wave of irritation come from him in the Force. "The Jedi Council didn't assign us to solve the mystery of the attempts, just to guard you from them until they stop."

"And? That doesn't help any of us." Anakin wasn't wrong with that sentiment. "If you're here, you can't help deal with the Separatists and try to pacify them like the Jedi are supposed to do, and so long as I'm under threat I'm not supposed to be making anymore public appearances."

"Anakin–"

"No Obi-Wan, I'm not going to pretend that you should 'just' be protecting me." Anakin crossed his arms in irritation, clearly unhappy with Obi-Wan's attempt at an argument. "A part of protecting me is stopping who's doing this. My bodyguards and Force sensitivity would've been enough if that wasn't the case."

Neither Jedi knew what to say to argue against that, because technically, Anakin wasn't wrong. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. "We understand Anakin, we'll do our best, we just can't go out of the way to find them." Padmé smiled, trying to placate the senator. It seemed to work, as the moment she gave the explanation, he seemed to calm down just a bit. "But if we learn anything while serving as part of your security, we'll make sure to look into it."

Anakin smiled. "Right, I knew I could count on you guys. So, shall we discuss plans for my protection? I have an idea."

"An idea? I'm not sure I want to know given how infamous some of your ideas are." Despite having not run into him in their visits to the Senate, both Padmé and Obi-Wan knew of just some of the insanity Anakin was known to get into. The borderline fights with other Senators just to prove that he was right and that they should follow his ideas and policies. Still, Obi-Wan indicated for Anakin to continue. "But I'm willing to hear them out."

"Use me as bait."

"Use you as what?" Padmé stared at Anakin as though she couldn't believe what the Senator was saying.

"It's the best way to lure out my assassin. If he thinks my defenses have minimally increased, then he'll attack again. The Force can give me warnings, but if not then you two can sense what's going on too and keep me safe." Anakin leaned back in his chair. Padmé had to admit, the idea had merit. If they lured them out, at minimum they could kill whoever was targeting him, or perhaps even learn why. Either way, it was an idea that held promise.

"Absolutely not." Obi-Wan crossed his arms, denying the idea before Padmé could voice her opinion on it. "Anakin you can't play with your life like that. You're far too important." He didn't object, merely listened and looked to Padmé, waiting for her answer.

"Obi-Wan is right." In spite of the fact that she wanted to solve the mystery for Anakin, she knew her Master was right. "Your life is the first priority here Senator. We can't leave your life to chance."

Anakin sighed, relenting far too quickly on the matter. "Right then, if you're both decided, Padmé, would you mind coming with me. I'd like to discuss some extra security details with you. Alone." Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. So Anakin did. "I want her watching the security feeds."

"Anakin are you sure?" She saw why Obi-Wan was unsure, she was unsure herself why the Senator felt more comfortable with her watching him sleep over Obi-Wan.

"I trust Knight Naberrie with the task. She'll be faster to alert the team, she's not as old as you." There was a teasing note to Anakin's voice, and Padmé started to laugh as she watched her master start sputtering, clearly taken off guard.

"I'm not that old."

"Aren't you pushing thirty-five, Master?" Padmé smiled, joining Anakin on his teasing. "That's old in my books."

"Yours aren't the only ones that matter, my Padawan." Obi-Wan sighed. "I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll discuss with the rest of your team about where they think I might be of most use."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." Anakin watched the Jedi Knight walk out of the room. "Padmé, if you'll follow me." He led the way, leading her into a room with dozens of monitors and a single blue Astromech droid, plugged into the main console to watch the feed.

"Artoo?" Padmé looked at the droid in surprise. "Artoo's on your security team?" She remembered the eccentric droid. He'd stayed behind back when Padmé and Obi-Wan had returned to Tatooine to inform Anakin that they wouldn't be training him, but she still couldn't imagine him doing so much for him.

"I trust Artoo to keep an eye on any intruders, he's pretty good at keeping an eye on everything." He put his hand on the Astromech's dome with a smile, and the droid let out a series of beeps in return. But if R2D2 was going to be keeping an eye on everything, then…

"Anakin, why did you want me here if you have Artoo covering security?" She wasn't necessary for the job. The droid would be able to activate the system instantly so long as he was watching.

"Because, I know you don't agree with Obi-Wan's or the council's mandate just to stay here and guard me." Anakin looked to her, waiting for her to deny what he said. When she didn't, he continued. "You want to get down to the bottom of this just as much as I do."

"Of course I do, but Ani, I can't just go around the command I'm supposed to follow by putting you in more danger." He was right, she wanted to investigate and put an end to the threat, but not by putting him at risk.

Anakin laughed. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm not the little kid from Tatooine anymore. Artoo here will alert you the moment something goes wrong, and between the three of us we should have enough Force powers to recognize when something's going to go wrong."

It took Padmé a lot of effort to respond. "What if we don't?"

"If I die, then we can use it as proof that people are targeting senators opposing the Military Creation Act. Maybe then the Senate will listen to people saying it's a bad idea." Was that the bill Anakin was working so hard against?

"Anakin, your life isn't something you can just throw away like that." She needed him to see reason.

"This bill is wrong. If it takes my life to stop it, then it's a life I'm willing to give. I'm willing to die to stop something I don't believe in."

"You're that against creating a military?" That was...unlike Anakin, to say the least. He wasn't afraid of conflict, at least with what she'd seen. He was the one who freed all the slaves on Tatooine when he was still so young. She wasn't for the creation of one, of course, but it surprised her to hear that he wasn't either.

"Don't get me wrong, a lot of times a fight is the easiest way to handle things, but it's not that simple, not this time." Anakin pulled his data pad, letting Padmé scroll through the files to see the data the Senators had gathered. "A war would take the attention off of what needs fixing in the galaxy, take funds from where they're needed, and most importantly, it won't cause the Separatists to fold back into the Republic. Not fast enough to make it worth forcing thousands of sentients to fight in a war they don't believe in."

Padmé smiled, it made all too much sense that the boy from Tatooine would be against an army formed by a draft. The way he'd thought out his position to come to the conclusion that violence wasn't the answer was a far cry from the boy he had been as well. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"

She noticed Anakin's cheeks turn red, as though he was embarrassed by her comment. "I have. I wanted to become somebody you'd be proud of. Y-you and my mom, of course."

Padmé smiled, and she noticed Anakin's face had turned redder. If she didn't know any better, she'd assume it was the same puppy crush he'd had on her all those years ago. She decided better than to dwell on that, instead returning to the topic at hand. "You have, but that doesn't mean I want you throwing your life away for a cause."

Anakin was snapped out of his embarrassed state. "I won't be. I trust you." He looked at her with the same intense, blue eyes that hadn't changed a bit, and she met his gaze. He believed in her, the least she could do was believe in him and his plan too.

"We'll do it." Padmé relented, and Anakin's face broke into a grin.

"Thank you, Padmé. I knew you'd help me."

What had she signed herself up for.

-x-

"You spent an awful lot of time with the Senator." Padmé stepped out of the security room a couple hours later, having listened in on Anakin's plan as best as she could. "Was everything alright?"

"Anakin had...a lot of details to go over." She sat down next to him, hoping Obi-Wan wouldn't ask too much about just what those details entailed.

"I see...so what plan has he come up with this time." So she wouldn't be able to hide the change of plans from Obi-Wan. "I can't imagine it was more dangerous than his last one."

"It's...slightly better." She grimaced at the hesitation in her words, but it was true. Slightly better really was the only way to describe it. "Anakin has Artoo serving as the one in charge of monitoring the cameras, we both figured it'd be a better idea than having somebody watching that the assassin could see."

"Artoo?" Obi-Wan stopped for a moment. "Is he really sure an Astromech, us, and a couple of his normal bodyguards will be enough to deter whoever's after him." She didn't answer, causing Obi-Wan to prod her again. "Padmé?"

"Anakin's insisting that we use him as bait," she admitted to her indulging the Senator in what was a terrible idea. "He wouldn't listen to me when I asked otherwise."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Of course he wouldn't, Anakin is far too impulsive and willing to take risks. I suppose judging by the way you're talking, you agree?"

"The best way to protect him is to ensure that the assassin can't return. We won't be able to get them to make another attempt if they know that the security around him is tighter. It solves the case faster, so we can help try to get peace with the Separatists." She took a deep breath, feeling slightly ill at ease, awaiting the reprimands from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, however, simply nodded. "Very well, though I'm disappointed in you for trying to work around our orders, I accept your judgement."

Wait, what? "Master?"

"Padmé, you're a Jedi Knight now. You should be making your own decisions by now, rather than relying on mine. Whether it's the right or wrong one, it's too late to do anything about it now. You have to stay firm in the belief that you chose right" He stood up, walking over to the window to check to see if anything was out of the ordinary. "We can only hope Anakin knows what he's doing."

"I think he does. Otherwise he wouldn't have asked us to do it." She watched Obi-Wan's behavior as he paced around, seemingly anxious. "Everything alright?"

"I'm not sure, something–" They both felt it from Anakin's room. Something different. Something wrong. "Padmé."

"Right!" She ran into the room, shortly after followed by Obi-Wan to see two worm like creatures and a probe droid. Without another thought, she sliced through the worms, unwilling to let them come close to harming the Senator.

"Obi-Wan, Padmé?" Anakin looked at the two of them. But before either of them could say anything, Obi-Wan took matters into his own hands, and jumped right out the window onto the droid just outside, likely the culprit in letting the worms into his room. "What the kriff?"

Padmé sighed. "You were right when you said they'd make another move tonight." She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. "You wouldn't happen to have a speeder I can borrow, would you?"

"I've got something better."

-x-

Better, as it turned out, was Padmé clinging to the seat of a four person speeder as Anakin zoomed through the Coruscanti skies at a speed that had to have been downright illegal for your average person to be going at. "Anakin! I could've driven myself."

"Where's the fun in that?" Anakin gave her a smile, clearly in his element. Despite that, Padmé clung her hands onto the seat. "Besides, you need to keep up with Obi-Wan. I'm the better driver."

"You don't know that?"

"You didn't win a podrace when you were nine." Anakin swerved out of the way of an incoming speeder, keeping an eye on the droid above them and the dangling Obi-Wan. "Somebody fast has to keep up with the droid."

"Somebody safe could have kept up with it too." She wanted Anakin to stop for literally one minute, but she did know he was right. If they didn't keep up, Obi-Wan would fall a lot farther than even a Jedi using the Force could survive. Loathe as she was to admit it, Anakin's help was probably for the best. "Or somebody who doesn't have an assassin after him."

"I'll be fine. The assassin will be too busy running from Obi-Wan to attempt to take me out." Anakin positioned himself underneath Obi-Wan in preparation for the knight to fall. "So, when did Obi-Wan get such a reckless streak?"

"You're one to talk." Padmé huffed, but Anakin just laughed. After a moment, she answered. "Always. He follows the rules, but he's not afraid to take a risk or two if it gets what he needs. But only if it's his own life at stake." If Padmé had decided to jump out of a window attached to a droid, she'd be murdered as soon as she was back on the ground. But Obi-Wan could do it without so much of a reprimand.

She was going to have to lecture her Master on safety, that was for sure.

As though her concern had been enough to will the worst case scenario into existence, the droid Obi-Wan had been clinging to was shot at and destroyed, and he landed in the speeder's back seat. He sat up moments later. "Nice catch Pad-Anakin?"

"Hey Obi-Wan." Anakin waved to him, but didn't look back, thankfully keeping his eyes in front of him. "Hope you don't mind."

Obi-Wan gave Padmé a look, almost as though saying that she should have stopped this. To which she gave a helpless shrug. "Never mind, we'll discuss this later. After that speeder." He pointed to a green speeder ahead of them, likely where the shot that destroyed the droid had come from.

Anakin nodded, and if anything started to move faster, causing both Padmé and Obi-Wan to grip the seats beneath them. "Has anybody ever told you to learn how to fly properly."

"What's wrong with the way I fly?"

"It's not flying, it's suicide." But there was no room for arguing further as Anakin cut around a building, noting the green speeder moving almost constantly at the same speed as him, no matter how much he pushed the speeder.

As if in response, Anakin made a sharp right turn. "Anakin, what are you planning?" Padmé asked. "He's going that way."

"Short cut, don't worry." He grinned at Padmé, and she couldn't help but wonder just how often Anakin had raced around the streets of Coruscant since Tatooine got the seat on the Senate. How much chaos he had caused that had to be cleaned up. "I know what I'm doing..." She heard under his breath a mumbled "I think" as Anakin weaved in and out of the buildings, having a few close calls that she was pretty sure she and Obi-Wan would need therapy for before stopping just outside of an intersection.

"Short cut…" Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, though was clearly relieved to not be moving for a moment. "We've lost the assassin."

Anakin had the humility to look embarrassed at least, even if it was clear to anybody with any skill in the Force that he wasn't bothered at all, but before he could say anything, the green speeder had plunged down, going into one of the lower levels of Coruscant's underbelly. "You were saying, Obi-Wan?"

"Anakin. We need to go after him!" Padmé pointed down, and Anakin flew down with them, angling towards the ground and pulling up to a club, several hundred floors lower than the apartment in which they had started their evening.

The two Jedi jumped out, holding their lightsabers in their hands in case they had to stop any more attacks. Anakin jumped out with them, and went to follow, but Padmé stopped him. "No, Anakin. The assassin's after you. You need to stay in the speeder."

"Wouldn't I be safer with my two Jedi protectors than alone?" If he'd hoped that would win them over, he was definitely mistaken.

"In a bar like this, doubtful." Obi-Wan frowned, clearly full of distaste for the location they'd need to enter. "It's more likely we'd be separated. At least here, we know where you are."

Obi-Wan's denial must have gotten through to him, because although Anakin had frowned, he didn't try anything, instead sitting in the driver's seat. "If they escape, I'll try to track them down. Good luck."

With Anakin, for now, deciding not to follow, Padmé and Obi-Wan slipped into the club. Obi-Wan went to the bar while she slipped in with the other patrons, closing her eyes as she attempted to feel for any presence out of place. Something that might have indicated the assassin that had attempted to kill Anakin. She remembered vaguely what they looked like. Feminine in form, and from what little she'd managed to sense their Force presence, they'd felt slippery. Not somebody she'd want to run into without a method to protect herself.

Her eyes opened. In the corner, edging towards the front door. She'd felt their presence. They had to have noticed Anakin. "Obi-Wan!" He looked up at her and nodded, and the two activated their lightsabers, letting the blue plasma beams ignite.

The assassin must have noticed them, for they bolted out the door. "Official Jedi Business, nothing to see here." Obi-Wan covered for them as they ran outside. Obi-Wan reached the assassin, knocking them to the floor before they could make another attack on Anakin, and Padmé fell in behind him.

"Let go of me!" The assassin attempted to fight them off, but Obi-Wan held her down, unwilling to let her up. "It was just a job."

Ah, a bounty hunter. Somebody must have really wanted Anakin dead if they were willing to pay off a bounty hunter to do it. "Do you have any idea who you were trying to kill?"

"Tatooine Senator. Look I'm serious, he was paying me, it's just business.."

Padmé and Obi-Wan shared a look. "What was his name?" Obi-Wan asked. Before the bounty hunter could answer, something flew through the air and hit them, causing the hunter to go slack, their face transforming into that of another, greener face. A species with the ability to shapeshift. Obi-Wan reached into their neck, pulling out a dart before turning to Padmé.

"Looks like we have another mystery to solve." Several, if Padmé could give her opinion based on the events that had just occurred.

Anakin wasn't going to like this.

[Next Part]

[shoutosun]

Glue Sticks & Super-Moves

Chapter 2: Tea Time and Muffins

Pairing: Kirishima/Midoriya

WC: 2175

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Pro-Hero Kirishima Eijirou, Post-Canon

How kindergarten-teacher Midoriya Izuku and pro-hero Kirishima Eijirou fall in love.

Originally posted on AO3

It always felt a little strange coming back to UA.

None of it felt smaller; the halls were still grand, and the doors still loomed over his frame, but it certainly felt odd, walking the halls as an adult.

Izuku had visited UA many times before, though he mostly kept to the teacher’s dorms. He usually came to see Hitoshi or Eri, and by extension, Shouta and Hizashi.

The only other person he ever visited was Principal Nedzu.

“Ah, Izuku! Welcome!” Nedzu said, flashing him a bright smile. “It is always a pleasure to meet with my former students, and this is no exception! It has been far too long since we last had the chance to chat!”

Izuku gave his former principal a polite bow. “Good to see you again, Nedzu. Sorry I couldn’t come by sooner.”

He walked into the office, taking it all in. Not much had changed in the last three years—the walls were still white, there was a plant in the back corner, and a large bookshelf to his left—though a few more pictures were on the wall than he last remembered. One was of All Might and Lemillion two years ago, both of them beaming for the camera. Izuku tried not to let his eyes linger for too long.

(While he was more than happy with his chosen career path, occasionally, the heartbreak he felt on the rooftop all those years ago would flit through him. His heart would clench uncomfortably in his chest, the pain only soothed by the memories of glitter, sock puppets, and laughter.)

“Would you like some tea?”

Izuku tore his gaze from the photo and sat in the chair across from the principal’s desk.

“Yes, please,” He said, taking the offered cup. It was his favorite kind.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, relishing in the sweet warmth of their tea. While he sipped his drink, Izuku spotted a miniature snowglobe on the desk. It was one he was very familiar with, having bought it for Nedzu on his first (and only) trip to see his dad in the United States. He had spent almost an hour debating the pros and cons of various souvenirs before his mother finally forced him to settle on the small trinket. Seeing it displayed so proudly brought a soft smile to his face.

Izuku took one more sip of his tea before placing it down and asking, “So, Principal, what would you like to discuss with me? I assume you’d like a copy of my lesson plans for Eri’s internship?” He pulled out a few folders from his bag.

“That would be wonderful,” Nedzu said. “I do appreciate how you are always so prepared!” He took the folders from Izuku and started to flip through them, occasionally taking a drink. “Have you considered whether you will be taking Eri for a work-study? I understand it’s a bit early, but I thought you might have some thoughts,” He said, not looking away from the notes.

Izuku hummed in thought. He had considered it, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best move. Eri hadn’t yet decided what branch of education she wanted to go into, so it might be best for her to be a bit more well-rounded. He could always advise her on his personal time.

He said as much to Nedzu, who nodded in understanding.

“I see,” Nedzu said, placing his teacup down and looking at Izuku. “I quite enjoyed my time teaching you in your high school years; do you think Eri might benefit from something like that? I am aware that she does not possess the same… analytical mindset that you do, but perhaps a shift in perspective would be good for her?”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure.” Izuku looked out the window behind Nedzu. “You and I both know that Eri adores you, sir, but I think it might be better for her to get more experience outside of UA.”

“Oh?”

Izuku nods, continuing, “I'm sure you know this already, but Eri had a very... well, a very sheltered childhood. After she was rescued from the Shie Hassaikai, she had to reintegrate into society slowly. Even now, she sometimes struggles with reaching out to her peers.” He sighs. “She does just fine at home; she loves her family to bits—including most of Class 1-A, as well as Togata. But if we want Eri to continue progressing, then we should help her out of her comfort zone—which has undoubtedly become the halls of UA.”

Nedzu temples his paws. “Very astute, Izuku!” He makes a note before continuing, “Glad to see we are on the same page. You never cease to impress me with your observations!”

“Thank you, sir!” Izuku chuckled.

Nedzu pulled a board out from his desk. “Well then, with business out of the way, how about a game of chess?”

“Only if you’re prepared to lose!”

Nedzu flashed him a feral grin. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

“Okay, Eri, that’s the last of the basic classroom procedures,” Izuku said, clasping his hands in front of him. “Any questions?”

Eri shook her head. “Nope! I wrote it all down in my notebook; I’ll be just fine, Uncle Deku!”

“It’s Midoriya-sensei when we’re at school,” Izuku said, raising an eyebrow at the girl, “but I’m glad you’ve got it all down.”

Today was the beginning of Eri’s internship with him, and Izuku felt great. Eri was super enthusiastic about everything—even the most tedious and nitpicky policies—which made his life a whole lot easier. He was worried that she might be a bit bored at first, but she powered through, and now they got to focus on the fun part.

“All right, Eri, the kids should start arriving in a bit, so why don't you help me finish setting up the classroom, and then you can wait outside the door to greet the kids?” Izuku grabbed a few worksheets and handed them to Eri, nodding towards the tables. “Hara-sensei should be here in a few minutes as well. She texted me to say she was running behind.” Izuku stifled a laugh and dramatically whispered, “Don’t let her fool you; she’ll probably stroll in holding coffee and a cinnamon roll; it’s just how she is.”

Eri giggled. “ Does she ever bring you any, Uncle—I mean, Midoriya-sensei?”

Izuku rolled his eyes playfully. “Me? Only sometimes. She’s nice though and good at her job, so it’s not a big deal.” He shrugs, diverting his attention to the whiteboard, updating a few things.

Hara-sensei, or as Izuku knew her, Emiko, was a pleasant woman. She got along well with the kids; they loved to goof off with her at recess. (Sometimes, Izuku wondered if she wasn't actually a five-year-old herself.) She had been Izuku’s assistant teacher since he started working at Mimba Private Elementary School, and her help had been invaluable. She was actually only a few months younger than Izuku, but she preferred the assistant position. He had tried to get her to apply for promotion once, only to be met with a firm rejection, and glitter flicked in his face. ("Are you trying to get rid of me?") He hasn't suggested it since.

“I’m going to wait by the door now!” Eri called over her shoulder.

Izuku turned, replying with a quick, “Alrighty!”

Emiko strolled in about two minutes later, holding an iced coffee and—to Izuku’s surprise—three chocolate chip muffins.

“Well, would you look at that! My assistant actually brought me a treat?” Izuku teased.

Emiko laughed, setting her things down on her desk. She had long blue hair tied in two braids and was wearing a long-sleeved yellow button-up under a pair of overalls. (Mimba Elementary was famous for its lax dress code, students and teachers alike.)

“I even brought one for your intern!” Emiko chirped. “I hope she likes chocolate. They ran out of blueberry before I got there.” She picked off a piece of the muffin, popping it in her mouth.

Izuku grabbed one, peeling off the wrapper before taking a big bite. He hummed in delight.

“Are those from Sato’s?” Eri asked, peeking her head in the door.

Emiko grinned proudly, holding one out to the other girl, who raced over to grab it. “You betcha! My cousin works there, so I get a family discount!” She said, shooting a wink at Eri.

“Better eat that quick; the students will be here any minute now!” Izuku poked at Eri’s stuffed cheek.

Eri gobbled up the rest of her muffin in record time before sprinting back to the door.

Emiko turned to Izuku. “Do you want to stand outside with Eri today, or should I? She doesn’t really know me yet, so I wasn’t sure if she’d be more comfortable sticking with you for now.” She finished picking at her muffin, throwing the wrapper in the garbage.

“I’ll stay with her for today, but she can go with you tomorrow. I want to push her out of her comfort zone as much as I can while she’s here.” His lips upturned into a playful smile. “Plus, if you keep buttering her up with food, I’m sure you’ll be besties by the end of the week.” He chuckled, popping another bit of muffin in his mouth.

A teasing grin quickly overtook his assistant's face. “By the way,” Emiko whispered, “have you asked you-know-who out yet?”

Izuku felt his face flush red. “What?!” He squeaked. “Absolutely not! We both know I can’t do that!” He waved his hands in front of his face frantically.

Emiko raised an eyebrow at her co-worker. “Do I know that? Because I can’t come up with a single reason why it would be a bad idea.” She leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

“Um, how about the fact that he’s a literal pro-hero and I’m a kindergarten teacher?” Izuku suggested, bewildered at his assistant’s lack of understanding. “He’s way out of my league! There’s no way he would be interested in me!”

“I just don’t see the harm in asking!” Emiko exclaimed. “You never know until you try, Izuku! If he turns you down, then so what? You move on with your life, and nothing bad happens! It’s really not that complicated!” She huffed, crossing her arms.

Izuku sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, Emiko. I appreciate the sentiment but, we have quite a few mutual friends, actually. So I don’t want to make it weird for anyone if they find out.”

Emiko looked confused. “Wait, you two know each other? I mean, everyone knows Red Riot, obviously, but he knows you too?

“Well, not exactly. I know a handful of his old classmates from UA, and my best friend’s boyfriend is his best friend, or well, one of them anyway. I’ve never actually met Red Riot before, but we have similar social circles. Not that I’ve been, like, avoiding him or anything! I would never do that! And we both see him here at school anyway so—”

“Izuku. Chill,” Emiko laughed.

His mouth clicked shut, blushing again. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just calm down, okay? I get it might make things a little bit weird if he turns you down, but you honestly don’t have a whole lot to lose in this situation. Plus, his kid isn't even in your class! That makes it like, a million times easier to avoid him if it doesn't go well. So just go for it!” Emiko punched his arm before shaking out her hand. “I always forget you’re more muscular than you look.” She pouted.

Izuku breathed out a small laugh. “Thanks, Emiko. I’ll—I’ll think about it, I guess.”

“That’s all I can really ask of you." She gave him a bright smile. "Now go help Eri! She’s gonna be drowning in kids if you don’t!”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” He waved Emiko off, walking over to Eri.

Little did Izuku know, his new intern had heard every word of his conversation.

And though she may not be a hero student, she was determined to save Izuku from his rapidly failing love life. And she knew just who to ask for help.

“Midoriya-sensei, is it alright if I text my dad real quick? It’ll be just a second!” She plastered on her sweetest smile, one that always got Uncle Deku to agree to whatever she had planned.

“Sure, but make it fast, okay? I’m gonna need your help getting the kids seated and ready for the day,” He said, quickly turning his attention back to the steady stream of kids arriving.

“Thank you!”

Eri pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found who she was looking for. She drafted a text as fast as she could before sending it and stuffing her phone back in her dress pocket.

“All done, Midoriya-sensei!” The girl chimed. “What do you need me to do next?”

In his office, Principal Nedzu received a very intriguing message.

“Why, yes, Eri. I do believe that can be arranged!” Nedzu smiled to himself.

[theculturedmarxist]

With the coronavirus pandemic surging and initial vaccine supplies limited, the United States faces a hard choice: Should the country’s immunization program focus in the early months on the elderly and people with serious medical conditions, who are dying of the virus at the highest rates, or on essential workers, an expansive category encompassing Americans who have borne the greatest risk of infection?

Health care workers and the frailest of the elderly — residents of long-term-care facilities — will almost certainly get the first shots, under guidelines the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued on Thursday. But with vaccination expected to start this month, the debate among federal and state health officials about who goes next, and lobbying from outside groups to be included, is growing more urgent.

It’s a question increasingly guided by concerns over the inequities laid bare by the pandemic, from disproportionately high rates of infection and death among poor people and people of color to disparate access to testing, child care and technology for online schooling.

“It’s damnable that we are even being placed in this position that we have to make these choices,” said the Rev. William J. Barber II, a co-chairman of the Poor People’s Campaign, a national coalition that calls attention to the challenges of the working poor. “But if we have to make the choice, we cannot once again leave poor and low-wealth essential workers to be last.”

Ultimately, the choice comes down to whether preventing death or curbing the spread of the virus and returning to some semblance of normalcy is the highest priority. “If your goal is to maximize the preservation of human life, then you would bias the vaccine toward older Americans,” Dr. Scott Gottlieb, the former Food and Drug Administration commissioner, said recently. “If your goal is to reduce the rate of infection, then you would prioritize essential workers. So it depends what impact you’re trying to achieve.”

The trade-off between the two is muddied by the fact that the definition of “essential workers” used by the C.D.C. comprises nearly 70 percent of the American work force, sweeping in not just grocery store clerks and emergency responders, but tugboat operators, exterminators and nuclear energy workers. Some labor economists and public health officials consider the category overbroad and say it should be narrowed to only those who interact in person with the public.

An independent committee of medical experts that advises the C.D.C. on immunization practices will soon vote on whom to recommend for the second phase of vaccination — “Phase 1b.” In a meeting last month, all voting members of the committee indicated support for putting essential workers ahead of people 65 and older and those with high-risk health conditions.

Historically, the committee relied  on scientific evidence to inform its decisions. But now the members are weighing social justice concerns as well, noted Lisa A. Prosser, a professor of health policy and decision sciences at the University of Michigan.

“To me the issue of ethics is very significant, very important for this country,” Dr. Peter Szilagyi, a committee member and a pediatrics professor at the University of California, Los Angeles, said at the time, “and clearly favors the essential worker group because of the high proportion of minority, low-income and low-education workers among essential workers.”

That position runs counter to frameworks proposed by the World Health Organization, the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, and many countries, which say that reducing deaths should be the unequivocal priority and that older and sicker people should thus go before the workers, a view shared by many in public health and medicine.

Dr. Robert Redfield, the C.D.C. director and the nation’s top public health official, reminded the advisory committee of the importance of older people, saying in a statement on Thursday that he looked forward to “future recommendations that, based on vaccine availability, demonstrate that we as a nation also prioritize the elderly.”

Once the committee votes, Dr. Redfield will decide whether to accept its recommendations as the official guidance of the agency. Only rarely does a C.D.C. director reject a recommendation from the committee, whose 14 members are selected by the Health and Human Services secretary, serve four-and-a-half-year terms and have never confronted a task as high in profile as this one.

But ultimately, the decision will be up to governors and state and local health officials. They are not required to follow C.D.C. guidelines, though historically they have done so.

Defining ‘essential'

There are about 90 million essential workers nationwide, as defined by a division of the Department of Homeland Security that compiled a roster of jobs that help maintain critical infrastructure during a pandemic. That list is long, and because there won’t be enough doses to reach everyone at first, states are preparing to make tough decisions: Louisiana’s preliminary plan, for example, puts prison guards and food processing workers ahead of teachers and grocery employees. Nevada’s prioritizes education and public transit workers over those in retail and food processing.

At this early point, many state plans put at least some people who are older and live independently, or people who have medical conditions, ahead of most essential workers, though that could change after the C.D.C. committee makes a formal recommendation on the next phase.

One occupation whose priority is being hotly debated is teaching. The C.D.C. includes educators as essential workers. But not everyone agrees with that designation.

Marc Lipsitch, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at Harvard’s T.H. Chan School of Public Health, argued that teachers should not be included as essential workers, if a central goal of the committee is to reduce health inequities.

“Teachers have middle-class salaries, are very often white, and they have college degrees,” he said. “Of course they should be treated better, but they are not among the most mistreated of workers.”

Elise Gould, a senior economist at the Economic Policy Institute, disagreed. Teachers not only ensure that children don’t fall further behind in their education, she said, but are also critical to the work force at large.

“When you talk about disproportionate impact and you’re concerned about people getting back into the labor force, many are mothers, and they will have a harder time if their children don’t have a reliable place to go,” she said. “And if you think generally about people who have jobs where they can’t telework, they are disproportionately Black and brown. They’ll have more of a challenge when child care is an issue.”

In September, academic researchers analyzed the Department of Homeland Security’s list of essential workers and found that it broadly mirrored the demographics of the American labor force. The researchers proposed a narrower, more vulnerable category — “frontline workers,” such as food deliverers, cashiers and emergency medical technicians, who must work face to face with others and are thus at greater risk of contracting the virus.

By this definition, said Francine D. Blau, a labor economist at Cornell University and an author of the study, teachers belong in the larger category of essential workers. However, when they work in classrooms rather than remotely, she said, they would  fit into the “frontline” group. Individual states categorize teachers differently.

Dr. Blau said that if supplies are short, frontline workers should be emphasized. “These are a subset of essential workers who, given the nature of their jobs, must provide their labor in person. Prioritizing them makes sense given the heightened risk that they face.”

The analysis, a working paper for the National Bureau of Economic Research, is in line with other critics, who say that the list of essential workers is too wide-ranging.

“If groups are too large, then you’re not really focusing on priorities,” said Saad B. Omer, director of the Yale Institute for Global Health, who worked on the vaccination frameworks for the W.H.O. and the National Academies.

The essential workers on the federal list make up nearly 70 percent of the American labor force, the researchers said, compared with 42 percent for the frontline workers. Women made up 39 percent of frontline workers and, in certain occupations, far more. Frontline workers’ education levels are lower, as are their wages — on average, just under $22 an hour. The proportion of Black and Hispanic workers is higher than in the broader category of essential workers.

Death vs. transmission

Some health policy experts said that to prioritize preventing deaths rather than reducing virus transmission was simply a pragmatic choice, because there won’t be enough vaccine initially available to make a meaningful dent in contagion. A more effective use of limited quantities, they say, is to save the lives of the most frail.

Moreover, vaccine trial results so far show only that the shots can protect the individuals who receive them. The trials have not yet demonstrated that a vaccinated person would not infect others. Though scientists believe that is likely to be the case, it has yet to be proved.

Harald Schmidt, an expert in ethics and health policy at the University of Pennsylvania, said that it is reasonable to put essential workers ahead of older adults, given their risks, and that they are disproportionately minorities. “Older populations are whiter, ” Dr. Schmidt said. “Society is structured in a way that enables them to live longer. Instead of giving additional health benefits to those who already had more of them, we can start to level the playing field a bit.”

But to protect older people more at risk, he called on the C.D.C. committee to also integrate the agency’s own “social vulnerability index.”

The index includes 15 measures derived from the census, such as overcrowded housing, lack of vehicle access and poverty, to determine how urgently a community needs health support, with the goal of reducing inequities.

In a new analysis of the states’ preliminary vaccine plans, Dr. Schmidt found that at least 18 states intended to apply the index. Tennessee, for one, has indicated that it will reserve some of its early allotments for disadvantaged communities.

Still, some people believe it is wrong to give racial and socioeconomic equity more weight than who is most likely to die.

“They need to have bombproof, fact-based, public-health-based reasons for why one group goes ahead of another,” said Chuck Ludlam, a former Senate aide and biotech industry lobbyist who protested putting essential workers ahead of older people in comments to the committee. “They have provided no explanation here that will withstand public scrutiny.”

Blurred lines, many unknowns

Further complicating matters, the different priority groups discussed by the C.D.C. committee are overlapping — many essential workers have high-risk conditions, and some are older than 65. Some states have suggested that they will prioritize only essential workers who come face to face with the public, while others have not prioritized them at all.

Even some people whose allegiance lies with one group have made the case that others should have an earlier claim on the vaccine. Marc Perrone, president of the United Food and Commercial Workers Union, which represents 1.3 million grocery and food processing workers, said that despite the high rate of infection among his members, he thought that older adults should go first.

“Here’s the thing: Everybody’s got a grandmother or grandfather,” Mr. Perrone said. “And I do believe almost everybody in this country would want to protect them, or their aging parents.”

But Dr. Nirav Shah, Maine’s top public health official, said he respectfully disagreed, repeating the explanation he had given his in-laws — who are older but in good health and able to socially distance.

He said: “I’ve told them: ‘You know what? I’m sorry, but there are others that I need to get this vaccine to first, so that when you guys get vaccinated, the world you come back into is ready to receive you.’”

All these plans are, of course, unfurling with essential information still unknown.Many state officials said that as on-the-ground realities emerge, they fully expect their plans to evolve.

One uncertainty: given the high rates of apprehension swirling around this vaccine, how many people in the early groups will actually line up for it?

“If a high proportion of essential workers decline to get the vaccine, states will have to quickly move onto the next group anyway,” said Dr. Prosser, the University of Michigan health analyst. “Because once the vaccines arrive, they will have to be used in a certain amount of time before they degrade."

Additional work by Jugal K. Patel.

Abby Goodnough is a national health care correspondent. She has also served as bureau chief in Miami and Boston, and covered education and politics in New York City. She joined The Times in 1993.  @abbygoodnough

Jan Hoffman writes about behavioral health and health law. Her wide-ranging subjects include opioids, vaping, tribes and adolescents.  @JanHoffmanNYT

[uni-life-tips]

Lock Up and Remember Your Keys

his isn't just a Uni-tip or anything...but more of a life-tip. Learn to lock-up your place before bed and learn to carry your keys with you whenever you're out of your place.

Growing up I remember that my parents were always super paranoid about locking up our house before bed every night. They would literally walk around the house, checking all of the doors and windows before they went to bed every single night. I remember a time when my sibling and I slept in our parent's room with them ('cuz our rooms were being used by guests or something) and I remember our family settling into bed for the night only to have my mom bolt out of bed beside me and run down the stairs. I followed her to see what was going on and it turns out she ran downstairs to check to see if she had locked the door to the garage...which she had already done previously. She then wandered over to the kitchen and shut the window tightly before going back to bed. Neither one of my parents ever told us about the nightly ritual of checking all of the doors and windows, but it was something I picked up on from watching them do it every night.

When I went away for University I realized that locking the door behind me was a habit I had adopted from my parents. It was a habit that didn't make me very popular with my roommates. We lived in a co-ed dorm complex that heavily emphasized an open-door policy to "make new friends". My roommates were just like me, fresh out of high school and looking forward to our first time living away from our parents. That was where our similarities ended. I was doing my best to be a responsible adult and that included ensuring the door to my living space was always closed and locked. Anyone that wanted to come in either had their own key or would knock and wait to be invited in. This mentality made me very unpopular and my roommates consistently complained about me to the Housing Authority, claiming that I was maliciously locking them out of our suite every night. My defense was simple: "you have a key--use it" but they would whine and scream that carrying their keys around 24/7 was inconvenient for them and they demanded that I stop closing/locking my doors. I moved out partway through the year, paying a premium to live with fewer/no roommates. I couldn't live with people that refused to lock-up or carry their keys around.

A little over a month after I moved out a letter from the Housing Authority and the Head of the University and whatever circulated. Apparently, there had been a sexual assault on campus-grounds in the dorms and the adult authorities were now insisting that people should be locking their doors and that the open-door policy was ridiculous. Apparenty, a girl in the dorm complex I had moved out of had decided to take a nap in her room--with her door open. A male visitor of another person living on the same floor had walked by on their way out and taken liberties with the napping girl. Note, I'm not saying that the girl deserved it for not locking up in this post--the asshole that chose to take liberties with anyone without consent is clearly the one in the wrong here. I'm not condemning the girl for opting to follow the open-door policy and I'm not saying or implying that she deserved what happened to her because she didn't lock up. Please don't turn it into that sort of debate in my inbox.

Over my years in University I eventually befriended some of the other people that lived on that floor that I had moved out of in the middle of my 1st year. Everyone I had encountered from back then acted oddly. A lot of the ones that had complained about me for being responsible refused to look me in the eye and a handful of the ones that were neutral or friendly toward me when I lived there actually asked me to move back in to "fix" things. I still don't know all the details of what happened after I left, but I've been told that "the place went to shit" after I left.

My roommates were always the loud sort and I was always telling them to turn their music down or to take their partying elsewhere because I lived there too and I was studying in my room etc. Without me there, the partying and loudness was just one problem. The three roommates I left were also HUGE proponents of the open door policy. One even had keys made for no less than 3 of her flings--so 3 random people living elsewhere had keys to the floor, keys to the suite and her bedroom, and basically access to all of the common areas. Pots, pans, and toilet paper constantly went missing from common areas--apparently squirreled away by my former roommate's flings from other floors/dorm complexes.

I have had friends living off-campus tell me about how they've had their place broken into. One of my friends never used to bother locking up before bed until they woke up to find a drunk stranger raiding their fridge at 4 in the morning. Another begged me to devise a mechanism to put a padlock on their fridge to prevent a frequent (live-in) partner of their roommate's from stealing everyone's food. Locking up would have solved a lot of their problems.

Over the years I established 2 conscious habits for myself: 1) Always lock the doors and windows especially if i was going to sleep or going to be away from my place for a while. The people that belong there have a key and anyone else can knock and ask for permission to come in. 2) I always had my key on my person. I'd seen far too many people shivering under a bath-towel (and nothing else) during fire evacuations/drills and I knew I didn't want to be the unfortunate soul that had to run around in naught but a towel, trying to track down the dorm head to let them into their room afterwards. Lock-out fees are expensive and if I had $25 to blow on lock-outs I would have used it to buy myself better food.

Checking doors and windows before leaving or sleeping is a good habit to get into. Carrying your keys at all times is also a good habit.