vassekocho

[vassekocho]

Thicker Than Water

Do I even think this is good at this point? Could not fucking tell you. Probably not. But it's more than I have written in a long long time, and it combines just, so many of my favorite things, and it's with the new dollies Papa brought for me from across the seas. About 4300 words, I would love it if you could find one nice thing to say! This will absolutely be the regular liveblog draw and I reserve the right to give extra draws if you lie well.

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 17. PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME AND KNOW I AM AWARE I AM JUST MAKING SOME SHIT UP BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAT'S FINE WE'RE FINE.

The trouble with Hawkeye was--among other things Roy would list--you had to be able to read her. Hawkeye considered what she was feeling at the moment to be, like so many other things, on a need to know basis, and not relevant to the overall mission. 

Luckily, Roy had become very good at reading her. 

Unfortunately, not needing to explain herself to Roy had left her with little will to improve in this arena. 

Even less fortunately, a decision had to be made, and quickly, with nearly a dozen of his men around him, and Hawkeye doing everything she could to hide any anxieties in particular. 

It was like solving a Rubik’s cube colorblind. 

Roy took a long look at Hawkeye, her arms crossed and staring straight forward. A hellish barb stuck out of her leg, blood pooling around it. 

“The convoy should be here soon.” A kid. Probably nineteen. Roy guessed he should probably dismount the high horse about being and recruiting young in the military, but anyone could be a medic. You didn’t need to get to them young. 

“So we should wait?” Roy snapped his fingers, and the medic’s eyes widened at the sparks. 

“Uh, well, the thing is--I mean I don’t have anything to give her, so it--it’ll be bad. But…” he looked over to the wound, making a mental calculation, “Given what I know about the coating, leaving it in might be worse. If we wait. So. But, yeah.” 

“Love the confidence.” He muttered under his breath, walking over to Hawkeye. “Thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

She looked up at him, and Roy tried to read. Her eyes flicked over to a staring group of men, mixedly loyal, annoying, or both, waiting to see her squirm. But she would not give it, and she nodded stoically. 

“Take it out.” 

“Agreed.” Roy spun around and gestured to the entrance of the tent. “If you aren’t operating, being operated on, or me, I need you to leave. Go to your tent, go to the mess, go to hell, I don’t care, but get out of here, and be far out of the way.” 

“I need someone to hold her down.” He nearly stuttered it out. 

“I’m not here to be decorative.” He looked back over to the group. “That was an order I just issued.” 

He eyed Roy as several much bigger soldiers, not to mention what was possibly a good quarter ton of Al, left the canvas tent. Even Ed said nothing to question him, the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. 

“I’m not sure...this is going to be excruciating, sir. I--” 

Roy delivered his well-practiced glower.  “And I’m sure she loves hearing that. I wasn’t asking for a consultation. We’ve got it.” 

Roy knelt next to Hawkeye and took off his gloves, folding them neatly and laying them to one side. 

“Give us a minute.” he gave a smirk.  “Please.” 

The young medic looked to them both, and then nodded. “”I’ll get my tools.” 

Roy took off his coat and put it underneath her back. “Remember how all Alchemists are weak and pale and don’t have any physical fitness requirements, so we’re like squishy little baby birds? You’re always telling me this. So, if you fight back too hard, you’re going to hurt me. Having physical standards and all. There’s a reason I don’t mess with you and Hughes’ little war games. You need to try and stay still.” 

“The only weight an alchemist has ever lifted was a book.” 

“You like to say.” He rolled up his sleeves. “So be careful with me, I’m delicate.” He looked her in the eye.  “Me and you. We’ve got it. We don’t need anyone else.” 

He could feel her trembling as he put his arm around her shoulders and grabbed her elbow. It twisted his stomach into a cramp. The medic walked back over to them with a cart, rolled over the stone and dirt. He sat on the ground next to Hawkeye and ever so slowly cut around the wound, exposing the sick burgundy of it. Roy took a quick glance at the ceiling. 

Hawkeye took a short, brave breath and closed her eyes. “Keep talking.” 

“Boy, is that something I thought I’d never hear from you. Maybe he was wrong and you are dying.” He nodded to the young man, who was pale with anticipation. “I was thinking about our office the other day. My office, of course, but I let you in there. Who in the world let you set that up? Was it me?”

There was the high metallic ping of some tool Roy was too cowardly to look at, and she stiffened. 

“If it was me, I’ll write myself up. If it was you, I’ll make you do the paperwork.” Hawkeye’s back arched, and a cry stalled in her throat. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’ll have you do the write up either way. Your penmanship is neater.” 

He heard the rasp of something against flesh, and listened instead to Hawkeye, taking a deep breath. 

 “You don’t even--” A swallow “Know where the forms are. Ah!” 

“Exactly. Exactly.” He held her tighter, and she twisted against him. “Makes me feel like a damn kindergarten teacher. And don’t try to make me feel bad about bringing this up now,” he tried to keep hold of her, “you never make yourself available to discuss this when I want to, so I have to take what I can get. Let me tell you what else is irritating--” 

His mind raced through a dozen things. Something she thought would be stupid, and funny, and would irritate her in the way only he could. Something that would make her forget the same thing he was trying very hard to forget. Had she pushed him aside, when the attack came? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t ask, because Hawkeye would roll her eyes at him and say something about how he was always in the way, so why should this be any different, or just roll her eyes and expect him to supply the sentence himself. Should it be him, gritting his teeth? He was a talker, he was a wheedler, he was a weaver, that was what he did, was talk and explode things, and if here he was failing at the first one when all he had to do was try and hold on to Hawkeye, to keep her still, and say bullshit, but the sound of it all was so loud, and the smell of Hawkeye’s blood was tin in the air and--

“Sir?” The medic interrupted, his hands bloody and his eyes soft, “This will be the worst part. It’s wrapped--”

Roy popped like hot sap in a fire. “Just do it!!” 

He complied with a twist and a tug, and Hawkeye found the end of her tether. 

“Roy!” She screamed it as she bucked her head against his shoulder, and a sheet of ice went down his back, the taste of bile in his mouth. She stopped herself and bit her lip, a prickle of blood coming from it.  She must have felt him freeze up. Hawkeye.

“No. Don’t.” He grabbed his glove and put it in her mouth. “Bite on that. You know, I think you’re trying to give me a complex about my name.  I always liked it, but you must not.  I am never having a good time when you say it. Not once.You know it means king? What do you want me to change it to? You think I look like an Andrew?” 

There was a crisp yank of Hawkeye’s leg, and then she collapsed into him, panting. There was an arc of small holes across his glove. The sweat from her forehead dripped onto his neck. It took him a moment to realize he and the medic were panting too, the three of them having run a race to the finish. Hawkeye remembered herself first, raising a hand to push the hair off her face. She closed her eyes, took two very calm breaths, pushed herself to to sitting, and promptly threw up in the instrument basin. 

“I got it out.” The medic remembered, the spell broken.  He held the twisted, bloody thing aloft. There was a small chunk hanging from the top barb. 

“I see that.” Roy lamented, his gaze sharpening,  “Go get something to clean her up.” 

The young man sprung to his feet for some fresh towels, and Roy took her shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s over.” He reassured himself as he squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Water.” She spat. “Please.” 

“Right.” He shook off the haze of the moment and began to fix his shirt, buttoning it at the sleeves. “Thanks for missing my jacket. I’ll charge the glove to your paycheck.” 

He walked to the other end of the tent, took the water from the bottle and drank deep himself, the cool of it breaking against the dry of his throat. He poured some of it into a small cup and went back to Hawkeye, who at least had been supplied a towel to wipe her face as the young man bandaged her wound. 

“Here.” He crouched by her. “I suppose you’re going to want the afternoon off. Lucky for you I don’t have much to do.” 

She drank the cup in one gulp, and handed it back to him without a word. She leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. 

Roy stood up and went back to the water bottle, pouring another glass. He motioned to the young medic, who looked even younger than he was in the wake of the incident. He scampered over to Roy. He should be playing tag or something, Roy thought. It was easy to talk kids into games they had no business playing. It was part of the job.

“You like being a medic?” he nodded. “You want a better position?” Another nod. “As far as you’re concerned, she didn’t even whimper, and I expect that to be the gossip I hear at dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and it seemed like he meant it. 

“Is she cleared to leave?” Roy wished he’d put his coat back on. He looked more authoritative with the coat. “I’d like to get back to my quarters.” 

“Yes, sir. I doubt she can put much weight on the leg, sir. It’ll be better tomorrow, sir. She needs some rest--” 

“Sir, I got it, I hear you.” He strolled back over to Hawkeye and gave her the cup of water. “You’re dismissed. The only thing I want from you is to tell the doctor to bring something for the pain when he arrives.” 

He gave another stiff salute, and left quickly, seemingly forgetting this was the medical tent and technically his domain. 

Hawkeye set down the empty cup and took a slow breath out. She pushed herself up onto the good leg, and tried to stand up, wobbling nearly over until Roy rushed under her arm. 

“Goddamnit Hawkeye, knock it off. I’m going to go get Armstrong. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder or something. Be done with it.” 

Her eyes widened. “No.” 

“Don’t be more irritating than usual. “ 

“I can manage.” She took a hop, and leaned heavily on Roy. Too heavily. It was easy to forget by looking at her, by seeing how quickly she moved in battle and with a grace that could surprise you, but she was not a delicate fairy of a woman. Roy struggled and nearly fell, which he did not consider very flattering to him, but to think any further than that would be to consider that possibly Hawkeye was right about his book to gym ratio. 

“You can’t. I’m getting Armstrong.” 

“Don’t!” 

He leaned her up against the sturdy metal table, which was currently holding both a bin full of instruments and puke, as well as several bloody towels, and picked his coat up out of the dirt. 

“Listen to me. I cannot carry you. Remember my very moving speech about being a fragile baby bird? I thought it was pretty good, but maybe I was the only one listening.” 

She snapped at him. “What would you do if I fell in combat?”

“What I’m trying to do now! Tell Armstrong to pick you up and move it before I burn a hole in his ass!” 

“I’ll walk. Just--a second. I can do it.” 

“I don’t like your color.” he stiffened up and threw his coat back over his shoulders..  “Lieutenant. I am your superior officer. As your superior officer, I am telling you, you are not going to walk anywhere. As your superior officer, I am telling you to accept the help from Major Armstrong.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” She said, unimpressed by the coat. 

Her eyes attempted to bore a hole in him, but he deflected the gaze with a wave of his hand. 

“No. Denied. I have a pretty good idea of what you’ll say, Lieutenant, and I’m not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair, and it fell into his face just as quickly,  “You have my permission to shut the f--” 

There was a set of footsteps, rapidly approaching the tent, and Roy turned to meet them. 

Hawkeye gave an exhausted smile. “Hughes.” 

“Knock knock.” Hughes walked in and quickly surveyed the bloodied towels, Roy’s crossed arms, Hawkeye’s bandaged leg, and the general sense of argument and exhaustion in the room. “You two have all the fun without me.” 

Roy threw his hand up. 

“Is he allowed to know you’re human, or is that verboten too?” 

---

Out in the dust and sand, things were more like they had been in the war. One of the few aspects of it Roy had never particularly hated, though plenty of people did. There wasn’t enough room for officers to have their own quarters, so there was a tendency to double up in whatever arrangement made sense. No one had even asked if he wanted Lieutenant Hawkeye with him. No one ever needed to. 

They hadn’t asked where he’d wanted his quarters, however. He would have said, “Closer to the med tent, or closer to the officers’ mess tent, or closer to anything at all.’ Or maybe he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t realized he’d be hauling one half of Hawkeye across the field. Hughes had his arm wrapped around her chest, under her armpits, and was doing a fairly impressive job of hauling her along. Roy both realized he was mostly providing balance, and that he was exhausted by the effort. Thank God for Hughes, he’d thought more than once.

The tent was large canvas, with a large bed, plush as Roy remembered for all the annoying higher ups he had now become, and a smaller, less nice bed for the subordinate officer. When had he become this? It seemed the years had been such a grind, but when he looked back at them, he wasn’t sure what the moment had been. 

Roy gently dumped Hawkeye on the larger bed, Hughes following suit. 

“This--” she protested.

“I’m tired of carrying you. This is where you stay.” Roy grabbed the pillows and piled them behind her back. “Where’s your bag? You’re sweaty and you’re making my bed sweaty.” 

“They told me as soon as I got off the convoy. Doctor’s right behind me, though I’m sure he’s probably reassuring the medic that Roy’s not gonna burn his tent down. Here, I stole this for you.” He took a slice of cake in a cardboard box out of his bag, and set on the side table. “The fancy lads with the fancy food are in camp. You deserve a treat.” 

Roy brought over one of her multiple grey t-shirts, and Hawkeye slowly took off the sweat soaked one and replaced it. Hughes squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little smile. 

“Can I fix your hair?” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Of course you are! I wasn’t worried about you for a minute, you could do this twice a month and come out swinging.” He looked at her.  “Maybe once a month.” He whirled around to look at Roy. “You, I’m not so sure.” 

He grinned and rubbed at his arm, wincing. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” 

“Precisely. Honestly, it’s more that as the father of a daughter, I should learn to do more than pigtails.” He sat down next to Hawkeye.  “Elicia’s hair’s not long enough for a braid, but she’s going to want them any day now. I don’t want to be a leech on Gracia. So let me practice on you.” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a haze of true exhaustion. “Okay.” 

“Thanks.” He took Hawkeye’s hair out of its bun, and smoothed it as he began an uneven low braid, filled more with kindness than with skill, and he laughed. “You see I need the practice.” 

Hawkeye’s eyes were far away, and she started to shake, just a little at first, enough that Roy could ignore it, and then a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Roy could read Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could also read him, which he found at equal parts annoying and useful. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Don’t be worried.” Her voice did not shake, but only through sheer will. 

Hughes roped up the end of her braid “Who’s worried? We’ll just get you warm. We’ll get some food in you.” He looked at Roy, “This is just a thing that happens.” 

Roy wanted to argue with Hughes that he knew that, that he had seen more combat and more destruction and more ugliness than Hughes had ever seen riding a desk, that he was condescending, but it was so damn comforting that he couldn’t manage any of it. Fucking Hawkeye. Fucking Hughes. How they fucking cared about him. How annoying. 

Roy grabbed an extra blanket from off the end of the bed and tossed it over Hawkeye. “You need to lay down and rest. You’re off duty.” 

Hughes picked up the piece of cake. “You should eat this.” 

“I don’t want it.” She closed her eyes. 

“Where exactly is the rumored doctor?” Roy wondered aggressively. 

“Colonel. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“It’s Grand’s. I thought you’d enjoy that. Considering your feelings.” Hughes sat down on the bed. “I stole it at great personal and professional risk, so it’s the least you can do for me.” 

There was a call from the front of the tent, and in came a serious looking man, who Roy was delighted to see looked old enough to be shaving. He nodded to Roy and Hughes with an the confidence that could only come from a man who had gotten to avoid the hard work, and set a bottle on the small table next to Hawkeye’s slice of cake. 

The examination was mostly perfunctory, and mostly to avoid having Roy as an enemy, and all that was fine by Roy. Hawkeye looked over at the bottle, sitting poker straight, holding herself still as possible, as the doctor gave her some instruction about rest and signs to watch out for that she mostly planned on following as long as it didn’t get in her way. 

Roy took the bottle and twisted off the top, handing it to her. “Take this.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly, giving in the twin temptations of modern medicine and her own bone-deep exhaustion. She should measure it, she should reject it, she should do a dozen things, but the number one thing she wanted to do was the thing she did, which was take a reasonable drink of the bottle and let it numb her tongue. 

Hughes turned and smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.” 

“That means you’re dismissed.” Roy added. 

“Roy. C’mon.” 

Roy smiled in his charming, warm, and utterly fake way. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I’ll have someone report to you in the morning. That will be all.” 

“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up his bag and left through the flap, Hughes securing it before his shadow could even fully leave. 

Hawkeye laid back on the pillows with a deep sigh and a heavy flop, eyes closed. 

Roy shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous person. I don’t know why I bother.” 

“Stop talking.” 

Hughes grinned. “See? She’s fine. You know you should probably get to--” 

“I don’t need it from you.” He looked down at Hawkeye, pulling up the blankets. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t be paranoid.” he tucked them in around her and turned back to Hughes. 

“Well, you need it from someone, and Hawkeye’s tired, so it’s just me. If you didn’t want to get dinner, I do have some new pictures of Elicia to show you, and--you’ll never believe how cute she’s gotten--you know, Gracia was just saying the other day about you--” 

“Maes, it’s been a long day.” 

“Sun’s not even down yet.” 

“Maes.” 

“Anyway, Gracia was saying you--Hawkeye, are we keeping you up?” 

“No.” She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “I like it.” 

“Great. Anyway, she was saying you should really meet this girl --” 

___

Roy sat down on the small bed and took off his shoes. He blinked back a wave of exhaustion that had finally crashed over him, as if his body had suddenly remembered the effort of holding so much tension. 

“She’s out cold.” Hughes gave him a glass. “Here. Have some brandy.” 

“I do think I hurt my shoulder.” Roy massaged it for a moment. “God, she’s strong.” 

Hughes sat down next to him and took a drink. “You’re not usually on the receiving end, so it’s easy to forget, but considering she’s flipped me over her back a time or two, I’m not all that surprised. ” 

“Thank you.” He stared into his glass. “For being here.” 

Hughes considered a moment. “She scare you?” 

“It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but mostly wetted them. “Hawkeye. God. She’s so stubborn. I fought with her at--” He glared playfully. “See, this is why you need to pick up a job in Eastern. She listens to you. ” 

“No, she lets me get away with things. Besides, Gracia hates the east. You’re on your own.” He shook his head. “Roy, I know we’ve had a lot happen, but you remember the early days. She had to be more. Everyone treated her like garbage for the crime of being a woman. Hawkeye holds a grudge.” He chuckled.  “Honestly, like no one I’ve ever met. Impressive.” 

Roy swirled around the brandy, the heavy legs of the liquor making rivers back into the sea of the glass. He took a drink, long and slow, flipping over the events of the day in his mind and assembling them, like a man playing solitaire. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.” 

“No wonder Information gave you a promotion.”

“Ass.” He snorted, smiling. 

Roy sighed heavily . “She pushed me out of the way.” 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but, she’s just kept doing the same job since you met. You’re her Alchemist. She keeps you alive.” Hughes laughed. “And honestly considering the Alchemist, they ought to give the woman a medal.” He swirled the brandy in his cup. “Hawkeye’s Hawkeye, and I don’t try to fix it. You’re you.” 

“She could burn her life better.”

Roy glanced over at Hughes, who was considering. He took a drink and moved the words around like scrabble tiles, waiting to present them. 

“Not to her, Roy. And that’s her choice to make.” He nodded. “I don’t try to fix it.” 

Roy looked up at the ceiling. Hughes was annoying: Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design, but he was much keener and smarter than he pretended to be. He was a fantastic fighter, a brilliant informant, because he watched people. He understood them. It had been that way since they were young. All these things benefited him.

Hughes interrupted his thoughts by ruffling Roy’s hair with a smile. “And I like you both.’ 

But the greatest thing he was, was kind. This was also by accident and design. 

There was an unsuccessful tangle with the knot Hughes had tied at the midpoint of the zipper, and an angry man called through the tent flap. 

“Hughes, are you gonna come do your job, or are you gonna keep playing grabass with your little friends?” 

“I better go.” Hughes poured the remains of his brandy into Roy’s glass. 

“Pretty sure I outrank him.” Roy said, unsure if it was true, but sure enough that he could make the man think it. 

Hughes stood up and nodded to Roy. “I’ll come check on you after.” 

“I’m beat flat.” Roy shook his head, set down the glass, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hughes took a moment to look around the room before grabbing his bag. 

“Well, if she’s not gonna eat this, I will.” He picked up the slice of cake and gave a little rub to Hawkeye’s arm.  “Goodbye, little friends!” 

He left out of the flap and zipped it behind him. Roy thought about getting up to tie the knot, but his body felt like it was made out of lead. The bed felt so soft beneath him. He tossed his shirt onto the floor and laid on his back. Hawkeye’s breaths were deep and slow on the other end of the tent. It was okay. Everything was fine. He didn’t need to fix it. 

He fell into sleep like a child falls out of bed, without warning, and all at once.

[vassekocho]

My fellow Aros let's stick together during this Pride!! 💚🤍🩶🖤

These are all available on my RedBubble page!

[vassekocho]

[vassekocho]

(Going off of the initial Japanese release dates as to which generation was current at the time excluding remakes that came out during that period. For simplicity's sake)

For example I turned 10 in 2007 so I would be starting in the Sinnoh region! Bonus if you tell me your partner Pokémon 👀 doesn't have to be one of the three starters!

[vassekocho]

Potentially hot take but one of the reasons we need art and music in schools is that, taught correctly, they are ideal avenues for teaching kids how to do something, kinda suck at it, keep going anyways and improve over time.

And THAT is one of the most valuable skill sets a human being can have. THAT is the skill set that unlocks soooooo many others.

A LOT of people I see with anxiety and depression do not have this skill set. To suck at something is a threat. Proof that they are doomed to suck at it forever. And then, often, that either THEY suck forever or the task must be stupid/useless/pointless (whence we get AI art fans who have decided actually making art is pointless and degrading the labor and skills of others is fine because these are useless skills).

Or you get the freeze- the inability to try things in case you fail. The sudden lancing shame and humiliation or hopelessness. The sense that anything you haven't learned by now you can't learn. Which is so heartbreaking and so untrue.

I just hate it.

"What if I write it and it's bad" "what if I draw it and it's bad" "what if I play it and it sounds bad" DOING IT BAD IS HOW YOU LEARN TO DO IT GOOD! You can't skip the process of leaning and the process is FUN if you let it be what it needs to be!

[vassekocho]

It really is 2003 again Jesus Tapdancing Christ.

Like, all Republicans did was replace Iraq and gay people with Iran and trans people.

[vassekocho]

Phantastus asked me to pass along this non-spoilery bit of FMA promo art that they thought you’d enjoy.

I love this I love this  I love this, thank you for sharing this with me, this is the kind of spoiler free shit I DO WANT TO SEE, absolutely, and this fits in with every idea I have ever had. This is totally in line with everything I love about Hughes’ position. Anyway, I wrote this in like 20 minutes on love alone cut me slack

Whenever Roy was in Hughes’ town, or Hughes was in his, they had to meet up. Working in Information had been good for Hughes: It had leveraged his strengths, it had given him a good living, it let him stay in Central most of the time. Gracia was mostly fine with it. It kept him out of trouble. But there was no opportunity for staying with Roy and Hawkeye, when Roy’s natural ability to grate on people surfaced and he found himself in exile. 

And he missed them. 

And he missed the things they did together. 

And he missed getting to describe every aspect of his blissfully happy and wildly content life to the two of them. 

But Roy was sent on business, a not-insignificant amount of the time. And Hughes enjoyed every moment of it. 

Hughes brought 10 different pictures of Elicia, having hewed it down from 20 in what he thought was a very responsible use of his time. “And here she is having a coffee and cake time with her dolls! Can you imagine coming up with that. She’s so creative.” 

“She’s wonderful.” Roy placed a hand on top of the pictures. “Can we talk about something else?” 

“Did I mention she said she wants to learn to be an alchemist like her Uncle Roy?” 

“Tell her Uncle Roy says find something else to do.” He took a drink, “Also she’s three, I think she also wants to open a dessert cafe and be a doctor.” 

“Oh, you do listen!” He hugged Roy close and showed him another picture. “I’m so glad you’re here. You should come stay at the house. Stay at the house and make those little animals for Elicia. She loves it. Also Gracia wants to send you home some cookies for you and Hawkeye, and stay for dinner! She’s a much better cook than what you can find in town, she’s always saying you look skinny, and I tried to tell her you’ve always looked skinny, but she’s doesn’t like it.” 

“You look skinny.” Roy took a drink, but did not try to wriggle out of Hughes’ grasp. 

“I’m tall, so it bothers her less. Have you heard about how Elicia is recognizing her letters? She is so smart, Roy, you would be so proud of her. I hate they won’t send Hawkeye with you, she’d love to see Elicia too.”

“They like to forcibly split us up every so often.”

Hughes released Roy, but clapped a hand on his back. 

“So have you looked for anyone? Hawkeye said you’re not really loo–” 

“Since when do you and Hawkeye discuss my love life?” 

“It’s my business to know things. Anyway, Gracia has a cousin–” 

“My gun is looking great right now.” 

He scowled at Roy. “Don’t be morbid.”

“I was joking!”

 I’ll tell Hawkeye. She won’t think it’s funny. She won’t let you out of her sight for a week.” 

Roy took another long drink of his brandy.

[vassekocho]

Apple TV Murderbot + Text posts

[vassekocho]

Self control

[vassekocho]

I'm trying to train my colleague to feel more confident in Excel

(I am, and I'm not tooting my own horn here, extremely advanced at Excel. my formulae often run through 20+ clauses and autocalculate the entire sheet from one manually entered item. I knew this would be a challenge for me to calibrate because I have a tendency to assume everything I can do well is easy because I have low self esteem, so I was ready to start at the basics - maybe a quick single-clause IF function or a SUMIF if we were feeling fancy)

so I sat down with her yesterday too work through a model sheet I built her, and quickly found she didn't know:

what an = was for

that you could do a basic addition function (=A1+B1), and this delighted and impressed her

that you could click and drag or copy a cell and the formula will recalculate based on its relative position (I started to explain that you can stop it doing that if you want by using a $ in the cell reference and she said no, please stop I think that's too much for me)

and I'm not saying this to shame her because she's not stupid or unwilling to learn, it just threw me because I don't remember ever not having a knowledge of the basics of Excel. Like over the last 8 years I've learnt a LOT and I was very much doing basic mathematical functions on it when I started office work, I know I learnt a lot (and also that I have an instinctive aptitude for the specific logic that Excel uses), but I've always known what Excel is for.

anyway we were talking today and come to find out that she just. did not cover Excel at all in IT at school (we're the same age, btw, this isn't a generational thing)

then I was talking to Sam and it slowly dawned that actually I did an additional short-course GCSE (Business And Communications Studies, which was basically IT for administrators) that was mandatory in my school, so I assumed it was a national core subject like Maths or English or Science. Turns out no, my school were just stuffing their GCSEs (I did 16 GCSEs)

and now I'm reeling cause I'm like OH. OH FUCK. IS THAT WHY EVERYONE'S MICROSOFT SKILLS ARE SO UNBELIEVABLY BASIC????? because I truly did think that everyone my kind of age did at least a few years of Microsoft Office type ICT training in high school.

let me know in the tags how old you are and what country you went to school

(also substitute Numbers/Google Sheets if you don't use Microsoft, we're just talking about any spreadsheet programme)

[vassekocho]

this happened to a 19 year old US citizen studying in Bulgaria. do yourself a favor and do not leave the country right now under any circumstances. and another reminder: do not under any circumstances give your electronic devices up to anyone who asks or allow your things to be searched without a signed warrant from a judge. you have a right to refuse any search and seizure that is unwarranted. you still have rights. do not comply in advance. they will use it to prosecute you for whatever they can.

[vassekocho]

earlier my friend said to me “somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, there’s an all female rock band called ‘king’” and I’m STILL recovering from that mental image and how gay it made me feel

[vassekocho]

ANHEDONIA REMEDIES!

GET YOUR ANHEDONIA REMEDIES HERE!

if you are lost in the rut, i am begging you to read this essay by Sasha Chapin suggesting what, essentially, my take, are potential jump-starts back into living life in real time. like actually experiencing experiences

do it now! don’t lose months, years, or decades! there is a life beyond doomscrolling, and it’s finite (sorry. sorry. i know okay)

[vassekocho]

saying ao3 needs to censor certain content is like saying a museum can't have still life art that includes strawberries because you don't like them.

these are not real strawberries. you do not have to, and in fact cannot, eat them. no one with a strawberry allergy will be harmed by looking at them. no migrant workers were exploited in the picking of these strawberries. there were no questionable farming practices or negative environmental impacts from growing or transporting them.

because - and i cannot stress this enough - they are not real strawberries.

if you don't like strawberries, you don't have to look at the paintings. in fact, you can get a map of the museum that lists what works are in what rooms and just. not go in there. if you see one by mistake, you can look away. just keep walking. there's plenty of other stuff to see.

yes, real strawberries can cause real quantifiable harm to real people.

but again. these are not real strawberries.

you may have whatever feelings you like about strawberries, and so can i. you can draw and write about whatever fruit floats your boat, and so can i, even if that happens to be strawberries. and we can hang our art side by side in the same gallery, provided you understand that my strawberries are not about you (and your kumquats are, shocker, not about me) and that - and this is true - neither are real.

and when the fascists break down the doors and grab all the strawberry paintings and heap them in the street and set them on fire, please know that they are coming for your kumquats next.

so if you want a place where you can show off your beautiful kumquat art safely, you're gonna have to tolerate having some strawberries in the next room.

and that's okay. because the strawberries aren't real.

[vassekocho]

NEVER GIVE UP

[vassekocho]

take back what is yours

[vassekocho]

take back what is yours