#all the more tragically they recently reorganized...

[pocket-pal-salt]

(if anon turns off dont post) i really dislike the discord server layout tbh. it feels like a lot of the categories blend together and it makes it hard to find anything

ミ★

#don't worry. you are still anonymous! #saltpost #this doesn't fall under a specific tag #but i agree that the layout can be confusing. i have most categories closed and most channels muted. it's easiest to navigate that way. #all the more tragically they recently reorganized...

[codename-mom]

Happy Hotch Day

Summary: Penelope wants to cheer her boss up as he still suffers from what Foyet did to him. She reaches for her co-workers for them to help her preparing a little surprise for him.

Characters: BAU team

Contents: TW brief mention of Haley's and Morgan's father death, a tiny bit of anxiety (because Hotch is an idiot sometimes), outside of this, it's all fluff. :)

This is a text written for the CM Office Party challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

All was quiet that day at Quantico when Penelope stormed into the open-plan office, nearly spilling the coffee in Anderson's hand as she stepped through the glass doors.

“Guys! Guys! Guys!” She repeated, her cheeks red.

“Okay, calm down, tempered Derek as he left the corner of the desk on which he had been sitting temporarily. Slow down and put the handbrake on.”

“No time for a slot, pilot of my heart, I've just had the idea of the century!”

All eyes were on her, just as she wanted them to be. As luck would have it, Dave was also among those present, having left his den for a moment to ask Spencer a question. The only member of the team missing was their superior – who had been called upstairs – which suited the – now – bespectacled redhead just fine.

“What is it?” asked Jennifer, curious.

“Well, as Hoch is not feeling well at this time…”

“Which is understandable," interrupted Emily, widening her eyes.

Recent events had propelled the BAU director to the status of bereaved single father in the blink of an eye, and the brutal reorganization of his daily life was still suffering from a few bumps. He and Jack were getting used to each other's presence, but the agency head was struggling to come to terms with his ex-wife's death. He didn't mention it to his men and put on a brave face, but the profilers had their eye on him and sensed that the wound was still raw. To which Garcia added:

“I’d like us to prepare a little surprise to cheer him up.”

“You're going to need more than a little surprise for that," pointed out Morgan, partially serious.

“It’ll be a start.”

“What did you think about?” wished to know Agent Jareau.

“I wanted us to give him a present for Father’s Day.”

Silence fell over the group. Everyone stared at her with a mixture of surprise and incomprehension. They didn't ignore the fact that this celebration was going to take place, but:

“Hotch is not our father,” noticed Reid, eyebrows furrowed.

“I know! Snapped the analyst, expecting this reply. Biologically speaking, Hotch isn't our father; but if we take that aspect out of the equation, he fulfills all the criteria. He’s… he’s our office dad.”

“You mean mom,” joked the ex-policeman, a sneer playing at the corner of his lips.

He was the first to nickname the costumed giant in this way, and the company had naturally followed. Giving each other nicknames was part of their modus operandi – Penelope and Derek being the two who collected the most – and Aaron's had been adopted unanimously. Or almost.

“Yes, about that, hesitated the luscious ginger, he... he has a bit of trouble with that nickname...”

“He has a bit of trouble with many things,” declared Prentiss.

“Sure,” topped up Derek.

It would be a lie to say that Agent Hotchner had as much flexibility of mind as the staff working under him, and certain aspects of his flock's behavior met with some resistance when it came to involving the tall, dark-haired man. Blockages that the analyst couldn't completely ignore, even though she knew that the latter was far less uptight than his austere appearance suggested.

“Look, I only wish that, next Monday, we call him “Dad” in place of “Mom”. He’ll be pleased.”

“I won’t call Hotch, “Dad”. No way,” Morgan said immediately.

“Why?”

“He’s not my father and he’ll never be,” he affirmed without smiling.

The former police officer had lost his sire when he was still a child, and this tragic event had left an indelible mark on his mind. A trace that allowed no one else to occupy this unique place in his heart. For him, it was impossible to consider this man with whom he regularly clung as any kind of parental figure. Even as a joke.

“But you’ve got no issue calling him “Mom””, stressed Penelope squinting her eyes.

“And the way it's pissing him off, I'm not going to stop now.”

Behind his back, Emily and JJ chuckled, amused. Garcia felt the rage run in her veins.

“Penelope, Dave continued, why do you want us to wish him a happy Father's Day? That’s Jack’s job, not ours.”

“Besides, he hates surprises, Derek reminded her; he hates presents, he doesn't even rejoice his birthday.”

It was the truth. Every time they'd caught Aaron off guard – to good effect – they'd immediately seen him tense up and display a frozen grin. He had never clearly expressed his delight at suddenly being the center of attention. In the same way, he avoided every opportunity to celebrate himself: he took part in everyone's birthdays, but systematically omitted to feast his own. And when his team took the liberty of offering him gifts, he only seemed to accept them out of pure politeness. All the more reason for their reluctance to try again that day.

“I… I'd just like us to show him how important he is to us, she explained. He… he's in low spirits and I'd like him to smile again. Even for a minute.”

“If he’s still able to smile.”

Morgan and JJ giggled at the brunette’s jibe.

“Are you serious?”

“Baby girl…”

“No! interrupted the computer specialist, pushing away the hand he was holding out towards her. There is no “baby girl”! This man you're laughing at cuts himself to ribbons for you, and you despise him! Your ingratitude is disgusting!”

Furious, she turned her back on them and left the bullpen without succeeding in slamming the heavy glass door. A stunned silence fell over the group, who were now casting awkward glances at each other.

“I think she's angry," Spencer said, looking worried.

“It was a joke, Prentiss thought it necessary to point out. You… you've all figured it out, haven't you?”

“Yes,” abounded Morgan.

“Of course,” followed JJ.

“Anyway, we agree that it's not up to us to wish him a happy Father's Day?”

“Totally," agreed Emily, who had never known hers and didn't see the agency manager as a potential surrogate.

The pair's gaze turned to Agent Jareau, who was far less at ease than a few minutes earlier.

“What?” interrogated her coworker and friend.

“Well, that is to say, she's not entirely wrong. It's true that he's always there for us, at any time of the day or night.”

“That’s because he doesn’t sleep.”

“Derek.”

She had glared at him. If for some people, declaring their availability at all hours was a ready-made formula, this was not the case for Hotch. Until then, he'd always applied this credo to the letter, answering their nightly calls and cutting short his – rare – vacations to come to their aid. Morgan nevertheless sighed.

“No one ever asked him to do that. He's got it into his head that he has to take full responsibility for our every move.”

Having temporarily occupied his position while Foyet was still at large, he had had time to read up on the rights and duties of unit leaders. And nowhere was it written that he had to give in to the whims of his agents or put aside his own needs to satisfy the desires of his employees.

“In fact, shouldn't we be all the more indebted to him?”

Everyone turned their attention back to Dr. Reid, who had said this sentence in his most innocent tone. But the thought was not as innocuous as it seemed, and it shook the certainties of both refractors. The BAU co-founder, noting the embarrassed and pained expressions of the mocking trio, suggested:

“I think we should all take a few moments to reflect on a moment, a gesture, a thoughtfulness on his part that he didn't have to do, but did anyway, simply to make us feel better.”

Eyes focused on him, then turned away as the memories of all began their search.

“Then we can reconsider Penelope’s idea.”

The day flew smoothly, and the weekend passed quietly, giving everyone the rest they needed to recuperate. Then Monday arrived and, taking advantage of the calm, Garcia, holed up in her den of flashing tinsel, multicolored figurines and a few computer screens, put the finishing touches to her gift. It didn't matter to her that she was the only one making the effort; she had every intention of doing whatever it took to cheer her superior up.

A knock sounded at the door, and it opened to reveal half of Emily's face.

“Penelope…”

“Oh! she hiccupped, hastily placing her work in the first drawer within reach. We… we’ve got a case?”

“No. Well, not that I know of," she admitted, allowing herself to take a step into the closed office.

“Okay. So what did you come for?”

Tinkling her damaged fingernails, the ambassador's daughter closed the door behind her and approached a little closer. She didn't dare look the hostess in the eye.

“Uh… first, I wanted to apologize for... what I said last Friday. I... I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I know someone who would have been more hurt than me if he'd heard you, she spat, unable to conceal her morgue. Good thing he wasn’t there to witness it.”

“Speaking of which, we... we had a little chat about it after you left and... er... it's probably not worth what you had in mind, but we came up with an idea for... him.”

“Really? Exclaimed Garcia, suddenly interested. What… what is it?”

Reassured by her colleague's reaction, Emily relaxed and explained what the team had been working on for the past two days.

“It's not much, but if you want to take part, there's still a bit of room.”

“It's a great idea! Rejoiced the redhead, delighted. I… Of course, I’m in! Where… How do we proceed?”

“Follow me. We put everything in the meeting room for now.”

Penelope leapt to her feet and was about to walk in her guest's footsteps.

“Where he is?” she asked with a blank voice.

“Up there.”

Prentiss pointed to the upper floors, where Strauss' office was located. The giant had been summoned to report to the section chief, without delay, some thirty minutes earlier and had still not come down. There was a good chance that the face-to-face meeting would drag on forever.

“Let’s take this chance.”

The two women left the former hacker's lair behind them and made their way to their destination. On the spot, the rest of the gang were busy getting the room ready, making do with what they had on hand, which wasn't necessarily suitable for redecorating. The rejuvenated analyst immediately came to their help, putting her experience in the field to good use.

                Two hours later, Hotch reappeared on the sixth floor, his features drawn and his eyebrows more furrowed than ever. Annoyed and exhausted by the interminable negotiation he'd just been through, he climbed the slope to his office without paying attention to the scenery around him, pushed open the door and walked with a heavy step to his chair. But he didn't even have time to brush against the furniture before:

“Aaron.”

The latter sighed, letting his shoulders fall back, and turned around to see Rossi on the threshold.

“Do I have the time for a coffee?”

“The younglings are waiting for you in the meeting room,” answered his most ancient coworker.

The titan in the suit wrinkled his nose, the adrenalin pulsing through his veins chasing away fatigue.

“Do we have a case?”

“Maybe.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

“You know where to go to have your answer.”

The ex-retiree smiled mysteriously and moved off towards the indicated location. Aaron, confused, remained statuesque for a moment, then left his office in turn. And, bypassing the coffee machine, went into the room where they usually gathered to discuss current issues. His heart pounding against his ribs, he wondered what else his men had planned behind his back. Not that he disapproved of their attentions to him – far from it – but surprises always made him uncomfortable. He felt systematically foolish, not knowing what to say or do at such moments. He knew that it was socially accepted to be ecstatic about a job well done, to rejoice at suddenly being in the spotlight, and to thank others for gifts received. On the other hand, sincere emotion and candor were expected of him, and not knowing what to expect stressed him out, and lying to his loved ones embarrassed him terribly.

                He arrived at the door of the meeting room, his heart rate racing.

“Happy Father’s Day!" shouted several intermingled voices.

The entire team was gathered under a silver banner bearing the words: "Happy Office Father’s Day!”. The "office" had been added on an A3 sheet stapled under the banner. Balloons of all colors floated limply around the room, and each agent wore a conical multicolored hat.

“… Wh… What?” was the only exclamation that managed to escape his lips.

“Kids have written little notes for you on this particularly discreet card, which I strongly encourage you to read," said the novelist, pointing to a folded cardboard sheet on the table.

It was a card probably bought in a bookshop on which JJ – he recognized her handwriting – had scrawled in red marker. His attention had been so focused on what was hanging over their heads that he hadn't seen the object, which must have been a good three feet high. However, he didn't have time to dwell on it any further, as Garcia emerged from the mass and rushed towards him with small, quick steps. She stopped an arm's length away and took a deep breath before launching into her own words.

“And I made you this plush. Initially, I wanted to make a hen, but I discovered that these birds are actually very bad parents. So I looked up where there were super dads in the animal kingdom, and it turns out that wolves are the best in the world. Whenever a cub goes missing, they worry about them and look for them. They feed them, wash them, play with them and protect them from everything and... in short, I've made you a wolf cuddly toy! With your name on the pads.”

She then handed him the animal in question without moving from her spot, her cheeks flushed red. Hotch, perturbed by the whole situation, was slow to react, but nevertheless retrieved his gift, which he observed attentively. The wolf's brown eyes were not set at the same height, and one ear was bigger than the other, but the fur was soft and the letters under his paws had been meticulously stitched.

“You… aren't you going to say anything?" worried Penelope, her eyebrows furrowed in a circumflex accent.

“Uh… yes, Aaron gasped, coming back to the present moment. Thank you. I… Excuse me, I… I didn’t expect that.”

“It's the principle of surprise," Emily remarked with a smile.

“I too would have been very disturbed by all this, Spencer admitted, waving his hands in the air. Fortunately, I'm too young to be elected office dad."

“It’s… that is, I... I didn't think I'd have the honor either," he stammered, not noticing that he was pressing the stuffed toy to his chest.

“Hence the card. So you can…”

Dave twirled his index finger in front of his temple, looking mischievous. The director realized that his men must have compiled anecdotes about him on the flaps of this giant card.

“Uh… okay. Do… do I have to read it in front of you?”

“No!” they exploded in unison, Rossi excepted.

“Read it at home. Quietly,” Jennifer advised him.

“Yeah. That's better," bounced Derek, suddenly embarrassed.

“Definitely," agreed Prentiss, not much more comfortable.

Clearly, none of them wanted their feelings for him to be revealed out loud in front of everyone else. A sudden shyness that discreetly stretched their leader's lips.

“… Fine. I imagine the glasses are there for a toast," he said, spotting the bottle and glasses waiting in the middle of the table.

“I thought you'd never say it," retorted his former mentor, breaking away from the group to take hold of the neck and start peeling off the aluminum foil enclosing the cork.

The supervisor smiled candidly, touched. Not because of the BAU co-founder's reaction – which he had expected – but because of the whole situation. He who was put off by surprises felt surprisingly well. All the tension he'd felt walking from his office to the hall had vanished and his heart had regained an acceptable rhythm.

“Let's toast then. And… thanks. Thanks for everything.”

They raised their glasses in his direction and he did the same for them, then they took a sip. The mood had relaxed and frank smiles had returned to light up the faces. If he had been afraid of what they had concocted for him, they had feared his answer, dreading to see the disappointment or disgust on his pale face. But none of this had happened, and everyone was catching their breath, scooping a few appetizer cakes from the mismatched plates Emily had brought along.

“By the way, what did Jack offer you yesterday?" asked Reid, curious.

“A sheet of paper with his hand and footprints, and a message: "For Aaron, my daddy whom I love most in the world."

“It's so cute!" said Penelope, cheerfully.

“He spelled my first name with three A's, but... yes.”

The team burst out laughing and he imitated them.

___

Okay, this one probably doesn't fit the timeline too but I wanted JJ to be there actually. ^^;

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #agent morgan #derek morgan #penelope garcia #morgan #agent rossi #david rossi #rossi #spencer reid #reid #doctor reid #emily prentiss #prentiss #agent prentiss #jennifer jareau #jj #agent jareau #bau team

[elkement]

Found Poetry is a fantastic way to connect with your creative soul.

I have been creating found poems since 2012: from search terms, from spam comments, from error message. From snippets of my own science and tech articles, from titles of my blog posts. From physics textbooks by Paul Dirac, from novels like Foucault's Pendulum.

I set strict and sort of silly rules for myself, like: I have to pick one unedited snippet from each document returned by a search engine, and I must not go back nor re-shuffle the snippets. Or I demand I must jump from one link on a page to the next page. I have been struggling with the blackholes of big platforms that do want to keep you within the confines of theír realms.

A French group of experimental poets - Oulipo - likened this method to rats who construct the labyrinth from which they plan to escape.

I force myself to proceed rather fast, and I prefer to create Found Poetry when I am tired. It took me some time to discover that these poems have a certain drift that I vaguely recognize as a distorted images of thoughts that are mine nonetheless. My subconsciousness seems to choose some of the text snippets for me.

It's Friday evening, so I hope that my (typical :-)) not-so-business-y post is OK. But I find Found Poetry actually more useful in a business context, compared to other creative exercises I once had to take part in management trainings.

As an example, this is my latest poem! To escape the blackhole platforms and to avoid clichéd content, I've recently turned to using a long and hopefully unusual "seed phrase" - the name I've give to my digital artwork!

I hit the end of internet as some of my source pages were dictionaries! Quoting this poem:

Sparse Spaceport Morphs Into Curtain of Dancing Oscillations

I will do anything to get the truth We need to know how close we can get

A global timekeeping problem postponed by Common Sense

the unamplified human voice A space-borne Fourier transform

this manuscript may seem narrow in scope – and perhaps it is Shown here are shape, structure and size of the main mirrors

There will be shielded arenas left unpressurized We make sure you get the best results every time

‘death stars’ passing close to the Sun yearning for change, they desired to challenge one another

Our planet is just one among billions in the context of rapidly shifting realities

THE ROBOTS ARE HERE abutting abuzz abysmal(*)

explore dance or dance-like characteristics filled with the cloudy turquoise

zeta zigzag zilch (**) reorganized in a hierarchical fashion

THE AESTHETICS OF THE TRANSITORY sculpted sculpting (***)

(see my blog post for the * ** *** commentary)

The poem from 2022 which I linked at the top is one of my all-time favorites - sourced from Twitter in this case! Quoting it in its entirety:

They shall shine in the dark

The interstellar void going down much faster determined to take over

under renewed attack under the threat A reminder

do anything don’t wait for permission step into the gap

what we need these days protect those that are in danger.

Lives could have been saved Tragic and indefensible

subsidized fossil fuel Fuck off!

we’ll retake ground and get better.

I would like to believe every ending is also a new beginning

The unknown future ethereal and translucent

holding a compass find the map of our souls

_____

More background on Oulipo and another example - kind of live-documenting the creative process:

#poetry #found poetry #oulipo #creative writing #creative process #search term poetry

[pennstateuniversitypress]

Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: An excerpt

From Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: Essays by Scott Donaldson

Fitzgerald’s literary standing was at its nadir at the time of his death. He was memorialized in the New York Times obituary as the author of Jazz Age stories of young love—the kind of fiction he could no longer produce in the last of his four decades, and not at all the subject matter of his major novels. But there was a revival in the mid- and late 1940s and early 1950s. The Armed Forces edition of Gatsby, issued free to soldiers and sailors, helped create a new market for his work. Edmund Wilson, his Princeton friend, put together a book incorporating the “Crack-Up” essays with laudatory articles from major figures and interesting selections from Fitzgerald’s notebooks. Wilson also edited an edition of The Last Tycoon, the highly promising but unfinished novel about Hollywood that Fitzgerald was working on during his final years. Malcolm Cowley issued a fine selection of the best short stories in addition to the reorganized version of Tender.

Nonetheless, Fitzgerald did not quickly or easily achieve his eventual status as one of the greatest twentieth-century American writers—someone whose works, especially Gatsby, became obligatory reading in high school and college, along with novels by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Steinbeck. And Tender Is the Night remained undervalued in the literary marketplace for several decades.

Bennett Cerf of Random House and the Modern Library was one of the first publishers to recognize Tender’s extraordinary poignancy. In a 1934 letter to fellow editor Maxwell Perkins, Cerf described it as “a haunting book” that “reestablishes Fitzgerald . . . way up there among the stars.” Cerf also understood why that was true: because of Tender’s capacity to draw readers into the emotional defeat of its protagonist. “I found the end so distressing that it’s been bothering me for two days. Felt I knew Dick Diver personally, and the spectacle of that gal sucking all the insides from him, and then tossing off the empty skin pained me deep down.” Cerf, however, did not see fit to include Tender in the Modern Library series of outstanding books.

The novel’s exquisitely painful ending is by no means merely about Diver’s personal decline and fall. As historian Alan Trachtenberg observed, the struggle involved illusion vs. reality, at the very heart of American myth. Diver’s traditional values and eagerness to do right are no match for the Warrens’ wealth and hardheadedness. “In the final phase of [his] decline, as he more and more just sits and listens, unable to imagine a future, we learn that an incalculable story was telling itself within him”: the story of what might have been, had the illusions he grew up with proved capable of withstanding the power of the “intensely calculated” world that he encounters. Finally, Diver can only survive by passively surrendering, conceding defeat and carrying that untold story with him as he fades into obscurity.

Tender Is the Night is not only, in novelist Malcolm Bradbury’s words, “a great psycho-historical portrait of the age,” but is also as moving an account of a human being’s collapse as has ever been written. Rereading the novel recently for perhaps the tenth time, in the excellent and authoritative Cambridge edition of James L. W. West III, I was carried away by sorrow and sympathy for Fitzgerald’s leading character. So were several of the senior—not college-senior but generationally senior—students in the seminar I was then teaching. Like the poet Weldon Kees, we were “enormously moved by the last pages of Tender in their compression and as a triumph of dealing with years that are too sad to insist upon.” The book, as Kees wrote, is “soaked” in the tragic sense of life.

I’ll share the last word with the critic John Irwin, whose final book was a brilliant study of the theatricality pervading Fitzgerald’s fiction. “A work’s power to break one’s heart,” Irwin concluded, constituted one criterion for judging greatness in literary art. By that standard, and it is a sound one, like Irwin I can think of nothing that ranks above Tender Is the Night.

Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: Essays is available for pre-order from Penn State University Press. Learn more and order the book here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-09395-6.html. Use discount code NR22 for 30% off.

#Tender Is the Night #The Great Gatsby #Gatsby #Writing #Author #Classics #Books #Book #Penn State University Press #Literary Studies #Biography #F Scott Fitzgerald #Fitzgerald

[st-just]

sharpandpointies replied to your post: Truly the most annoying thing about reading...

@st-just The Technocracy is hands-down the best thing in Mage.

I mean, just in terms of concepts, I really do think they’re just a great concept.

“The caricature of 90s pop-postmodernism is actually, literally, true. Reality is subjective, everything from cosmology and the nature of souls to how fire works and how reliable your internet connection is fundamentally subject to the sovereign but incoherent Consensus of humanity. 

You are the Conquering Empire of Reason. Over decades and centuries, you slew the dragons and cast down the gods and ever-so-slowly filled in all the blank spaces on the map. With census and atlases and the printing press, vaccinations and machine guns, popular culture and public education, you at last began the painful world of convincing humanity to dream alike. 

A single, rational, world. Where no one is weighed down by eldritch curses or arbitrary destiny. Where the sea and skies are full of wonders and resources, without leviathans to appease or horrors to avoid. Where Utopian abundance is made available to all through comprehensible, universal technology without requiring the benevolence of priests or witches. Even if the road is long and bloody, what isn’t that worth?

And now, yes, things have gotten slightly off-track. Buy-in to the Consensus seems to be slipping year-by-year, and the Timeline has never been more behind schedule, and various factions of reality deviants have proven significantly harder to deal with than expected. And yes the biologists may have taken over global drug production as a harm reduction/funding measure until they figure out how to wean humanity off the addictive impulse, and yes the computer scientists may have built God, and yes the explorers may have recently reorganized such that their governing body is called the ‘Existential Threats Directorate’, and yes the political scientists and economists both have separate secret police forces and are probably going to end up in a civil war sometime soon if one of them doesn’t get really lucky purging the other. 

But things will work out. After all, what’s the alternative?”

They’re just really good tragic villains! (And, also, aesthetically superior to any of the varieties of magic offered to PCs)

#reply #sharpandpointies #rpg #mage the ascension #wriitng #this got longer then intended

[princess-stabbity]

@demonwrestler​ well, if you mean, “how do you make mods?” then my help is limited. i’ve futzed around a little with dai mod manager to try to isolate assets for export to dao (i found most of the ones i wanted, i just don’t have the tools to export them lmao). there’s an old forum for this stuff. tho the best tutorials i’ve found are from the lovely sapphim

if you mean “how do you use mods w this game?” THAT i can help with. basically, you’ll want the dai tools suite and the frosty tools suite. for dai, i recommend dedicating a download subfolder to daimods u know you wanna use, and then directing the dai mod manager to that subfolder, so u don’t have to do a lot of work checking and unchecking mods (i used to have separate subfolders by inquisitor, but ive recently reorganized so that i have one subfolder for the stuff that’s a) only in daimod format, and b) smth i want for all inquisitors). 

you run the mod manager, everything hopefully goes smoothly, and then it’s frosty time. to make daimm and frosty work together, you need to find the subfolders in origin games/dai/update named “patch” and another one thats titled smth like patchedblahmergedblahwhatever (i am v helpful). rename “patch” to smth else (i use “patch (official)”) and rename the other to “patch.” you need to do this so frosty will run properly w daimods. 

frosty, itself, is very simple. it’s faster and easier to change mods out, since u don’t need to completely rerun the whole process, and you can even make profiles by inquisitor (eg, i am using a profile titled “amell, with daimm” rn). frosty can run daimods, but it can be iffy, esp w texture mods for some reason. i’m not 100% on this, but i think other daimods are usually fine (eg, you might be able to run stuff that changes store stock or ability trees w/o issue)

the benefits of dai mm are that some mods have simply never been updated to frosty. in some cases, they’re just abandoned, in others, even the modder can’t figure out why they won’t work in the other format (discovered recently i’d been bedeviled for DAYS bc my fav cass outfit refuses to work in frosty, despite the modder’s best efforts and other successfully converted mods. v strange!). it also is still better at handling configurable mods (which are rare, but precious to me. i love you, svarty. thank you for all my pretty and op new knives).

the benefits of frosty are that it’s much quicker and easier to change. if you want to change one measly mod in daimm, you have to completely redo your whole setup (esp tragic if you use a lot of configurable mods, bc u have to reconfigure them EVERY TIME). it also makes troubleshooting much easier, bc u can easily test mods in batches to see which one is fucking you. and if you want a mod to keep working in the dlcs (including trespasser), frosty is your best bet.

frosty is also unique in that, after some recent updates, it can handle certain tasks that are simply impossible in daimm. the biggest example, to me, is bundle editing. it’s still kinda new and tricksy (from what i understand), but bundle editing allows for fun stuff like character swaps (see: my many alistairs) and hair editing for npcs and qunari (now us qunari lovers can have the same wildass sims hair as everyone else, and so can the eggman). it’s a bit touchy (bundles don’t play well together), but very fun!

for general troubleshooting: if the game is forever on a loading screen (like 5+min), then there’s probably a daimod at fault (test any loaded in frosty first, then start futzing with daimm). if everything is completely fucking bonkers, it’s more likely (but not necessarily) a frosty mod at fault. generally. i had three separate vivienne mods, both daimod and frosty, that all fucked my game in different ways yesterday, so you never know. sometimes the entire game world just comes apart at the seams bc you wanted to give your favorite first enchanter a snazzy lil gold accent on her casual outfit :( 

#srry if u already know all this stuff #esp if u meant 'how to make mods' bc i am USELESS w that stuff #u remember that horrible spider queen i made when i tried to make my own jedi exile? yeah..... #i keep meaning to try exporting certain dai assets to dao #mostly environmental stuff since most ppl have covered outfits #like i dream of revamping redcliffe and maybe haven w the pretty mural designs from dai #but space on my desktop is limited for 3rd party software to make it you know? #so all i've rlly done for dao are some npc face tweaks and a couple outfit swaps w mixed success #and some real pie-in-the-sky plans abt doing some dialogue editing to allow for keeping alistair and loghain at the same time #like it seems v easy to me in theory. which makes me wary. bc surely if it were that easy somebody else would have done it yeah?

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Aaaaaand three years later...

Hello friends! This morning I discovered that three years have already passed from the first time I completed a draft of my major WIP, The Left Behind.

(Look! Evidence! Social media is occasionally good for something! And, yes, I do tragically still use Facebook)

I’m a bit shocked it’s both already and only been three years. I’ve grown incredibly as a writer in the meantime. I’ve also barely begun on the third draft at this point. So, I thought that it just might be nice to put a little something of self-reflection and a note of the journey so far. Maybe because it might help some of you guys to see how I do things (although I don’t fully recommend following my process) and also to be able to remember in the future what the hell I actually did once the memories are inevitably blurred. I’ll, of course, put all that babbling under this lovely little read more so I don’t consume your dash!

Alrighty! So, draft one:

Armed with a few pages of scattered half-development over the series of a few years, I had very little plan. I’d spent a majority of my recent writing producing fanfiction, primarily one-shots, and had never completed more than three, maybe four full chapters in one piece. To say a full novel seemed out of my reach was an overstatement. I’d tried to write The Left Behind once or twice before, and had set it aside for a number of reasons; it felt dry and cliched, stiff and melodramatic (and of course it did! I was all of thirteen when I’d dreamt it up, and most of the media I consumed and adored was edgy and over the top and coarse, but for some reason when it was my creation, it was stale). On a quick bit of passion and a late New Year’s Resolution, I set about to take another crack at it.

I changed the opening scene for what must have been the third or fourth time, finally willing to allow myself to part from previous conceptions of what I had to include, because it had been in my original plans. Realizing I didn’t have to be trapped by my past ideas was refreshing; this was one of the major things I learned through this draft, one I still remind myself to make peace with often.

I nearly quit after the fourth chapter, because I didn’t like the way it was going and I felt frustrated with where it was going. After complaining to a few family members (also recreational writers), I was able to digest a piece of advice I’d heard over and over; don’t edit until you’re done. This doesn’t work for everyone, but it let me write without being hung up on my story. It let me change my mind mid-draft and simply write with the change as though it had never occurred, simply leaving a consistency to repair for the next draft. Or, as I like to always say “It’s a problem for Later Me.”

Draft one took me roughly nineteen months to complete. It was an astounding feeling. The story was bare, inconsistent, and totaled 50,000 words and change. But it was amazing. It still is amazing, really. I managed to write most of it between classes, often in 200 to 500 word bursts.

I didn’t really get back to working on The Left Behind again for another five or six months.

Which leads us into draft two:

To be frank, I consider draft one an extended outline...especially considering that I simply never finished an outline. My “outline” is more of a semi-organized word/idea vomit, and sheet of story related jargon. My intention for draft two was to bulk the story up, establish more consistency, and polish my style, themes, and plot.  Having already managed one draft, I assumed that a second one would be a quick endeavor; surely, I only really took so long because I was learning! Right?

Wrong.

One of the major things I learned in draft two is an unshakable truth: I’m never going to be the writer who churns out thousands of words in one sitting. I charted my word count every single day during draft two, and there were probably no more than 10 days where I wrote over 1000 words in general, let alone in The Left Behind. I agonized over it for a bit, but I’m pretty much over it by now. I carefully craft my words, so of course it’ll take long. It’s like a tapestry, a long, intricate work that needs time to do right.

Of course, I’d be a liar if I said draft two isn’t riddled with flaws.

But it is so much better. The overall writing style finally felt like a decent balance between internal monologue and imagery and storytelling. Some of the lines I wrote are truly beautiful and powerful and inspiring. I read it back and there are only a few scenes or moments or phrases that I find disengaging and lame.

Draft two took me twenty-two months to complete, and clocked in at over one hundred thousand words. It also made me feel some incredible euphoria for months straight when I truly hit my stride, which, naturally, led to an aching burnout once I forced myself to take a break from it.

I’m frankly still recovering from it, and from the depressive spell I had in the meantime. I can’t properly determine how much time passed between drafts, because I kept attempting to pick up draft three and failing to do much actual work.

Which brings us around to draft three:

Draft three is in progress. I’ve figured out my best method for re-outlining: an in-depth re-read of the previous draft, a variety of notes per chapter, a collective overall list of desires for the next draft, and a lot of index cards to scribble plot points on, so as to better move around and reorganize and remove them. (I’ll be making a larger post about this eventually! Just going to give myself more time to get further acquainted with editing and all first)

I’m learning how to edit. I’m starting to understand that my major problem with editing and outlines is the visual clutter of it all, and I’m working around it. I’m loving polishing words and themes and characters. I was primarily going to focus on cutting my word count a good deal, but I’ve decided to throw that out the window in favor of making a great story. As it turns out, my prior draft’s word count is actually even a bit short as many similar novels go, which brings me comfort!

I left the story alone for too long, and returning to it is a breath of fresh air. It truly feels like part of my soul is back. I don’t know if it’s because my depression is getting better, or if my depression is getting better because of it. Either way, I’m glad. And I’m excited. I can’t wait more than anything to share with you guys that the work is complete and ready to be published. I can’t wait to mark my calendar, to finally say that I’ve did it and to keep doing it. (It’s a four book series, so there’s not an option of giving up anyhow aha!)

So it’s been three years. I’ve learned a done a lot. Some writers may have done much more in that time. Many have done less. That’s okay with me. I really, truly believe that The Left Behind is something big, something breathtaking. Hopefully it won’t take too many more years to be able to prove it to you all.

#emmy talks about herself #emmy babbles about herself #the left behind #writing update #reflection #writing process #tw depression #depression mention #long post

[headoverjojo]

I recently just read a fic with Trish dying and turning into a ghost. So far the author hasn't finished it but how do you think the bruno gang would react if diavolo killed her like he planned and they found about it much later on.

Hi there, darling! :3 Aaaaaa aaaanggssttt!! I hope to have satisfied your wish, my dear!!

Bruno’s gang reaction to find out that Diavolo killed Trish, like planned, but they find about it much later on

(Under the cut for length!)

Everything seemed to have gone as it should. Bruno found out about the Boss’ real intentions and managed to drag Trish away, both severely injured, Bruno barely alive. When Giorno, dragging the others too, came in their aid, Bruno really thought they had made it, that the Boss would have left Trish alone, at least for the meantime, to retreat and reorganize.

Bruno was wrong. No one noticed King Crimson sliding behind them. Diavolo carefully and smartly used his gift to skip and it was so subtle that no one noticed it. One second he was near Trish, the second after he was retreating, a smug smile on his face.

When Bruno gently put Trish inside Coco Jumbo, he, as the others, didn’t notice that her heart wasn’t beating anymore.

Bruno Bucciarati

When he found out about it, Bruno felt devastated. It was his fault, he knew it was his fault… if only he managed to protect her better. If only he had noticed that the Boss wasn’t retreating, if only, if only… he tortured himself over and over again, thinking about what he could have do to prevent the disgrace. Even if he didn’t know Trish since long as he knew his boys, Bruno had grown fond on her. She was just a girl, a young girl who didn’t have anything to do with his dark world: he just wanted to keep her safe and allow her to live the life she wanted. He thought that safeness, for her, would have been with the Boss; he was wrong. He should have known, he told himself again and again, he should have known, he should have suspected something and not blindly go on with the mission… it was his fault. Trish, an innocent, died because of him.

Bruno would need time to recover from it. The mission, before its tragic ending, had been exhausting both physically and mentally, and her death had been the last blow. He’s more uncertain about his decision, now, as they have lead to Trish’s death; he doesn’t know if he would be a good Capo, as he wasn’t able to protect a girl from his own father. His team is always near him, not to let him sink down: just time and their presence would help him to finally emerge from this deep gloominess with a new determination to take down the Boss. This time for Trish too.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio hadn’t a real opinion on Trish, as he was more interested in fulfilling the mission than about Trish as person. When he saw her entering San Giorgio Maggiore with Bruno, he felt relieved: they did it, the mission had been a success! But it all crumbled down when he saw Bruno heavily wounded, as Trish, and heard about the Boss’ real intentions. This drew a line for him: he was an ex corrupted policemen, yes, he considered himself the scum of society, yes, he was a gangster, yes, but what the Boss did was over it. It was disgusting, it was cruel and unnatural and Abbacchio couldn’t stand it. He decided to follow Bruno on the boat mainly ‘cause at the time his life was voted to fight at Bruno’s side, yes, but a small part of him wanted also to punish the Boss for what he had tried to do. Just that the Boss already did it, when no one was watching. Abbacchio was angry, angry with himself, first, and with the others too. Why no one noticed anything?! How the hell could the Boss come so near to kill his daughter under their noses?! He hated it, he hated it with all his heart. He always was against kids in the organization or somehow involved in it, so, in his heart, he wished for Trish a life far from mafia, a normal life. Now she wouldn’t ever had this chance. They haven’t protect her, in the end: the mission was a failure.

Abbacchio wouldn’t need as much time as Bruno to recover, so he’d mostly try to drag his leader out of the mourn he’s in. They can’t lose him, not him too, they need a guide, Bruno is their Capo and has to control his emotions and go on! Especially now that they’re on the run and are trying to find out the Boss’ real identity. They all have to endure the pain and go on if they don’t want to be killed! They have to do it, for Trish too. They have to fight for Trish too!

Guido Mista

As Abbacchio, Mista hadn’t a fully-formed opinion on Trish. He found her pretty, she had a sharp tongue -he still huffs a chuckle remembering when she used Fugo’s jacket as towel and her words after she did so-, a good smell… but he hadn’t had the chance to really talk to her, as they were always chased by various assassins out to hunt for their blood. He didn’t find her suited for mafia, this was for sure; it was a relief seeing her entering the church, as, now, she would have been safe from her father’s enemies. It wasn’t so: her greatest enemy was her own father, apparently. Mista, grown in a big and unite family, couldn’t accept it, he couldn’t even think about it. For him family was sacred: how could a father want to kill his own daughter? He just… he couldn’t understand. It was a so alien thought that he couldn’t keep it in his mind. This also helped him to finally take the decision to go on the boat: if for the Boss was so easy to kill his own family, than how much easier would have been to kill his subordinates? He couldn’t stand a Boss like this. He wanted to change things and Trish too would have been safe! But… it wasn’t more necessary. It had been Mista the one who noticed first that Trish was sleeping since when they had left Venice and she was so still… he touched her and felt her skin cold. He still screamed Giorno’s name, calling him inside the turtle to try to use Gold Experience to heal her, to do something, but inside of his heart he knew it was too late. Guido felt empty, after that. It was too late; the Boss has always been two steps in front of them. In fact, the Boss had already won and they hadn’t even noticed it. Mista felt guilty, even, ‘cause they had promised to protect her, but look now: she was dead. They had… failed her. She, who trusted them, in the end died. And it was their fault.

Even if he shaked off the mourn pretty fast, Mista, inside, was still in a turmoil. He felt guilty, angry, sad, all together. He had to regain his composure fast, as they were on the run, but, inside, oh, he was a ticking bomb. He didn’t know Trish since long, true, but her death was so unfair and sudden that it just shocked him to this point. He wanted to fight the Boss, he wanted to put an end to his reign of terror. For Trish and for all the others who died for the Boss’ pride.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia was pretty indifferent towards Trish, but this didn’t mean he wouldn’t have wanted to be her friend! it wasn’t just the moment nor the place to do so. He liked her, he felt they could have been good friends, but what really made him feel a connection with her was what her father almost did to her in the church. She had been betrayed by someone who should have protect her… she was like him. He was like her. How could he deny his protection and help to someone who was in his same situation? He wanted to talk to her about it. He knew how it was to be betrayed in this way: he hoped to help her a little… but he never had the chance to help her. Trish was dead, she had been so since they rushed far from Venice. The Boss… the Boss did it. The Boss, in the end, won. Narancia felt angry, at first, so angry that he wanted to scream. Then it came the pain and the remorse, ‘cause he felt like he hadn’t done enough. If he had used Aerosmith, maybe he would have sensed the Boss, maybe Trish wouldn’t have died…

Narancia’s determination to take down the Boss, now, was doubled. He was ready to give everything he had, to fight ever subordinate the Boss would have sent to them, all to finally take him down, all to finally avenge Trish. A man who’s ready to kill so easily his own daughter is too much even for a criminal organization: Narancia couldn’t stand the thought to serve a man like this. For Trish and for all the close people the Boss surely used and then thrown away, Narancia wanted to fight and win. For them all.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo was the first to welcome Trish in the group, but also the first to touch with hand how snarky a scared girl thrown completely out of her life all of the blue could be. Even so, Fugo was not one to hold grudges over it: a scream and it’s gone. Being he a really diligent person, he knew that this mission was crucial to Bruno to achieve his role as Caporegime; completing it would have made him so respected that no one would have even tried to question his authority. So, Fugo was determined to fulfill the mission: not just for his leader, of course, but also for Trish. Even if she acted that way, it was clear that she was scared, that she wanted to have nothing to do with mafia and its affairs and Fugo couldn’t disagree with her: no one would have willingly chosen to be in a criminal organization. And so, when the real intentions of the Boss had been revealed, Fugo was more than shocked. And now… now what? What were they supposed to do? Fight the Boss? Fight him and die all together in a useless mission? Even if… even if part of him wanted to go, his brain was screaming not to go, that it was a suicide mission, they… they have to hide, first, and to think about a plan, not run like crazy hoping to find clues…! He watched them go with a heavy heart, feeling, inside, that someone wouldn’t have come back, from that damn mission. What he didn’t expect was that the one who didn’t come back would have been Trish. He was totally shocked when the others told him what the Boss did to her, that… that all of them had been fooled. Fugo’s first reaction is anger. When he’s stressed, nervous or too overwhelmed, he expresses his turmoil with anger bursts. He even had to go outside, not to explode with the others. All useless, everything they did, every enemy they had fought… useless. Trish was already dead, they… they had fought for a corpse, he found himself to think, bitter. But… no, not for a corpse. In the end, they fought for Trish, for her spirit, not her corpse. In the end they avenged her, so… so, maybe, her spirit was now resting in peace.

Even if it’s a hard blown -it’s never easy to see a person of your age die, even if you don’t know them well- Fugo does his best not to let Trish’s death be useless. Now that the Boss has been defeated, they all can work to build a better Passione, to drag the organization out of the terror Diavolo had thrown it in; and Fugo helps in it, he gives everything he has, every energy and minute he has for this. He offers his intelligence and strategic ability to the new Don, to use it in a better way: and all, also, for Trish. For the girl who made it all possible, whose death gave them the determination to go on and really fulfill their goal. It was all also for Trish.

Giorno Giovanna

In the beginning, Trish, for Giorno was mostly just the best way to reach for the Boss. He was trying to find a good excuse to go near to the Boss, he was preparing himself to wait months, but fate seemed to be at his side, sending no one else but the Boss’ daughter… and they had to accompany her to him! They would have been near him! It was the right chance to try to take him down, Giorno thought, feeling even relieved, knowing that soon it all would have been ended. But it didn’t go according to the plan: the Boss wanted to kill Trish, instead of keep her safe, and Giorno, as much as he cared for his dream, wouldn’t ever just let a person die for the sake of it. He had to think again about what to do, now, he had to plan… but Mista’s scream interrupted him. Giorno was rushed inside Coco Jumbo, as Trish apparently wasn’t feeling well. When he used Gold Experience on her, however, Giorno understood, with shock and horror, that she was… dead. Trish was dead. She was cold and rigid… for how long had she been dead? Hours? More? Giorno cannot speak, he cannot even think. This… this was too much. This was the first time he felt hopeless, that he cannot help somehow. His Gold Experience was useless, as it couldn’t bring back dead people; he felt useless. Trish… she was innocent. She was a common girl dragged in a world made of darkness, and her only fault was to be born. For her father, she had to die for being born, for simply existing. Trish’s death was a hard blow for him: was his dream really worth it? How many other would have died for it? Bruno? Mista? Who else? Even so, even if he felt so desperate, he didn’t show it. He had to be strong… he had led everyone in that mess and he would have done everything to keep them safe. At least them.

When it was all done, Giorno allowed himself to mourn. He didn’t know Trish a lot, nor he was a close friend or even an acquaintance, but… she has been part of the team, even if just for a little time. She entrusted them with her life, but they have failed her. She had dreams and hopes, like all of them, and they had been crushed by her own father’s hand. She had so much to do, so much to see… there was one last thing that Giorno had promised her: taking her back to her home and burying her near her mother. When it was all finished, Giorno kept the promise, the last one he made to Trish.

#jjba #vento aureo #bruno's gang #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #trish una #trish's death #tw: major character death #gang reactions #reactions hcs #headcanons #sfw #anon ask

[beauregardance]

Daffodils

pjo. will x nico / canon-verse / 7k / ao3

There it was: a bright yellow blemish mixed with the splatter of his blood clots, like a single flower blooming in the acrid red soil, where its very presence should have been snuffed out before it reached maturity.

Will stared at the sink, remnants of his blood clinging onto the corner of his mouth when he had coughed it out. He reached a hand down in the sink, picking up the yellow…thing that was covered in splotches of blood. The thing was featherlight and about half the length of his finger, with a waxy sort of feeling when he rubbed it in between his thumb and index finger.

A flower petal; it was a flower petal.

 -

It had all started a few days ago, when the end of summer finally approached after the events of the Gaea War. The Roman demigods were long-gone, back to Camp Jupiter, and most of the other demigods were packing up, preparing to return to the mortal world for another boring year at school. Will was standing over at his bookshelf in his cabin, reorganizing the mess someone else left for him.

“You heading home, Will?” his half brother, Austin, asked, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “That means I’ll be the head counselor until you come back next summer, yeah?”

Will chuckled at his way of asking for the position. “You wish,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll be here all year.”

“What? Really?” He let his arm fall off Will’s shoulder in surprise. “But I thought you said you were heading home this year! What happened to staying on track for medical school?”

“Um,” Will said, a hand on his chin in thought. There wasn’t a real reason why he was staying at Camp Half-Blood instead of returning to high school in Texas like he usually did. He hadn’t known what possessed him when he IM’ed to his mom about staying at camp, but he had a feeling that he would find the answer if he dug just a little deeper. A feeling that it had something to do with a certain scowling boy. “Let’s just say I’m still on track for medical school to take a gap year,” he offered with a smile, hoping that the answer was enough.

Austin sighed, looking only half-disappointed. “Well, there goes my ploy for making Kayla do the bathroom cleaning.”

“Hey!” Kayla shouted from deeper inside the cabin. “I heard that!”

A grin snuck its way onto Will’s face despite himself while his two siblings bickered, and he continued to reorder the bookshelf. Where was I? he wondered. Oh right, the ‘N’ section –

There was the sound of someone knocking on the doorframe. Will spun around to face the open front door of the cabin, immediately switching into work mode. Usually when someone came knocking at the Apollo Cabin, there was some sort of medical emergency. He scoured through his brain for today’s schedule and a list of possible accidents that could have happened: a case of nonstop nose bleeding, bad poetry curses, or a limb being hacked off in today’s combat training. It was safe to say that Will was prepared for anything.

Well, anything except for this.

Nico di Angelo, shadow traveling extraordinaire and the captor of Will’s heart, was standing at the door, his knuckles resting on the door frame where he had knocked. Despite having seen him just yesterday, Will felt like he had the breath knocked out of him at Nico’s unexpected appearance. He stared with his mouth half-opened a little too long before he scolded himself with a sharp Act normal.

“Medical emergency?” Will asked, taking a step away from the bookshelf and toward Nico.

“Uh,” Nico hesitated, his hand sliding off the doorframe. He shook his head. “No. I was actually looking for you.”

And there was that breathlessness that Will felt again, like something was bubbling up in his chest and suffocating him. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling, even if he did feel like he was slowly losing his composure around Nico.

“Um, yeah. I’m free right now,” Will said, glancing back at Austin and Kayla. His siblings exchanged a look, and Kayla shot him a thumbs up, both of them grinning knowingly. Will bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the flush creeping up his face wasn’t noticeable. He turned his attention back to Nico, who now had his hands tucked in the pockets of his black aviator jacket.

Nico nodded. “Great. Could we, uh, talk someplace else?” he asked, glancing behind Will. He could almost hear Austin and Kayla snickering at the implications, and Will felt his heartbeat pick up despite himself. Act normal. Act normal.

“Sure,” Will said, following Nico out of the cabin and making sure to close the door behind him. They walked in silence past the dozens of campers out in the morning light doing their daily routines. After tomorrow, most of them would take the bus straight out of dodge. Will would be on that bus too, if he hadn’t decided to change his plans last minute. He could admit it now: he just wanted to spend more time with Nico after he had promised to stay at Camp Half-Blood. It was pretty much a once in a lifetime chance, considering that Nico always disappeared for months on end and only hung around Percy’s group when he reappeared. He couldn’t let this chance slip by.

They had reached the strawberry fields by the time Nico stopped walking. Since it was still the morning and most campers were preparing for their departure, the fields were practically abandoned.

A perfect place for a confession, his mind whispered to him, and he wished he could physically stop himself from blushing. Thankfully, Nico didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

It was true that they had been a little awkward around each other recently, stumbling over words and sentences filled with um’s and uh’s, and Will took this to mean that they were nearing something. Something that would push them over the edge of friendship into something more. Or at least, he hoped that was what it meant. Will had been planning to do something about it soon, but it looked like Nico had taken hold of the reins today. Would it be too bold for him to hope for a kiss or some hand holding at the end of this conversation?  

“So, did you want to tell me something?” Will asked, wincing at how breathless he sounded. Gods, he was acting like he was being confessed to for the first time. Well – actually, that was correct. If his instincts were right, he was going to be confessed to for the first time in his life.

But…there was something…off.

Nico looked nervous, but not the kind of nervous that Will was feeling with the butterflies floating in his stomach and left his hands tingly. He kept twisting the skull ring on his finger, and his eyes were darting back and forth, refusing to meet Will’s like he was about to deliver from bad news.

“I have some bad news.”

And there it was.

“I’m leaving Camp Half-Blood. Today.”

Will emotions did a perfect one-eighty, crashing down from a giddy nervous high into a devasted low. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find any words. Nico was looking at the ground, twisting his skull ring even harder. A silence stretched out for a second. Then thirty. And then a minute. Will finally found his voice.

“But…you said you were staying.”

He hated how hurt he sounded, but he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. Right after the war, Nico had promised him to stay. Of course, he could do whatever he wanted to, but Will had thought that it…meant something. He thought that he meant something to Nico.

Apparently, he had thought wrong. He felt a tight squeezing in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Nico spoke quietly. “But there’s something…I have to do. Something by myself. I can’t stay here. I don’t –” Nico paused and then carefully reworded his sentence. “I wanted to tell you because I knew you’d be worried if I disappeared without a trace, and I don’t want you searching for me.”

Each sentence was like a punch to the gut. Had Will really misinterpreted everything, even when he thought himself to be a good reader of situations? “When will you be back?” he found himself blurting out. Usually he would immediately begin bickering with Nico, but he stopped himself this time. He would feel just short of being a heroine in a tragic romance novel, chasing futilely after someone who had already decided to leave.

Nico looked at him, his eyes clouded with regret. “I don’t know.”

They exchanged a few more words after that, but Nico was purposefully vague about where he was going and what he needed to do. The conversation between the two of them afterward was stilted and stale, nothing like the easy camaraderie or the playful bickering they used to do. A gaping hole tore itself open in Will’s chest, and the only thing he could do to mask the ache was force a smile.

So, it turned out that he was wrong about everything from the beginning. Nico and Will hadn’t developed anything special. The past few days were only awkward because Nico didn’t know how to bring the subject up after promising to stay in Camp Half-Blood. Okay, Will could live with that, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t cut into his core. When he said it hurt, he meant that it hurt. A lot. All of his feelings had been laid bare in the summer, and this was the rejection he got.

Soon after the rejection, Nico disappeared, leaving Will alone at camp.

So, naturally, he started coughing up blood.

With flower petals in it.

 -

At first, he thought it was just internal bleeding. Maybe he was smacked a little too hard last night by the blunt end of Paolo’s spear when he insisted on sparring. A bit of ambrosia and nectar would cure that. But when he woke up the next morning to cough up more blood and flower petals, he knew that there was something seriously wrong with him.

As a healer, he had seen all sorts of maladies, but nothing like this before. The first thing he had to do was identify what disease he had, and all signs pointed to internal bleeding if not for the flower petals. That meant that he had to identify the strange flowers. He gathered and washed the petals from his latest coughing session and brought them over to the Demeter cabin for inspection.

Billie who ended up cracking the case.

“Those are pretty banged-up daffodil petals,” she said while crouching over the flower beds in front of the cabin, digging with a trowel. “But they don’t grow around here, except…” She paused and then gave him an accusatory look. “Did you steal them from our cabin?”

“Of course not!” Will denied vehemently. “Do I look like the type to steal?”

Billie gave him a once over and grimaced, giving Will a clear answer to his rhetorical question. He pouted, but he didn’t exactly want to tell her that he coughed it up. “So, did someone leave you a daffodil petal trail or something? Seems kind of weird to me.”

He could tell she was about to launch into an explanation of flower language, which he already knew about. He didn’t see why it was so important anyway, but he indulged her. “Why’s that?”

“Flower meaning and all,” Billie said with a wave of her hand like she didn’t expect him to understand, and he almost laughed at how accurate his prediction was. “Daffodils can be used as love flowers. You know, true love, only love, blah, blah, blah. But they also mean unrequited love.” Will flinched at that part. Unrequited love. Yeah, he knew what the flower meant, but he hadn’t really thought about it until Billie put it in words. He could feel bile rising up his throat. “I’d say if someone was leaving you a trail, you’ve got a pretty sad secret admirer. Nothing to worry about, but you’d better shoot them down fast before they send you an evening primrose, and trust me, nothing gets creepier than someone who doesn’t know when to give up – oh my gods, Will!”

Will covered his mouth to stifle his coughs, letting the warm, sticky blood and waxy yellow petals splatter onto his palms. A knob caught in his throat, and he coughed harder until the thing made its way out, leaving a daffodil head on his hands. It was soaked in blood and crushed from its time in his windpipe, but, broken as it was, the flower was still recognizable.

“Now will you believe I didn’t steal the daffodils?” Will said weakly, a trail of blood connecting his lips to the blood that was now all over his hands. He should have known that the coughing sessions were going to rear its ugly face in public at some point. At least now he could prove to Billie that he hadn’t even stepped in the Demeter Cabin.

Billie had her hands over her mouth in horror. Her trowel was stuck upright in the dirt she had been tending, and she’d fallen down on her bottom in shock. “Oh my gods, Will,” she whispered, staring at him and his bloody palms with a mixture of revulsion and pity. “That’s – that’s the Hanahaki disease.”

 -

Will Solace, medic extraordinaire, had never heard of the Hanahaki disease before, much to his embarrassment. His siblings were scouring his bookshelf for medical books that described the disease, but he already knew they weren’t going to find anything. After all, he owned those books, and he couldn’t remember a single page talking about the elusive Hanahaki disease.

Luckily, Billie Ng turned out to be all kinds of expert on said disease.

“There are flowers growing in your lungs,” she said when she showed up to the empty infirmary where he was staying. It was an ironic switch of positions. Usually he would be the one standing over his bedridden patient with a deadly diagnose to impart. This time, he sat propped up against his pillows while Billie stood at the foot of his bed with a folder of papers she was messily sorting through. Will bit back a comment about the necessity of organization when dealing with medical records.

“Sounds fantastic,” Will said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice at the news. “How long do I have, doctor?” He faked a wheezing cough.

Billie didn’t look amused, and he could almost imagine Nico in her place scowling at him. He grinned for a moment before he remembered the rejection again, and a sharp pain stabbed at his chest. He reworded his question. “Flowers in my lungs, check. How do I get them out? Assuming that’s what’s making me, you know.” He motioned to the plastic bucket at his bedside, streaked with blood and yellow daffodil petals.

She sighed, continuing to flip through her pages. “Well, there’s surgery –”

“I’m the only one in camp right now who can do surgical removal,” Will protested immediately. “I can’t operate on myself. And no offense, but I don’t trust Austin or Kayla with that kind of stuff.” They were good at Apollo’s other aspects: music and archery. All his other siblings who had inherited the healing talent had gone back to the mortal world. He was practically the camp’s sole healer.

Billie bit her lip. “Chiron said he could do it.”

“Chiron?” Will exclaimed, but it sort of made sense that the centuries old centaur had medical expertise under his belt. Still, Will wasn’t so sure he wanted Chiron cutting into his lungs to uproot a bunch of wayward flowers. “How did the flowers get there anyway?” he wondered out loud.

He saw Billie’s expression turn into one of sympathy. “Do you really want to know?” she asked. She spun into an explanation before he could ask. “It’s unrequited love,” she said with a sigh, shaking her head morosely.

“Unrequited love?” Will asked, surprised. His heart thumped a little faster, mind racing back to Nico’s farewell. Surely that wasn’t the cause of it all, but he couldn’t deny that the timing matched up.

“It’s an East Asian urban legend,” Billie explained, flipping to the appropriate page on the folder she held. “It happens when you develop particularly strong romantic feelings for someone and realize that they’re unrequited.”

“Uh,” Will started to interrupt, not sure that he wanted her to put it in words. He could feel embarrassment tinging his cheeks red.

Billie waved off his meek protest. “Come on. We all know you’ve got it bad for someone since day one,” she dismissed like it was nothing. Will gaped at her, wishing that the floor would swallow him up. Had it been that obvious? He didn’t even know when day one was. Gods, he must have been a big source of gossip for the Aphrodite kids. “The flowers take root in your lungs after a bad heartbreak.” She looked over the top of her papers knowing, waiting for Will to give her an explicitly detailed answer about what went down. “So, what was the bad heartbreak?”

“I plead the fifth,” he replied, refusing to shrink into his blankets like he wanted to.

She huffed. “Fine. Anyway, the flowers will keep growing until they manage to kill you. But,” she said, turning a page over to read from the back, “you can cure it by either cutting out the roots via surgery or by have your feelings reciprocated.”

Reciprocation? That was a pipe dream that Will had personally killed the moment Nico left camp. Sure, right after the Gaea War he was hopeful. He was hopeful when Nico agreed to stay at the infirmary and let Will take care of him, even when nothing more had happened except the occasional accidental brushing of their hands. He was hopeful when he caught Nico stealing glances at him during the dinner pavilion and the sing-alongs. He was hopeful up until the day Nico finally left.

Will would admit he was still recovering from the pain of realizing that his feelings weren’t returned, but to have flowers growing in his lungs because of it was completely ridiculous. However, the evidence of its existence lay in the bucket on the floor beside him. It only meant one thing: he had to go through with the surgery.

“Surgery it is then,” Will muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “When can I get started?”

Now Billie looked hesitant to divulge more. “You should know about the surgery, Will,” she said. “Um, well. Removing those roots… Well. It kills your ability for romantic love, and possibly…removes all feelings and memories you’ve ever had for the person that caused it.”

There was a long silence.

“Are you sure this isn’t one of Aphrodite’s schemes?” Will asked suspiciously. This kind of tragic love story sounded exactly like her MO. Now all that was left was for Will to go through with the surgery and for an imaginary Nico to come running back with a love declaration only to find out that the Will he knew and loved was gone. He almost scoffed at the thought of Nico running back to confess his love. There was no way that he would do that, he thought with a twinge of pain.

She shook her head. “It’s impossible. They’re different pantheons of beliefs,” Billie explained, but she seemed deep in thought. “Even I don’t know how you would have gotten it. Must have been a bad case of heartbreak to trigger something like this.” Billie gave him another expectant look.

Will didn’t want to answer that. “I’m going to have to do the surgery anyway,” he said, resigned to his fate. Being incapable of romantic feelings forever… Well, as long as Will didn’t remember what it felt like to be in love, it would be fine.

Right?

His memories of Nico would be at stake too, and Will clenched his hands against the blankets at the thought of it. Even if Nico never returned his affections, Will wasn’t so sure he wanted to let go of his own feelings. The surgery sounded so clinical, like his feelings could be pruned right out of his lungs along with the daffodil roots. Well, maybe that was the point, but he didn’t want to think that his feelings could be expelled like a parasite. His affection for Nico wasn’t parasitic, it was…his. The sudden possessiveness over his own feelings gave him a headache. He exhaled, rubbing his face tiredly and wondered when his life got this complicated.

Billie picked up on his distress. “But the legend states that you could develop the Hanahaki disease if you think it’s unrequited love,” she offered, but even she seemed to know that it was the weakest compensation in the world. “It’s possible you don’t have to go through with the surgery if you made a mistake. All you’ll need is a confession back from the person you’re in love with.”

“That’s impossible,” Will replied immediately without thinking. “Nico doesn’t –” He cut himself off too late, and Billie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Nico di Angelo, huh,” she said, unable to hide the growing grin on her face like she had just stolen candy from a baby. Will bit the inside of his cheeks, turning his head to avoid eye contact now that he had just given away his biggest secret. “Now that I think about it, you always seemed interested in what he was up to –”

“The point is,” Will interrupted, emphasizing every word. His face had to be bright red at this point. “Nico doesn’t think of me that way. We’re just friends, okay?” His chest squeezed painfully at his own words. “And even if he did like me,” he said, trying to flit back to a lighthearted attitude, “Nico’s not around camp anymore. He said he had something to do.” Will shrugged, attempting to sound casual about it. “It’s not like any of us can contact him. He never answers IMs anyway, and he –”

Will didn’t have time to come up with more self-pitying reasons about Nico’s lack of affection when he felt the flower petals in his throat. He hurriedly grabbed his plastic bucket, coughing violently into the soiled container.

“That was a bad one,” he said as he coughed out the last bits of the daffodil petals. “So how much longer do I have, doctor?” he asked once again, more seriously this time.

Billie pursed her lips. “One week.”

One week. Considering that Nico just left camp two days ago, he would never make it back in time if he was off on a quest or visiting Camp Jupiter. Of course, not that Will thought Nico returned his feelings, but a small piece of hope still clung desperately to his heart. If Nico made it back and found out about the disease then maybe, just maybe…

No, he couldn’t think about things that would never happen. “Alright then,” Will said, nodding his consent like he was the lead surgeon. He knew he was going to lose a part of himself after the surgery, but he didn’t see a way out of this besides dying, and Nico would definitely be angry if he heard about that. He sighed heavily in resignation, and he could almost feel the individual petals of the daffodils growing in his lungs, clamouring for his life. “Commence the operation.”

He’d tell Nico sorry after the operation. If he even remembered him by then.

 -

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Nico wanted to kick something over or, better yet, fight an angry monster. He could barely contain himself as he stalked the empty halls of Hades’ palace. He had promised Will that he wasn’t going to leave, and yet here he was, as far away from Will as he possibly could be.

If this were months ago, he would have gladly spent the rest of his sad, demigod life sulking in his father’s palace, but things were different now. For once in his life since Bianca’s death, he felt like he belonged. And now his stepmother had snatched it all away.

“Think about it before you steal things from my garden,” Persephone had lectured him. It only took a day of her being in the underworld to call Nico back from Camp Half-Blood. Now, he was to serve her in compensation for what he took. Six months for six seeds, just like her legend proclaimed.

“I needed the pomegranate seeds to survive!” Nico had argued.

“You should have asked,” Persephone launched back, cool and collected as ever, and Nico was left fuming. Their relationship had always been like this: indifferent one moment and contemptuous the next. Nico knew his stepmother was possessive about her personal garden, but he had genuinely needed the pomegranate seeds to survive his ordeal in Rome. He should have known that taking them without her knowing was going to come back and bite him. He sighed, twisting the skull ring on his finger.

He didn’t even want to know what Will thought of him when he left; he kept seeing Will’s crestfallen face when he told him that he had to go. Nico hadn’t even explained the reason behind it because he was afraid Will himself would come marching down into the underworld and demand Nico’s freedom. The last thing Nico needed was Will to be turned into a daffodil or something in Persephone’s garden.

Nico made his way to the garden for his daily duties of tending to the flowers. It was stupid but stabbing viciously into the dirt with a trowel helped to take his mind off the situation. Somewhat. He still couldn’t believe he was going to be stuck here for half a year.

Unfortunately for him, Persephone was there when he made his way into her garden. He barely stopped himself from turning on his heel and marching out.

“Persephone,” he said monotonously. His mind added a sarcastic, to what do I owe the pleasure?

“Nico,” Persephone greeted back, her lips pulled into a smile. He couldn’t tell if it were genuine or mocking. When Nico only glared at her, she sighed. “I thought that you’d appreciate a reason to be away from both camps, but it seems like you’re infuriated instead.”

Now that was unexpected. “What?” Nico asked, staring at the goddess, anger forgotten.

Persephone returned to watering her flowers while she spoke. “You have said that you never enjoyed being around the other demigods, so I thought you’d prefer having a reason to be in the underworld,” she explained.

Her tone sounded genuine, but Nico was never sure with gods and goddesses, but he did remember Persephone huffily promising that she’d try to be nicer to him in the future. Was this her way of being nice? Nico wasn’t sure if he should feel frightened. “Thank…you,” he said, struggling with the words. For now, he was going to assume she was being genuine. Persephone was always straight to the point with him, so it wouldn’t make sense to act two-faced now. “But things have changed. I want to be at camp now. There’s…people there that I want to be around.” Will Solace, for one.

Persephone looked at him with one raised eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked, a mischievous tone to her voice. “Is there a certain demigod that you’re thinking of?”

He couldn’t believe that he was about to say this to his stepmother – a stepmother who had always hated the sight of him because he reminded her of Hades’ affairs. Maybe being around Will had turned him into a more trusting, positive version of himself. He wasn’t so sure of how he felt about that. “Yes,” he muttered, looking at the ground and shuffling his feet. “He… He’s special to me.”

Why did he say that? Why? But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back.

“A Roman or a Greek demigod?” Was Persephone actually interested?

“Greek… Um, one of Apollo’s son.” He thought of Will’s smile and the warmth Nico felt when he touched Nico’s wrist to feel his pulse all those days ago back in infirmary. He shivered a bit, rubbing his wrist and wishing he could feel that warmth again.

“Hmm… one of Apollo’s,” she pondered out loud. Then with a whisk of her hand, vivid flowers sprouted from the soil, splashes of colour against the pale landscape. Nico watched her pluck them prettily, quickly arranging them into a bouquet. She procured a string from seemingly nowhere, tying the stems of the flowers with a large ribbon before she held the bouquet out toward him. “Go on,” she urged when he didn’t move. “Take these to him. It’s a good selection. Daffodils, primroses, and tulips,” Persephone described.

“What?” Nico asked again, dumbfounded even when Persephone all but shoved the bouquet in his hands.

“They will convey your feelings quite clearly,” Persephone said. “After all, I’m sure any son of Apollo would be poetic enough to understand the language of flowers.”

Nico looked at the bouquet in his hands, staring at the flowers and hoping the meaning would spell itself out for him. It didn’t. He hadn’t studied flower language, so he had no idea what any of them meant. “Why…are you doing this?” Nico asked confusedly.

Persephone gave him a half smile. “I know I haven’t been a very good…stepmother,” she said, and Nico winced at the thought of the dandelion incident. Those days were the opposite of fun. “And it seemed that my invitation for you to stay in the underworld has backfired.”

Invitation? From the way he got the message from Hades, it had almost seemed like a threat at the time. Nico had almost torn up his room in a fit of anger.

“But now I understand your feelings. You’re in love, aren’t you?” Persephone continued, tilting her head to give him an inquisitive gaze. Nico shuddered, feeling like she could see right through into his core even if she wasn’t the goddess of love.

Still, he couldn’t stop the blush coming onto his face. Will Solace popped up in his mind, and Nico remembered him brushing Nico’s hair back from his face when he was in the infirmary. He remembered how he wanted so badly for Will’s fingers to linger on his forehead just a little longer and maybe even caress his cheek. He turned his head away, hands tightening around the bouquet. “I – I’m not –”

Persephone gave a lilting laugh. “You don’t need to deny it. Consider the agreement with the pomegranate seeds null and the bouquet as a gift. You may leave the underworld whenever you wish.” She turned back to her plants, continuing to tend to them while Nico stared with his mouth agape.

“Are you, uh, serious?” Nico asked, just in case Persephone was dangling him along.

“Of course,” Persephone replied, not even glancing at him now that she was occupied with her work. “I only get to see my husband six months every year. It would be a shame if you were to suffer a similar fate before you’ve even confessed.”

“But the stealing part –”

“It was part of the excuse. Now, are you going to head back to your lover or not?”

Nico wanted to protest at the word lover. It sounded archaic and way, way too intimate, but Persephone’s words felt promising enough, and Nico found himself muttering more thanks before he exited Persephone’s garden, feeling all the more confused whether his stepmother was just having a good day or if she was genuinely trying to be nice to him.

If she was trying to be nice to him, it didn’t seem so bad, he thought.

And that was how Nico found himself back at Camp Half-Blood a few hours later.

 -

“Are you sure about this?”

This was about the hundredth time Kayla had asked and Will grumbled another, “Yes, I’m absolutely certain.”

“But Nico might –”

“I’m certain,” Will said, cutting her off. He had only slipped up the name once to Billie, but that was enough for word to spread around the entire camp in just three hours. He couldn’t stand the looks of pity that people gave him when they visited him in the infirmary.

Kayla sighed. “Is there anything I can say to convince you not to do this? We could still contact Nico, you know, and tell him what’s happening.”

“I don’t need a pity confession,” Will argued. “It makes me feel like a charity case. Plus, we don’t know where he is, and he’s probably busy.”

“Who’s busy?”

Kayla squeaked and nearly jumped five feet in the air. Will almost fell off his bed when he saw him.

The demigod in question himself was standing at the entrance to the infirmary, looking a bit sheepish and holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. The three of them stared at each other for a second too long, and Nico cleared his throat.

“I just forgot! I have something to do!” Kayla rushed out the infirmary, slamming the door behind her and leaving the two of them alone.

This was quite the development, Will thought. He wondered if someone had contacted Nico and informed him of Will’s situation. The thought made him want to hide under his bedsheets, but Nico appeared to be mostly confused.

“People told me you were in the infirmary, but why are you here? Did something happen?” Nico asked in concern, walking over to Will’s bedside.

“I’m fine,” Will said, waving him off, but just his luck, the daffodils in his lungs were relentless in their torture. He hurriedly grabbed the bucket, sitting up and coughing more blood and flower petals out with a groan. Vaguely, he was aware of Nico’s reassuring hand on his back. “Just peachy,” he coughed.

“Will, what happened? Did you get in a fight or something? Do you need some ambrosia and nectar? Because I can go get some right now –”

“It’s fine,” Will said, grabbing onto Nico’s wrist to stop him. “I just caught something bad. I’ll be fine after the surgery tomorrow.” The surgery that would make him forget Nico and all of his feelings for him. He quickly switched topics before Nico could linger on the surgery part. “What made you come back so fast? Did someone in camp contact you or something?”

Nico looked away now, his eyes refusing to meet Will in a bashful way that he couldn’t help but find endearing. “Let’s just say the underworld told me to return to Hades’ Palace only to kick me out. Long story.”

“The underworld?”

Nico muttered something so quiet that Will didn’t catch it. “What was that?” he asked.

“I said, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you where I was going,” Nico said. “You’d probably think it was a hostage situation or something.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” Will said, rolling his eyes.

“You and I both know you would,” Nico replied. He wanted to pout, but he knew Nico was right. If he had caught wind that Nico was forced to return to the underworld, he would have gone on a quest to bring him back, as unadvisable as that would be. “But Persephone, my stepmother… Uh, she had a change of heart. And…”

Was Nico…blushing?

“Here.” Nico all but shoved the bouquet in Will’s face. “It’s, um, a gift. From the underworld. Courtesy of Persephone – well, courtesy of me. But –”

As Nico continued to ramble inanely, Will took the moment to examine the flowers. Yellow daffodils – his lips quirked up – golden primroses, and red tulips. The underworld flowers were pristine and crisp, and Will felt like they were shivering in his hands when he touched the petals. In flower language, he knew what they meant, and all the meanings were romantic. He held back a laugh at the irony of Nico giving him this bouquet without knowing the meaning behind it.

Unless he did know, a hopeful voice whispered in his head.

He snuck a look at Nico, whose face was now a pleasant shade of pink as he continued rambling about the story behind the flowers. Will put a hand on Nico’s wrist, and the boy quieted down immediately.

“Do you know?” Will asked quietly even when his heart was racing. “Do you know what these flowers mean?”

“Not really,” Nico admitted, and Will’s hope began to wilt. It was just a coincidence, then. Nico didn’t have any special feelings for him whatsoever. He nodded, about to tell Nico to leave him be so he could rest for his surgery tomorrow, but Nico continued talking.

“I can guess, though,” Nico offered, almost shyly.

Will raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he would have to mask another heartbreak all over again after this. He hoped that it wasn’t going to sprout another set of flower roots in his lungs. If it did, he hoped they weren’t roses. The thorns on rose stems were bound to cause some serious internal bleeding, and the last thing he wanted to deal with were collapsed lungs. “So, you don’t know what they mean.”

Nico made an indignant sound. “I said I could guess, but don’t laugh if it’s wrong!” he added at Will’s large grin. He pointed at the primroses and took a deep breath. “L-love,” he declared, and Will thought his heart was going to stop. He had expected Nico to say something like slaying monsters and being good at it. Maybe…maybe Nico was actually serious about this. His finger made its way onto the tulips. “Love,” he said again in a softer voice that made Will’s heart race. Now, he was resting his finger against the largest daffodil bloom. “Love,” he repeated, almost a whisper this time. His eyes flitted over to Will’s and Will could only stare back, enraptured by the confused vulnerability that Nico was expressing.

He could break this moment, he thought. He could make a joke and tell him it was all wrong, but he didn’t want to do that.

“Actually,” Will said, keeping his voice just as low. His finger hovered over the primrose. “I can’t live without you, love,” Will said while looking Nico in the eyes, a line that would have had him rolling on the ground in embarrassment had it not been for this tense moment. Nico was also not wholly unaffected from the way he took a sharp intake of breath at Will’s words, and Will wondered if his unrequited love wasn’t so unrequited after all.

Now he was on the tulips. “This one is true love,” he said, stroking the red petals. Of all the colours that Nico could have picked up, red couldn’t have been a coincidence, could it? The bright yellow daffodils now brushed against his fingers. “Unrequited love, my only love, or,” he trailed off, and in a spur of the moment, he placed two fingers on top of Nico’s over the daffodil bloom. “Hope.”

Nico’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Will found his eyes following the movement. “Hope for what?”

There was no turning back now. With the hand that was resting on top of Nico’s over the bouquet, he brought their hands together and entwined their fingers, feeling a spark run through his body when their fingers fit together. “For this.” His voice was breathless and shaky, and he hoped that he wouldn’t break into a coughing fit and destroy the moment.

There was a moment of silence where they both stared at their entwined fingers. “This is a love confession, isn’t it?” Nico asked.

“You were the one who brought the bouquet here.” Will couldn’t help pointing the fact out.

“That was…!” Nico didn’t finish the sentence, cheeks aflame at the implications. He nearly expected Nico to immediately run of the infirmary without another word, but Nico sighed instead. “Yeah, I did. And I kind of knew what they meant so yes. It’s a…love…confession from me.” He let go of Will’s hand, almost slapping him away in his haste to exit. “Sorry for embarrassing you. I’ll see myself out.”

“Wait!” Will called out, pulling the blankets off his legs and stepping out of bed to grab Nico’s wrist. He was not going to let it end like this. “I never said that it wasn’t my love confession either.”

Nico was staring at him like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. “Wait, what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Will confessed breathlessly. He had the most absurd desire to drop on one knee and hold out the bouquet between them like he was doing a marriage proposal. “I even got flowers in my lungs to show for it,” he rambled.

“What?” Nico exclaimed again.

“Hanahaki disease,” he said, like the words meant anything to Nico. He then elaborated on the details of the disease, only to leave Nico’s jaw hanging wide open.

“Are you idiotic?” Nico asked, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “And you didn’t think to contact me? I could have been in the underworld for six months! Then what would you do? Go through with the operation?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d like me back –”

“Of course I like you back! I only left because I had to! I wouldn’t break my promise to you like that!”

The amount of anger Nico was showing was almost cute, and he was reminded of the time when he came raining down on Nico back during the Gaea War, when Nico planned to sacrifice himself for a noble cause. He remembered how frustrated he was, and how much he wanted to throttle him and confess his feelings right then and there even as inappropriate as it was. Now the roles were reversed, and Will was the one getting a stern talking to.

“But I’m sure it’s cured now that we’ve, um, you know, confessed. I’ll just get Kayla to run some tests, and Billie can confirm – mmfph!”

Nico had tugged Will forward by his shirt, planting his lips straight on Will’s. He barely had the time to take in the shock of Nico’s soft lips on his own when Nico pushed him back, his face scrunching up. “There’s a metallic taste.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s because I just coughed up blood,” Will said sarcastically, even though his lips were tingling. He kind of wanted to try again, but he didn’t want to subject Nico to the bloody aftertaste. “Let me wash up first.”

“Wait, are you planning to kiss me all evening?” Nico asked, sounding both scandalized and taken by the thought of it. Will burst out laughing at Nico’s enthusiasm. He hadn’t had that in mind in particular, but now that Nico had said it…

“It doesn’t sound like such a bad plan now that I’m fully cured, does it?”

Nico’s cheeks flushed pink again, and he looked away with a scowl. “Don’t act so confident. For all you know, those flowers are still growing in your lungs.”

“What a poetic way to die, huh?” Will mused.

“You don’t even do poetry, and you definitely can’t die on me just yet,” Nico said with a scowl. In a moment of what must have been boldness, Nico leaned forward and seemed to be going for his lips before he averted the direction and pecked him on the cheek. “Also, you need to wash the blood out. There’s no way I’m kissing you like this.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Will said with a laugh as he headed to the sink, his cheek burning at the feeling of Nico’s lips pressing against his skin. His heart thumped with excitement at his affections having been returned, and he couldn’t wait to entwine his hands in Nico’s again and kiss him until he fell asleep and then wake up in the morning to do it all over again.

And in his lungs, the last of the daffodils withered away, leaving nothing behind that ever indicated its presence.

#pjo #solangelo #fanfic

[whoisleft-rp]

WIZENGAMOT SPECIAL ELECTION RESULTS ANNOUNCED

+ + +

The official story…

During the tragic events of New Year’s Eve, three Wizengamot members lost their lives at the hands of a senseless, baseless attack – an attack that is still under investigation, but not yielding many promising leads. Obviously, the lives of three impressive and powerful people were lost, and the entire Ministry leads the Wizarding world in mourning their colleagues, their friends, their leaders.

Seven candidates were up for election to the three newly-open Wizengamot seats. After months of campaigning, complaining and competing, three winners have been named:

#1. Elphias Doge - Despite his polling numbers being somewhat middling early on and his lack of the robust press coverage some of his fellow candidates saw, Doge was nevertheless seen as a safe, well-endorsed choice.

#2. Tara Norwood - The pureblood conservatives’ favorite choice by far, Tara ran one of the best-funded (and most controversial) election campaigns the Wizarding World has ever seen. In taking office, she has vowed to protect pureblood interests and the longtime pillars of magical society, including stronger restrictions on the Statute of Secrecy.

#3. Piper Moonfall - A Ministry of Magic official who has made several different departments her home over the years, Mrs. Moonfall ran a platform that centered on reform in the criminal justice system and stronger mental health services in the wizarding world.

As for the candidates who did not succeed, this time, in securing a nomination, news has trickled in about their plans.

In a hugely surprising turn of events, Piper Moonfall has decided to dedicate her time only to the Wizengamot. Rather than leave her previous position in the Improper Use of Magic Office as an Auror Department liaison vacant...she has made a public appointment of her predecessor. Young voter favorite and press phenomenon Olivia St. Culpo will now occupy Mrs. Moonfall’s previous post. This is a huge step up in the Ministry for her, and will allow her the power to begin enacting some of her promised policies through a platform other than the Wizengamot courts.

Tiberius Ogden will, of course, remain a part of his family business – and has announced the surprising release of a new line of whiskey products bearing his campaign’s tagline: “We mean business!”

Chilton Cloven will continue teaching night classes to magical adults, and will hold his current position teaching muggle schoolchildren in London until the day comes that he can afford to get his adult initiatives further off the ground.

Leland Talbot has stated that he intends to continue the retirement he took recently before launching his campaign...but eagle eyed citizens have seen him out to supper more than three times this month alone with Head Auror Alastor Moody. Another announcement from the Auror’s office is expected at some point in the future.

+ + + 

Behind the scenes...

For all intents and purposes, the election seemed completely on the up-and-up; every of-age member of British wizard society got to cast their votes, and the Ministry of Magic made sure to keep the process as transparent as possible during both the campaigning and results portions of the election.

From the very beginning of the process, however, other parties had their hands on the wheel.

Both the Death Eaters - including the many people loyal to them within the Ministry and elsewhere - and the Order of the Phoenix’s more powerful members have made sure to elect one cause-sympathetic candidate each. The Death Eaters were propping up Tara Norwood from the start, a witch with strong pureblood ties and a dedication to Lord Voldemort’s cause; meanwhile, the Order managed to get Albus Dumbledore’s trusted friend and ally Elphias Doge in the Wizengamot chair.

Death Eater characters will both know of, and could have been a part of, the Norwood placement; just as Order members will be aware of Doge’s.

Congratulations are in order to Mrs. Piper Moonfall, who was helped in an official capacity by neither underground organization. Good job bitch you a real one!

+ + + 

For OOC purposes, a refresher on each of the candidates is below the cut…

Elphias Doge

Slogan: Common decency, common sense

Background: A good friend of the Dumbledore family. Traveled the world after his graduation from Hogwarts. An outcast during his school days who learned how to embrace his silly side and has become very outspoken as a result, while still maintaining a cheerful demeanor. His career has been spent working at many nonprofit organizations. Talent for charms. Pureblood, but not of the Sacred 28 and definitely not highly regarded by the most classist factions of the pureblood community.

Appearance: Extremely elderly, but extremely energetic, too. Often wears a silly hat. Due to being a Dragonpox survivor in his childhood, his skin is pock-marked and greenish.

Main Platforms: Repealing the new werewolf suppression laws, especially because werewolves without aid can easily be radicalized by dangerous people; Building stronger connections with other ministries around the world to unite the global Wizarding community; Mandatory language courses instated at Hogwarts.

Publicly Endorsed By: Personal, longtime friend Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Tiberius Ogden

Slogan: We mean business!

Background: Has spent his entire life working for his family’s business, Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey. Never previously involved with government, but he has plenty of experienced advisers with him on the campaign trail.

Appearance: Middle-aged, with a fox-like face, a pointed grey beard, and a perpetual smirk.

Main Platforms: Wants to run the government more like a business; Believes in setting up new, stronger connections between government and private industry; Plans to work toward reorganizing the Ministry departments into something more streamlined, efficient and accountable to budgets and tight deadlines.

Publicly Endorsed By: Older brother Bob Ogden, Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

Olivia St. Culpo

Slogan: Equal society, happier world

Background: Rose to recognition - and a fair bit of infamy - as a lobbyist for goblin rights and centaur land reallocation. A halfblood witch with a dedicated younger group of supporters, she has been deemed a bit too “optimistic” or even “inexperienced” by some more wizened members of the Ministry.

Appearance: Late-twenties, with close-cropped brown curls - very hip - and a stylish collection of suits. She’s not your great-great-grandmother’s candidate, that’s for sure.

Main Platforms: Working on brokering a happier peace with and better lives for marginalized communities in the wizarding world; Stronger connections with other like-minded countries and their Ministries; Muggleborn protection and equality; Income disparity between members of the wizarding world.

Publicly Endorsed By: Celestina Warbeck, famous chanteuse.

Piper Moonfall

Slogan: Justice with dignity

Background: A Ministry of Magic official who has made several different departments her home over the years, Mrs. Moonfall has long been a recognizable face at the Ministry; her most recent, and potentially last, position being in the Improper Use of Magic Office. She has worked closely with the Aurors over the years, fighting for less severe jailing sentences for varying levels of offenses.

Appearance: Middle-aged, grey-streaked black hair that she wears long. Extremely tall and fairly serious looking, but with a well-known toothy smile; often seen at Ministry events with her longtime partner Alina on her arm.

Main Platforms: The abolition of Azkaban as an institution; Development and implementation of better criminal reform; Stronger mental health services in the wizarding world; The creation of more jailing facilities for varying levels of offenses

Publicly Endorsed By: Rosalina Prewett, former member of the Wizengamot and matriarch of the Prewett family.

Chilton Cloven

Slogan: Save our schools!

Background: A muggleborn currently teaching at a muggle school in London while also teaching night classes for magical adults, Mr. Cloven has been an outspoken member of the magical community ever since receiving his, as he calls it, “very unexpected” Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Appearance: Average-height with cropped red hair and freckles, a laid-back sort of charm about him.

Main Platforms: A focus on education, including reforms in the Hogwarts curriculum; Making Muggle Studies mandatory, as well as focusing more on Maths and English studies; Making school more accessible to muggleborns; Extra tutoring for muggleborns and halfblood students to help them start at the same level as many tutored pureblood students.

Publicly Endorsed By: Armando Dippet, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Leland Talbot

Slogan: Serving with excellence

Background: A longtime Ministry employee and recently retired Auror. Has seen combat firsthand and believes strongly in fast-moving criminal justice. During his three years of Auror training after Hogwarts, he was one of only four people who volunteered for an unpaid internship as a liaison to Azkaban prison.

Appearance: Hardened and haunted. Physically imposing, both height and fitness-wise. Possibly has not smiled in 10+ years.

Main Platforms: Stronger, mandatory Defense Against the Dark Arts training for all citizens; Less open communication with foreign Ministries, who may be spying or eager to spot a weak spot; Raising the bar of difficulty to become a certified Auror; Auror training that begins earlier for promising recruits, following OWLS rather than NEWTS.

Publicly Endorsed By: Alastor Moody, Head Auror.

Tara Norwood

Slogan: Honoring our past, protecting our future

Background: A longtime employee of the Department of Mysteries - as such, it is impossible to comment fully on what she has done for wizarding society as a whole, though it is no doubt impressive and prestigious. An outspoken member of her community outside of her Ministerial duties, coming from a well-respected pureblood family - known for their outpouring of Ravenclaw alumni and donations to charities dedicated to preserving the histories of many of the wizarding world’s oldest families.  

Appearance: Middle-aged with long dark hair, the aristocratic look of a member of an old family. Average height, but often seen a sharp pair of no-nonsense heels.

Main Platforms: Stronger restrictions on the Statute of Secrecy; Beginning a Ministry-regulated magical education earlier in life; Protecting historic magical institutions of government and societal traditions.

Publicly Endorsed By: The Malfoy family, as well as several other notable and conservative pureblood families.

#whoisleftevent

[books-wine-and-something-clever]

“The Story of Kullervo” Review

This will not be the first Tolkien book you would have come across on my blog, nor will it be the last one, but “The Story of Kullervo” is probably one of the more interesting ones that I’ve read thus far.

Tolkien is much more known for his literary classics that concern Middle-Earth, namely “The Hobbit”, “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Silmarillion”, all of which have been mentioned at least once on this blog. I read “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” at a very early age and I would seriously like to revisit them, simply because I had actually seen the movies (well, LOTR’s movies really) prior to reading the series and that most likely had colored my opinion of them. But I have grown very fond of Tolkien’s writing style, as long-winded and wordy as it is, and I got “The Story of Kullervo” for Christmas from my parents and have only now just gotten the time to sit down and read it.

It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

A few of the books released by the Tolkien estate that I have read recently have been incomplete translations of legends that have already been known. “Beowulf” was complete but “The Fall of Arthur” was not. “The Story of Kullervo” is based up on the Heroes of Kalevala, and in this particular epic tale, Tolkien reorganized it to better realize the scope and tragedy of this particular brooding hero. I really had to follow along to better understand the thread of the plot and I actually annotated the book a little, which I don’t normally do unless it’s my Kindle, but it was actually quite necessary. Tolkien frequently interchanged names and terms, as this was a very rough draft, but it was interesting to see all the same. It was like peering into his mind as he was formulating a tale.

The actual tale of Kullervo was actually quite short. It told the story of a young man whose father is killed by the dark magician Untamo and his mother, while pregnant with him and his sister, is brought into his service. Untamo actually tried to kill Kullervo three times, with little success and he eventually escapes, where he’s brought into the service of another family. He swears vengeance upon Untamo, for his family’s suffering. At some point, he goes and fights Untamo, has sex with his twin sister, finds out that his sister has killed herself because they unknowingly did the horizontal tango, and then Kullervo asks his sword to kill him. And the sword obliges.

It’s not very cheery. At all. In fact, the editor and Tolkien both considered Kullervo to be Tolkien’s most tragic hero, ahead of Turin Turambar (who I will be revisiting when I read “Children of Hurin”) and, perhaps, Frodo Baggins, if you consider him to be a tragic hero (which I do, to some extent). I thought it was interesting that the editor really thought about everything that was going on in this particular draft and really analyzed it, to see how many features of this tale (and others) could be spotted in his other works. You see the thumbprint of Kullervo in Turin Turambar, who have very similar tales, and you also see it to some extent in Frodo, whose journey literally put him through hell and he could not recover from it. But that’s another discussion for another time.

What I really liked about this was that it was an analysis of the tale, some of his very early writings and forays into Middle-Earth. I like that it was recognized as such. It was a little short in my opinion, but there wasn’t that much material to actually publish. It definitely wasn’t what I was expecting (something along the lines of “The Hobbit”, actually, was what I was expecting), but, it had a purpose.

I don’t think I would recommend this to anyone who wasn’t a Tolkien fan and likes looking at the analysis of writing. It’s a bit of a difficult read, with analysis and partial lectures thrown in, and it can be very hard to understand overall. So, not necessarily a good summer read, but a read if you want to learn the origins of tragic heroes in the Tolkien-verse and Middle-Earth.

Let me know what you thought and, as always, happy reading!

#the story of kullervo #tolkien #writing analysis #tragic heroes #epic poems #unfinished works

[postguiltypleasures]

TROUBLE BOYS notes and review

I had been meaning to read this for a long time before I started, and when I did it was hard to get through. It took almost a year to read and I feel like the world around me changed and affected my view of the book. We’re at a moment in history where we are finally saying “stop excusing abusive behaviors for art.” The Replacements were unhealthy and at times abusive. (The way they insisted that people around them keep up with them drinking was definitely abusive.) Throughout the book there is testimonials of people who worked with a lot of other rock musicians who were still shocked by The ‘Mats. They made everyone else look disciplined. So it’s not a pleasant book to read. But it’s an experience, so I’m copy and pasting my Goodreads updates from while reading it, adding some thoughts in brackets. Then I’ll add some final thoughts.

September 13, 2017 – page 45

8.64% "I've been excited to read this for a while, but the thing is, I really had no idea how much tragedy would be at the start. This clarifies a lot I thought I knew, like why Bob thought starting a band would help his brother have a better life. The books detailing of the story makes how Paul joined the band a lot less creepy than my initial impression, though I'm surprised by how manipulative he comes off."

[For people considering reading this and need content warnings, Bob Stinson was sexually molested by his half siblings’s father/mother’s boyfriend.  It was the start of his substance abuse and probably part of why , unlike every other member of the band he never got clean. Paul Westerberg’s early trauma involves being hit in the head with a baseball bat, an alcoholic father and a teen friend who died by suicide.]

February 20, 2018 – page 124

23.8% "I’m slow at getting to this, but it’s amazing and I have many questions."

[I don’t remember questions I had at this point.]

March 13, 2018 – page 152

29.17% "Decided to use a long bus trip to get back to this. Just passed the part that describes Chris Mars’s surprise alter ego, Pappy the Clown. That’s the sanest member of the band!

Also I don’t know what it was like to be there, but the book practically makes “this is the love story of Paul and Tommy” its refrain."

[After living the band Mars became a successful painter. Notably in the the interviews here he has a very unromantic view of how the band stayed together and the creative process. I have to respect his never go back decision.

Also every attempt to summarize Paul and Tommy’s relationship fails because it is way too thorny.]

March 13, 2018 – page 191

36.66% "One of the reasons I’ve been so slow to read this is so fucking tragic. Almost everything about Bob Stinson’s life feels so awful. At the art where his possible schizo-affected disorder becomes more pronounced and he’s sort of forced out of the band.

I feel like the book is almost interactive in some parts. Steve Albini shows up at one point and I start shouting “fuck Steve Albini!” In my head."

[There was mercifully little Steve Albini in this book. It did however give mini biographies of every producer with whom they ever considered working, which is part of why it’s so long.]

June 18, 2018 – page 271

52.02% "I keep putting this aside because reading about some of the active self sabotage and ass hole behavior is too much. It’s so different when reading about actual events than the general summary that they shot themselves in the foot.

I keep wishing they had fewer enablers and wondering if there would be any story if they did."

[I think this last paragraph sums up my feelings on the subject.]

July 6, 2018 – page 300

57.58% "This much self sabotage is painful to read about. Also I worry about what isn’t in this warts and all coverage."

[I mostly meant the band’s treatment of women. I got some of what I carried about in the part where everyone gets married around the same time. They all expected their wives to keep some sense of stability for them at home while the fooled around on the road. Westerberg’s first wife keeps talking about how ignorant she was of much of what he did back then. There isn’t much point of view from the groupies.  Also there is a lot about how much Paul and Tommy saw Chris’s wife Sally as a destructive interloper. But all things considered, Sally comes across as one of the only sensible people to get involved with the band. She helped Chris stand up for himself when things with the other members were definitely emotionally abusive. It’s no wonder that this is the only marriage amongst the original members that didn’t end in divorce.

I was surprised to learn that many of their songs were Westerberg writing about his sisters’s experiences. I always thought “Waitress in the Sky” was kind of misogynistic, and now I know it’s from the point of view of the kinds of horrible passengers his sister, a flight attendant, met and told stories about. So it is misogynistic, but also, not? ]

July 26, 2018 – page 352

67.56% "I’m going to try and push my way through the end of this book this weekend. The never really having highs but lots of dangerous lows aspects of the story would be too much if it weren’t for bizarre anecdotes like the band’s connection to the movie HEATHERS."

[I did finish the book that weekend! Skipped most of the end notes which should explain how it was possible.

A little comment about the Heathers thing:  Between seasons one and two of Stranger Things I really wanted The Replacements to be on the soundtrack for season 2. I even wrote that online in a couple of places. Now that I know Westerberg had some kind of non-sexual but much speculated about relationship with Winona Ryder I feel weird about that. Maybe the kids should be into Hüsker Dü? Or early R.E.M.? I should note that I was surprised by the rivalry with the latter band emphasized here, and how frequently Peter Buck showed up as an interview subject.]

The book took years to write and a lot happened in those years.  This includes, a reorganizing and rerelease of the band’s back catalogue, the end of Westerberg and Tommy Stinson’s second marriages, Slim Dunlap had a debilitating stroke, a reunion and another break up. As my notes earlier suggest, I spent a lot of the book wondering how different things would be if they cleaned up earlier. If anything the results of recent years seem to say it’s too late to tell.

The author, Bob Mehr,  tries to tie things together by saying that their early supporters were proven right by their post break up successes. But does that make it worth it? I really love some of the music. And I love a lot of music that was influenced by the band (it’s what led me to them).  But I still can’t answer that question.

#The Replacements #paul westerberg #Bob Stinson #tommy stinson #chris mars #what I'm reading #trouble boys: the true story of the replacements #bob mehr #the 1980s #music #rock biography #slim dunlap

[bluewatsons]

Richard M. Hays, The Rise and Fall of Authoritarianism in the Teaching of Medicine, 29 Einstein J Biol Med 49 (2013)

The spring of 1903 arrived in Baltimore on schedule, and the trees and flowers on the campus of the Johns College of Medicine were already in bloom. But the medical students scurrying to the amphitheater hardly noticed. Sir William Osler was waiting with a patient, and heaven forbid they should be late.

Sir William was a remarkable figure in the history of American medical education (Geyman, 1983). Born and educated in Canada, he did his graduate work in England, Scotland, Germany, and Australia. Following his arrival at Johns Hopkins, he reorganized the curriculum, combining the English system and the German internship and residency systems. There were two years of clinical clerkships, with small-group teaching at the bedside. Central to his teaching was his textbook: The Principles and Practice of Medicine (Osler, 1892). That day, he planned to discuss a section on cardiac dilatation. He had already mastered the lecture; he had written virtually every word of the book.

The students had spent the night memorizing the section, which focused on history and physical manifestations, since little was known at the time about disease mechanisms, laboratory findings, or treatment. Osler may have taken this avoidance of therapy to the extreme; indeed, Hogan (1999) wondered whether Osler had “paranoia antitherapeuticum baltimorensis.” Still, Osler remains among the immortals.

Osler eventually turned over the updating of his textbook to Henry Christian, who continued the practice of writing the entire text himself. Christian argued that “there is an advantage in presentation by a single author, who has studied the reports of others in the light of his personal knowledge and experience, and presents the various subjects with a unity of critical thought as is not possible in multiple authorship.” Authoritarianism indeed! Edition after edition appeared, with no outside contributors. Principles and Practice lost value, and finally ran aground.

Fortunately for American medical education, a new, multiauthored book under the editorship of Russell Cecil, Textbook of Medicine, appeared in 1927. Experts in their fields wrote each chapter, and disease mechanisms and therapy were in abundance. With Cecil’s work as a model, Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine (Harrison, 1950) was published. Harrison’s book and similar texts are now used throughout the world.

Students and Residents

With the advance of the materials of medical education, we might ask about the students themselves. Here, a paradox appears: students at many schools continued to be subject to professorial authority, receiving rigorous and sometimes ruthless questioning and contributing few of their insights during the rituals of teaching. Dr. Sam Ziegler, Einstein Class of 2002, showed me the memoirs of his grandfather, Dr. Samuel R. Ziegler, who entered Case Western Reserve Medical School in 1936, and recalled the following experience (Ziegler & Ziegler, 1999):

I had another of those real hair-raising experiences to start off my sophomore year. One of the subjects we took was Pathology. Dr. Harold Karsner was the instructor. Dr. Karsner had the reputation of being very hard on students. I was again afraid that I was going to be the first to be called on with my name beginning with a “Z”. I prayed he would start with the “As” when we walked into the amphitheater for our first class. But what did he do? He started with the “Zs”. He called out “Ziegler!” And asked me a question that had something to do with syphilis and serology.

I finally replied, “Dr. Karsner, I don’t know.” I then stammered out some half-assed answer after a short pause during which Dr. Karsner continued to look in my direction. Dr. Karsner took another long drag on his cigarette, inhaled deeply and said “Ziegler, I don’t see how you can be so goddamn dumb.” You could have heard a pin drop in the amphitheater.

This state of affairs went on in our schools—perhaps not so colorfully—for a surprisingly long time. I, like many of my contemporaries, recall professors who were brilliant but seemed to delight in demolishing students. Students were not the only victims; interns and residents were driven to exhaustion by long hours of service and relatively little supervision. Indeed, it could be argued that when reform came, it started with the plight of the members of the house staff.

In 1957, interns and residents in New York City’s public hospitals took leave of their roles as underpaid and over- worked apprentices in what has been termed one of the “last great sweatshops in America” (Duncan, 1996), and founded the Committee of Interns and Residents (CIR). In 1969 they were joined by house staffers in the private sec- tor. In 1999 the CIR won a National Labor Relations Board decision guaranteeing residents in private teaching hospi- tals the right to form unions. The CIR went on to negotiate contractual limits for on-call schedules, benefit plans, and higher pay.

Figure 1. The learning studio at the University of Virginia School of Medicine. This is a building designed to accommodate students gathered around conference tables, and conferring with each other on the answers to questions projected on the screens above. Permission to reprint granted by Norman Shafer (University of Virginia Magazine, spring 2011, pp. 36–37).

The movement gained strength following a tragic event in 1984, in which Libby Zion, an 18-year-old girl with a complex history of drug use, was admitted to a New York hospital with fever and agitation. The admitting intern was beset with other patient problems, and Libby died of cardiac arrest. Her father, Sidney Zion, a journalist, took up her cause and “set in motion a series of reforms, notably work hour limitations instituted by the ACGME that have revolutionized modern medical education” (Lerner, 2006). Dr. Bertrand Bell of Albert Einstein College of Medicine headed a panel of experts that recommended that residents could not work more than 80 hours a week or more than 24 consecutive hours.

The Medical Curriculum

There has been a profound and heartening change in the approach to teaching medical students, brought about by a deeper understanding of the teaching process and a greater respect for the ability of the students to teach themselves and each other. After all, they are college graduates, and have already gone through a meaningful pro- cess of achievement and reflection. One need only survey the home pages of our medical schools to appreciate the variety and imagination that have gone into their curricular design. A list of some of the newer programs would include the following:

Earlier encounters during the preclinical years with patients, who share their stories with students.

Problem-based learning, in which students work in small groups to deal with scenarios designed to simulate real-life cases.

Evidence-based medicine, in which students learn to evaluate new drugs and new findings in the search for effective therapies.

Students-as-teachers programs, in which third- and fourth-year students take on the role of teachers for small groups of first- and second-year students. This program has been in use at Einstein, and has been favorably reviewed by both teachers and students.

The opportunity for students in their clinical training periods to return to basic science in the form of class- room teaching during their work on the wards. Also, at Einstein, under the guidance of Dr. Jeffrey Avner, students taking pediatrics are asked to include a “basic science paragraph” in their admission writeups. This serves not only as a reminder of their preclinical studies, but as a means of giving their preceptors and attending physicians an update on the latest in the basic science of the disease at hand: the student as professor, if you will.

The opportunity for students to take an extra year or two to obtain advanced degrees in areas such as public health and business administration.

Team training, moving the student “toward being an effective and competent team player and not an individual achiever” (Morrison, Goldfarb, & Lanken, 2010), in preparation for the growing need for cooperative approaches to healthcare management (Figure 1).

Finally, the Internet. Many of our current students may have come from colleges where the Internet has played a major role in their education. At least two articles in the New York Times have surveyed the role of the Internet in today’s college education (Parry, 2012; Lewin, 2012). At the extreme, the Internet has supplied much of the information that students receive, has influenced their choice of courses, and has even identified appropriate partners for them in the learning process. Inevitably, the Internet is now having an impact on medical education. For example, the syllabus, a printed document so carefully assembled each year as the central source of information for each course, is on the Internet in many schools, and is only part of a flood of sources of information. And, as already noted, it plays an important role in the clinical years.

Some of the programs listed above should, in theory, increase the collegiality among students and the attending physicians and house staffers responsible for their education. But it appears that this is not entirely the case. A recent nationwide poll conducted by the Association of American Medical Colleges (2012) showed that a substantial percentage of students still encountered what they regarded as mistreatment, including public humiliation and gender-based discrimination. More work must be done in this area, which may extend beyond the limits of medical education.

Conclusion

This brief commentary has taken us from the early days of medical education, when a few authorities dominated the source of medical knowledge, to the computer age, when students and teachers share the information provided by the Internet. But rest assured: teachers still have much to contribute in terms of experience, perspective, and examples of kindness toward patients seeking their help. Sir William Osler would be grateful to know this.

References

Association of American Medical Colleges. (2012). Medical school graduation questionnaire. Retrieved from https://www.aamc.org/data/gq

Bell, B. M. (2003). Reconsideration of the New York State laws rationalizing the supervision and the working conditions of residents. Einstein Journal of Biology and Medicine, 20(1), 36–40.

Cecil, R. L. (1927). A text-book of medicine, by American authors. Philadelphia, PA: W. B. Saunders.

Christian, H. A. (1942). Principles and practice of medicine, originally written by Sir William Osler, designed for the use of practitioners and students of medicine (14th ed.). New York, NY: Appleton-Century.

Duncan, D. E. (1996). Residents: The perils and promise of educating young doctors. New York, NY: Scribner.

Geyman, J. P. (1983). The Oslerian tradition and changing medical education: A reappraisal. Western Journal of Medicine, 138(6), 884–888.

Harrison, T. R. (1950). Principles of internal medicine (1st ed.). New York, NY: McGraw-Hill.

Hays, R. M. (2004). Students as teachers: An idea whose time has come. MedEd @AECOM, 7(1), 1–3.

Hogan, D. B. (1999). Did Osler suffer from “paranoia antitherapeuticum baltimorensis”?: A comparative content analysis of The Principles and Practice of Medicine and Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine, 11th edition. Canadian Medical Association Journal, 161(7), 842–845.

Lerner, B.H. (2006). A case that shook medicine. Washington Post. November 28: Special Section.

Lewin, T. (2012). Universities reshaping education on the Web. New York Times, July 17, A12.

Morrison, G., Goldfarb, S., & Lanken, P. N. (2010). Team training of medical students in the 21st century: Would Flexner approve? Academic Medicine, 85(2), 254–259.

Parry, M. (2012). Please be eAdvised. New York Times Education Life, July 22, 24–27.

Osler, W. (1892). The principles and practice of medicine, designed for the use of practitioners and students of medicine (1st ed.). New York, NY: D. Appleton.

Ziegler, S. R., & Ziegler, I. H. (1999). For the soul is dead that slumbers—A memoir: The adventures of a surgeon and his family in northern New Mexico (1946– 1996). Shreveport, LA: K’s KopyIt.

#medical education #medicine #medical school #authoritarianism #The Way We Live Now #paradigm shifts #libby zion case #practice of medicine #william oster #medical residency

[perfectackeracy]

Shingeki no Kyojin chapter 98 review (+ theories)

This chapter marks the ending of volume 24 and finally ends up with the moment that was hyped at the beginning of the book, in chapter 95:

The highlight of the Liberio festival, the stage - Ch. 98

And what a festival it was! It’s probably the only chapter of the volume where Reiner spends a good time in company of the kids, where every event happened according to the plan... till the cliffhanger of the volume came to ruin the good mood.

Indeed, it’s one of the rarest cases where it’s hard to predict what’s going to happen next, because our now-protagonist was left in the dark since Eren surfaced in Liberio, triggering a bunch of unexpected events by his mere presence... just like Grisha did when he came inside Paradis. Because hey, the idea of hope and prosperity for Mainland Eldians wouldn’t be funny to envision if literally everything went as planned! 

Looks like Eren isn’t in position to attempt anything funny. He’s got what he wanted in Liberio and can return to Paradis. At best, we’ll see another timeskip of reorganization before sailing on Paradis, at worst, someone interferes against Eren or Eren does something stupid and the mood is already ruined before the operation even starts.

T’was a nice chapter with content definitely worth talking about.

The cadet batch

The future of Marley

The Yeager’s family reunion

Willy Tybur

The basement meeting

Key points

Follow me under the cut!

Not really a WTF CR, but one translated panel in particular is outright bizarre and gives a different interpretation of the whole scene.

“How we’re feeling?” Looks like they were rejoiced at the idea of beating Gabi up instead of complaining about the racket for a foot race. Not really cool for Gabi.

Oh and also...

Wat is coherency

Seriously, one time it’s Liberio, the other time Rebellio... just pick a correct translation...

Moving on the group who had quite a fair load of spotlight in this chapter…

The cadet batch

The cadets as waiters - Ch. 98

If anything, this chapter highlighted the four kids a lot, starting with Falco beating Gabi at an endurance race. I guess playing deliveryman while drinking the freedom kool-aid for a month helped a lot. We also got to see how the four kids reacted with each other differently. Previously it was as a group of four, but this chapter denotes the individuality of certain relationships.

Gabi loves when the Udo and Zofia duo sides with her and holds influence and authority over them. However, the duo cheered when Falco beat her for the first time. It goes to show she was known as the undefeated one. As important as her grades were, her character paints her as the dominant figure: she’s authoritative and dynamic, and really can’t stand competition. That’s why she treats her relationship with Falco as rivalry, and thinks he’s only there to grab the merits, when his brother already got some.

Gabi rejecting Falco - Ch. 98

Obviously, this is not what Falco intended at all. He doesn’t think he’s up to become a warrior in the first place, but only gets in the way of Gabi’s glory to protect her, because he loves her that much. More than restoring the family’s honor or going on Paradis, all he does is exclusively for the sake of the girl he loves. Between that and his compassion for war victims, he truly behaves like the cinnamon roll of the group. He’s also a bit naive: getting friendly with a stranger and even considering him his friend, truly unaware of his real motives. Falco puts so much faith in him, he’s even separating from the main group to pick him up at the festival. Eren became his confident and lays on him discussions he can’t have with others. Not even Gabi or his own brother.

Eren’s (and Reiner’s) legacy - Ch. 98

Despite that, Eren rubbed on him a little too much. Would he keep the same cool face if Gabi ends up rejecting him too often or if he grows up and realize it’s not worth it? Looks like he’s heading for the wall of a brutal realization, namely that his new friend isn’t the man he thought he was or… worst of the cases, if Gabi dies. Gabi dying would also break Reiner even further.

So far, Gabi and Falco are the moving elements of their group of four, while Udo and Zofia tag along; between Gabi and Falco, Gabi is the more leader-like, wanting to put Falco in his place. Falco’s reasons for going on is exclusively for Gabi.

The other two, Udo especially, had their moments in this chapter.

Gabi supervising Udo and Zofia - Ch. 98

Especially around Gabi and the preparations for the festival. Zofia was adorable and she’s definitely nailed as the weirdo of the group after 93. She makes off-topic statements in contrast of the actual mood, which adds a nice lighthearted touch. She has the chilliest temper of the whole group, being absentminded most of the time. The ice to Udo’s fire.

Udo’s struggles have been highlighted in this chapter. We’ve learned his family moved from another internment zone from another country and the struggles he faced there were far worse than in Liberio. That explains why he was constantly worried about the reputation of Eldians in the world and why he’s the most skeptical of Marley’s treatment of Eldians. In the corner of my heard, I thought about him having similar traits to Annie, particularly in their cynicism and their tendencies to lash out and go with the flow. Annie has a tendency to run away, physically and emotionally. Not sure what Udo would do in war conditions on his own, but he does lash on other things and other people... unintentionally.

Udo getting pissed at the guests - Ch. 98

Of the group, Udo’s the one with a hot temper: almost squeezing Falco’s head when he thinks about how incompetent Marley’s navy is, kicking town property when he thinks about the MEU survivors demonizing Eldians further and in this chapter, he almost gave in to the provocation from the guests talking behind his back, making him spill wine on that Touyou noblewoman.  

The Touyou noblewoman - Ch. 98

And luckily for him, she covered him up. This scene served at the same time to introduce the Touyou clan, directly inspired from Japan, and their mark (the same one on Mikasa’s wrist) and to show strangers can be kind to Eldians. The latter serves for Udo’s development, considering he was the most hopeless for the festival.

The four of them shone as a true group of friends hanging out during the festival where the cultural gates opened to Liberio for the first time. The kids had their fun and could have their taste of freedom for the first time. Tasting new foods, listening to music, viewing other people… They all were in the mood to party and that was the most lighthearted moment of the chapter. And who can forget that tragic moment leading to the death of Reiner’s paycheck?

“Papa, can we have some pastries?” - Ch. 98

It’s adorable how Reiner hangs around the kids during that festival. Everytime he has a free moment, he hangs around the kids, and everytime he does that, you get fatherly vibes from him. Towntrip in Fort Slava, paying the kids’ food at the festival... despite being riddled with depression and PTSD he spoils them rotten when he can.

Will to live restored - Ch. 98

Because those smiles restore his faith and give him a reason to keep going. That’s more important than his paycheck. It was also worth it for his cousin: she partied too hard but felt at least things were changing, due to the recent events following the peace treaty with the Middle-Eastern Union. What she doesn’t know is why Willy showed up and she likely doesn’t know about Paradis’ operation taking place soon. In chapter 91, she wanted to get the Armor to get her chance at crushing Paradis, but now that it’s confirmed Reiner will be going there for the last time, I’m not sure how she’ll take it. Would she let go? Would she go through an existential crisis? Would she die before knowing it?

Nothing’s going to go well for the kids, will it?

Colt and Zeke playing catch - Ch. 98

Lastly, I wanted to talk about Colt. Despite hanging with the warriors rather than the kids, Colt had his caring moments, especially about him not wanting Falco to be selected for the Armored Titan. As the official big brother figure of the cadets, him not being shown in group with them makes him detached from them. The other warriors except Zeke are around his age, but their ranks are different, so I feel like he’s a bit awkward around them.

Not only that but I have the feeling he’s… pretty much a trained regular for the future warchief. In 91: his ideas got turned down by Commander Magath. In 93, he feels like he can’t measure up to Zeke’s abilities. In 95 and onwards, he remains pretty much in the background: Porco and Pieck contributed to the discussion more often.

Zeke is particularly attached to his successor, inviting him to play catch with him. Additionally, Zeke must have helped him ascend to the rank of warchief considering the fates of the Yeager and the Grice family are connected: they were both tarnished by the actions of Grisha and Uncle Grice respectively and as Grandpa Yeager states, they had no choice but to send anybody available in the military.

The future of Marley

Magath and Willy discussing about the future of Marley - Ch. 98

Magath and Willy were talking in metaphors, to refer to the military officials as “the home”. The “expansion” refers to the recruitment campaign and the “demolition” refers to how much generals Magath plans to fire, especially after the morning reunion. He also referred to “usable posts” like Reiner and Zeke, and the “sneaking mice” as Eren.

The most shocking thing of the chapter is how quick the current Marley officials have been dismissing Reiner’s intel under the pretense Eldians know less. Between the start of the chapter and the commentary about their navy, making child warriors and any strategy that isn’t titan fighting, the officials are quite incompetent. Both Porco and Pieck made sneaky remarks about it.

If anything, it’s a good thing Zeke started this plan: by allowing Magath and Willy to take the reins, they can restructure the whole army before they launch an assault on Paradis. I’m giving at least a two-month timeskip before they launch an attack, making it three months in total since the end of the conflict with the Middle-Eastern Union. This is the same timeskip between the battle of Trost and the battle of Shiganshina. And at the end of the first month, from Eren and the others’ point of view, we figured out who the traitors were, learned a bunch of information and overthrew the previous government. Here, Zeke, Willy and Magath made everything possible to orchestrate a revolution. In the meantime, the chapter ends with Eren, the mole, revealing himself.

When you think about it, from the FT arc to the end of the Uprising, the SC, under the reins of Erwin, hunted the hidden mice (RBA) and put in place a government suiting their needs, with a puppet leader (Historia) for one particular campaign: retaking Wall Maria. Replace Erwin by Zeke and Paradis by Marley and you’ve got the same goals.

The Yeager family reunion

Eren playing with a baseball - Ch. 98

…Though it can hardly be considered as one, when the only contact Eren made is with his brother, through letters. His grandparents aren’t aware their other grandson was at the hospital.

A month passed since Eren asked Falco to send his first letter. The dialogue implies Eren and Zeke have been conversing for a while. Zeke’s line about being a brother and his face implies he started sharing the sentiment only recently, and overall, there’s this glove and baseball. The two of them have been conversing for a while.

Eren’s presence has been revealed by Zeke, indirectly, to Magath. Whatever Eren is up to, he’s already under suspicion and thus his movements are limited. I don’t think we’re up to see a clash between the warriors and the Advancing Founder in Liberio. Especially when Eren will eventually return on Paradis, because he got what he wanted: Zeke’s trust, allowing to come closer to him, because he’s the missing ingredient for a fully-functioning coordinate. And Zeke’s royal blood is of course, unknown from both sides. It can mostly be used as a means of blackmailing. Or worse, forcing Zeke to eat his brother so his mind will be savagely hacked by two lines: Yeager and Fritz. That or Zeke only revealed his royal blood to a couple of trustworthy individuals so the correlation between his blood and the royal blood can be falsified...

C’mon, it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to figure this shit out… - Ch. 93

But more than his brother spilling the beans on him, Zeke is rather optimistic about Eren coming in Liberio. He still communicated with him and offered him baseball equipment, so he doesn’t get bored at the hospital… all of that instead of ratting him out. After all, he still carries the Founder and everybody at the strategic table knows it. Yet he lets Eren act as he pleases. The reason for it is simple:  

“Someday… I’ll come to save you” – Ch. 83

And it looks like he didn’t even have to come in Paradis to get him. He directly fell into his hands! How convenient…

The sensitive side of Zeke wants Eren to be free from the brainwashing his father inflicted him. He wants to believe Eren has seen the light in some way and thought he could understand what he has been through. What Zeke saw in Shiganshina was a naïve boy who was misled by his father throughout his life, because he himself was forced to go to the warpath since birth. What he doesn’t know is Eren being closer to his father than he thought. A while ago I suspected Zeke to lose and die because he took his family matters too close at heart. It looks like it hasn’t gone off the picture yet.

The rational part of Zeke still wonders why would Eren show up now. What could possibly make him move now where everything is going smoothly? He’s conscious that what describes Eren’s condition is “brainwashing” and nobody gets out of it easily. It seeps into your brain long enough so your perspective on reality is fooled. I think Zeke will realize way too late that Eren’s brain isn’t wired like that.

Grandpa Yeager also met his grandson in this chapter. While the former is completely unaware of his real identity and motivation, the latter knows everything, from Grisha’s pint of view. He felt all the disgust Grisha had for him when he “bowed down to his masters” when Fay died, how Grisha inherited the Yeager clinic, how morbid he looked when Grisha was cuffed and taken for interrogation and how Kruger explained how he didn’t want to lose any more of his family. Eren understands the situation in which his grandfather has been, and despite that…

“Regrets…? It seems… You have your own about your family.” – Ch. 98

He managed to strike an important nerve. He’s unfazed by what he did, because his actions were intentional but at the same time it’s sad to see Grandpa Yeager is still haunted by Fay’s death and Grisha’s actions. Those actions made him lose his children and the grandchild is condemned to a life of war and a short existence to repay the Yeager name.

Without any further addition, Eren mixes in the crowd for the upcoming festival, where he’s meeting the last survivor of Paradis’ operation.

Willy Tybur

Willy captivating the crowd - Ch. 98

Part of why I loved this chapter is because of Willy’s… willingness to cooperate with the plan. After shaking his hand with Magath’s, the two of them started to occupy their roles, and Willy finally stepped out of the balcony to join the crowd. As the ruler of Marley, he holds the belief it’s a nation for Eldians and Marleans. However, taking the first step to put them on an equality foot isn’t obvious.

Willy taking a new role - Ch. 98

There’s the weight of the time and the generations crawling on Willy’s back, but also the ascending hatred of Eldians from the world, and the alignment of the diaspora with the vow of renouncing authority to serve the former oppressed people in their wars, and stay isolated in internment zones. Despite that, he’s handling the international scene quite well. Many leaders from the world knew him since he was a child, like Ogweno, Nambia and that MEU ambassador.

Willy saving the night - Ch. 98

He’s also a charismatic leader. When the Marlean ambassador failed to capture the attention of the people, Willy saved the night by promoting his production, using an elaborated speech. The whole crowd cheered him up. I’m curious about his acting talents.

And of course, probably the most peace-ruining moment of the chapter…

The basement meeting

Eren and Reiner meeting after 4 years - Ch. 98

Considering everything that transpired since last chapter, it’s quite a shock. And just casually on Eren’s part moreover. I’ve written about why Reiner was traumatized in my last review and here it is, blowing in his face. Meanwhile, Eren looks so nonchalant it’s disturbing to say the least. Rubbing Reiner’s wish to return home in his face when he lost all his companions and showing there out of the blue, completely unaware of what’s going on.

They’re both in a situation where neither any of them can fight or trashtalk, considering Falco’s in the same room. Either Reiner will send Falco off to have an adult talk with Eren, either Eren will be vague about anything that transpired on Paradis, because the festival is starting soon, and they only have a couple of minutes before returning to their positions.

Eren wouldn’t gain anything from Reiner’s side, since he observed him for a while. Reiner however, would like to bombard him with ask: why are you here? How did you get here? How could you mix in the crowd? What happened to Annie and Bertolt? What did you do to Falco? What the fuck is this greasy, dirty hobo look?

Whatever is going to happen between the two, I’m not going to like it at all. I’m expecting Eren to make me feel uncomfortable depending of what he’s going to say to Reiner and since he asked Falco to bring Reiner down there, he ought to get something from him. Either blackmail or false promises. We’ll see.

Key points

It’s been a month since the victory of Marley over the MEU

The Marley government is an “unruly mob”

The internment zones are scattered all around the world 

Zeke and Eren have been communicating a couple of times and Magath is aware of Eren’s presence

Grandpa Yeager works at the hospital and is unaware he had a conversation with his other grandson

The man who helped Grisha getting in the revolutionary group is Uncle Grice

Colt and Falco’s motivations to get in the army were to repair the Grice family’s honor

It’s likely Zeke did the same too, for the sake of his grandparents

The “Touyou” clan comes from the nation of Hizuru

Willy encountered leaders of the world when he was young

Liberio was the former capital of the Eldian Empire and the place of birth of Ymir Fritz

Clams, clowns, accordions, ice creams, pizza and wraps exist in SnK’s world

Reiner’s paycheck is high enough to treat four kids with snacks

It was quite a long analysis. Hope you enjoyed it and see you next chapter!

EDIT: This ask is a good addendum on how Zeke likely perceives Eren.

#snk 98 #snk spoilers #eren yeager #reiner braun #willy tybur #gabi braun #falco grice #theo magath #udo #zofia #zeke yeager #colt grice #snk #attack on titan #snk meta #snk theory #reiner #eren #gabi #falco #zeke #colt #magath #willy

[7r0773r]

The End of Policing by Alex S. Vitale

Excessive use of force, however, is just the tip of the iceberg of over-policing. There are currently more than 2 million Americans in prison or jail and another 4 million on probation or parole. Many have lost the right to vote; most will have severe difficulties in finding work upon release and will never recover from the lost earnings and work experience. Many have had their ties to their families irrevocably damaged and have been driven into more serious and violent criminality. Despite numerous well-documented cases of false arrests and convictions, the vast majority of these arrests and convictions have been conducted lawfully and according to proper procedure—but their effects on individuals and communities are incredibly destructive. (1. The Limits of Police Reform)

***

More than anything, however, what we really need is to rethink the role of police in society. The origins and function of the police are intimately tied to the management of inequalities of race and class. The suppression of workers and the tight surveillance and micromanagement of black and brown lives have always been at the center of policing. Any police reform strategy that does not address this reality is doomed to fail. (1. The Limits of Police Reform)

***

The reality is that the police exist primarily as a system for managing and even producing inequality by suppressing social movements and tightly managing the behaviors of poor and nonwhite people: those on the losing end of economic and political arrangements. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

When slavery was abolished, the slave patrol system was too; small towns and rural areas developed new and more professional forms of policing to deal with the newly freed black population. The main concern of this period was not so much preventing rebellion as forcing newly freed blacks into subservient economic and political roles. New laws outlawing vagrancy were used extensively to force blacks to accept employment, mostly in the sharecropping system. Local police enforced poll taxes and other voter suppression efforts to ensure white control of the political system. 

Anyone on the roads without proof of employment was quickly subjected to police action. Local police were the essential front door of the twin evils of convict leasing and prison farms. Local sheriffs would arrest free blacks on flimsy to nonexistent evidence, then drive them into a cruel and inhuman criminal justice system whose punishments often resulted in death. These same sheriffs and judges also received kickbacks and in some cases generated lists of fit and hardworking blacks to be incarcerated on behalf of employers, who would then lease them out to perform forced labor for profit. Douglas Blackmon chronicles the appalling conditions of mines and lumber camps where thousands perished. By the Jim Crow era, policing had become a central tool of maintaining racial inequality throughout the South, supplemented by ad hoc vigilantes such as the Ku Klux Klan, which often worked closely with—and was populated by—local police. 

Northern policing was also deeply affected by emancipation. Northern political leaders deeply feared the northern migration of newly freed rural blacks, whom they often viewed as socially, if not racially, inferior, uneducated, and criminal. Ghettos were established in Northern cities to control this growing population, with police playing the role of both containment and pacification. Up until the 1960s, this was largely accomplished through the racially discriminatory enforcement of the law and widespread use of excessive force. Blacks knew very well what the behavioral and geographic limits were and the role that police played in maintaining them in both the Jim Crow South and the ghettoized North. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

Today’s modern police are not that far removed from their colonialist forebears. They too enforce a system of laws designed to reproduce and maintain economic inequality, usually along racialized lines. As Michelle Alexander has put it,

We need an effective system of crime prevention and control in our communities, but that is not what the current system is. This system is better designed to create crime, and a perpetual class of people labeled criminals … Saying mass incarceration is an abysmal failure makes sense, though only if one assumes that the criminal justice system is designed to prevent and control crime. But if mass incarceration is understood as a system of social control—specifically, racial control—then the system is a fantastic success. (2. The Police Are Not Here to Protect You)

***

This increase in the number of school-based police is tied to a variety of social and political factors that converged in the 1990s and continues today. First, conservative criminologist John Dilulio, along with broken-windows theory author James Q. Wilson, argued in 1995 that the United States would soon experience a wave of youth crime driven by the crack trade, high rates of single-parent families, and a series of racially coded concerns about declining values and public morality. He predicted that by 2010 there would be an additional 270,000 of these youthful predators on the streets, leading to a massive increase in violent crime. He described these young people as hardened criminals: “radically impulsive, brutally remorseless … elementary school youngsters who pack guns instead of lunches” and “have absolutely no respect for human life.” Dilulio and his colleagues argued that there was nothing to be done but to exclude such children from settings where they could harm others and, ultimately, to incarcerate them for as long as possible. Dilulio’s ideas were based on spurious evidence and ideologically motivated assumptions that turned out to be totally inaccurate. Every year since, juvenile crime in and out of schools in the US has declined. 

However, the “superpredator” myth was extremely influential. It generated a huge amount of press coverage, editorials, and legislative action. One of the immediate consequences was a rash of new laws lowering the age of adult criminal responsibility, making it easier to incarcerate young people in adult jails, in keeping with the broader politics of incapacitation and mass incarceration. It was also at the center of efforts to tighten school discipline policies and increase police presence in schools.

The second major factor was the Columbine school massacre of 1999, in which two Colorado high school students murdered twelve classmates and a teacher, despite the presence of armed police on campus. This tragic incident received incredible attention due to its extreme nature and the fact that it occurred in a normally low-crime white suburban area. It was easy enough for middle-class families to ignore the more frequent outbursts of violence in nonwhite urban schools, but this incident drove them to want action taken to make schools safer for young people. 

In keeping with the broader ethos of get-tough criminal-justice measures, the response was to increase the presence of armed police in schools rather than dealing with the underlying social issues of bullying, mental illness, and the availability of guns. While there was some focus on bullying, much of it took a punitive form, driving additional “zero tolerance” disciplinary procedures and further contributing to suspensions, expulsions, and arrests on flimsy evidence and for minor infractions. 

The third major factor was the rise of neoliberal school reorganization, with its emphasis on high-stakes testing, reduced budgets, and punitive disciplinary systems. Increasingly, schools are being judged almost exclusively based on student performance on standardized tests. Teacher pay, discretionary spending, and even the survival of the school are tied to these tests. This creates a pressure-cooker atmosphere in schools in which improving test scores becomes the primary focus, pitting teachers’ and administrators’ interests against those of students. A teacher or administrator who wants to keep their job or earn a bonus has an incentive to get rid of students who are dragging down test scores through low performance or behaviors that disrupt the performances of other students. This gives those schools a strong incentive to drive those students out, either temporarily through suspensions or permanently through expulsions or dropping out. (3. The School-To-Prison Pipeline) ***

What we are witnessing is, in essence, the criminalization of mental illness, with police on the front lines of this process. This is especially true for those who are homeless and/or lack access to quality mental health services. Both groups of people have grown significantly in recent decades. While the Affordable Care Act holds the promise of some improvement, as recently as 2011, over 60 percent of people experiencing a mental health problem reported that they had no access to mental health services. Even when mental health services are available, they are often inadequate. A lack of stable housing and income exacerbates mental health problems, makes treatment more difficult, and contributes to the public display of disability-related behaviors, all of which make it more likely that the police will be called. (4 “We Called for Help, and They Killed My Son”)

***

One of the lessons learned in the last twenty years is that the best way to get people off the streets and out of the shelters is to make immediate permanent housing available to them at very low or no cost, and to provide a range of optional support services to help them stay there. This is known as the housing-first approach, and it is growing in prominence. In the past, homeless programs focused on proving emergency and transitional shelter, in the belief that if you stabilized someone and got them a job or necessary benefits, they could then enter the housing market and obtain stable long-term housing. This is not the case. This mismatch between low-wage work or government benefits and increasingly expensive housing makes the process untenable. Governments are going to have to intervene in housing markets by building large numbers of heavily subsidized units. The federal government could help by bringing back Section 8 subsidies on a large scale that could be pooled together to provide financing. But local and state governments have to want to build the housing, and right now many do not. (5. Criminalizing Homelessness)

*** The use of police to wage a war on drugs has been a total nightmare. Not only have they failed to reduce drug use and the harm it produces, they have actually worsened those harms and destroyed the lives of millions of Americans through pointless criminalization. Ultimately, we must create robust public health programs and economic development strategies to reduce demand and help people manage their drug problems in ways that reduce harm—while keeping in mind that most drug users are not addicts. We also need to look at the economic dynamics that drive the black market and the economic and social misery that drive the most harmful patterns of drug use. Harm-reduction, public-health, and legalization strategies, combined with robust economic development of poor communities could dramatically reduce the negative impact of drugs on society without relying on police, courts, and prisons. (7. War on Drugs)

***

Researchers like William Garriott have shown that use and dealing are concentrated among the under- and unemployed and those working in dirty, dangerous, and repetitious jobs with low pay and poor working conditions. Strict enforcement, forced treatment, and police-driven public education campaigns have been a total failure, because people’s underlying economic circumstances remain unaddressed. Until we do something about entrenched rural poverty, this trend will continue. Unemployment and bleak prospects drive people into black markets, which become the employers of last resort. (7. War on Drugs)

***

Nevada and California have developed sentencing enhancements that add many additional years to sentences based on loose definitions of gang membership. Anyone the police want to assert is affiliated with a gang can find an extra decade added to their sentence. Neither state has seen a reduction in gang activity; the enhancements have further overpopulated state prisons without providing meaningful relief to youth or their communities. 

Gang databases are another problematic area of intervention. California has a statewide database populated with the names of hundreds of thousands of young people, the vast majority of whom are black or Latino. Officers can enter names at will, based on associations, clothing, or just a hunch. There are very few ways of getting your name removed from the list; many people do not even know whether or not they are on it. In some neighborhoods, inclusion on the list is almost the norm for young men. Police and courts use the list to give people enhanced sentences, target them for parole violations, or even target entire neighborhoods for expanded and intensified policing. The Youth Justice Coalition in Los Angeles has documented cases where information in the database has been shared with employers and landlords, despite legal requirements that the database not be publicly accessible. (8. Gang Suppression)

***

Today there are seventy-five thousand noncitizens in US prisons, about half of whom are there for immigration violations. Many are held in for-profit private prisons. ICE uses forty-six such facilities to hold 70 percent of all immigration detainees, despite repeated reports of abuse, overcrowding, and inadequate medical services. In addition, ICE subcontracting opportunities have encouraged a boom in jail and prison construction across the Southwest. Both local jurisdictions and these corporations have a financial stake in maintaining high rates of detention, further perverting the politics of immigration. In addition, large numbers of migrants are held in local jails on immigration detainers or awaiting transport. Conditions in these facilities, whether public or private, are inadequate. In 2010, the New York Times documented widespread problems with the delivery of health care services; according to a 2016 report, eight people have died in recent years of preventable causes such as diabetes, because of inadequate health care. (9. Border Policing)

***

If we want immigrants, documented or not, to be more integrated into society, more likely to report crime, and better able to defend themselves from predators, we should instead look to end all federal immigration policing, remove social barriers in housing and employment, and acknowledge their important role in revitalizing communities and stimulating economic activity. (9. Border Policing)

***

Border policing is hugely expensive and largely ineffective, and produces substantial collateral harms including mass criminalization, violations of human rights, unnecessary deaths, the breakup of families, and racism and xenophobia. Unfortunately, both dominant political parties have embraced its expansion, whether as part of a system of restricted and managed legalization or as part of a fantasy of closing the border. Rather than debating how many additional Border Patrol agents to employ, we should instead move to largely de-police the border. Borders are inherently unjust and as Reece Jones points out in his book Violent Borders, they reproduce inequality, which is backed up by the violence of state actors and the indignity and danger of being forced to cross borders illegally. 

Until the Clinton administration, unauthorized cross-border migration was widespread, yet it did not lead to the collapse of the American economy or culture. In fact, in many ways it strengthened it, giving rise to new economic sectors, revitalizing long-abandoned urban neighborhoods, and better integrating the US into the global economy. When the EU lowered its internal borders, there were fears that organized crime would benefit, local cultures would be undermined, that mass migration would create economic chaos as poorer southern Europeans moved north. None of this happened. In fact, migration decreased as the EU began developing poorer areas within Europe as a way of producing greater economic and social stability. (9. Border Policing)

***

Despite our concerns about political liberty, the US police have a long history of similarly abusive practices. The myth of policing in a liberal democracy is that the police exist to prevent political activity that crosses the line into criminal activity, such as property destruction and violence. But they have always focused on detecting and disrupting movements that threaten the economic and political status quo, regardless of the presence of criminality. While on a few occasions this has included actions against the far right, it has overwhelmingly focused on the left, especially those movements tied to workers and racial minorities and those challenging American foreign policy. More recently, focus has shifted to surveillance of Muslims as part of the War on Terror. (10. Political Policing)

***

There really is almost no legitimate reason to deploy armored vehicles and snipers to manage protests—even those where some violence has occurred. Officer protection is an issue, but so are police legitimacy and constitutional rights. (10. Political Policing)

#alex s vitale #book quotes

[sonofhistory]

Also (I'm aware I was here minutes ago) what are your opinions on president Franklin pierce?

Despite all the tragic things that befell Franklin Pierce, he is seen as one of the worst American Presidents in history and it seems to be for good reason. 

Franklin Pierce’s presidency began in tragedy. Weeks after his election, on January 6th, 1853, the President and his family had been traveling from Boston by train when their car derailed and rolled down an embankment near Andover, Massachusetts. Pierce and his wife Jane survived, but in the wreck found their only remaining son, eleven year old Benjamin was crushed to death and his body was nearly decapitated. Unable to hide the gruesome sight from either him or his wife, they both suffered severe depression afterward, which likely affected contributed to Pierce’s poor performance as president “You have summoned me in my weakness, you must sustain me by your strength.” he said in his Inaugural Address. Jane avoided social functions for much of her first two years as First Lady. 

When he took office, the country was experiencing a great era of economic prosperity and relative tranquility. For the time being, the Compromise of 1850 seemed to have resolved the various sectional conflicts–primarily over slavery–that had been dividing the country. At this point, the fourteen president of the United States was the youngest president to ever be inaugurated. Unlike all presidents before him he was the first to memorize his Oath of Office and the second not to affirm it on a Bible (John Quincy Adams was the first) he did it on a Law Book. He avoided the word “slavery” but alluded to his wish to bring that “important subject” to rest and maintain a peaceful union as threat of Civil War had been looming in the horizon back even in seventh president Andrew Jackson’s two term presidency. 

In his cabinet he attempted to bring figures from all stretches of American humanity. Much like fifth president James Monroe he tried to gather people who represented all parts of America. He decided to allow each of the parties factions some appointments, even those whom had not supported the Compromise of 1850 which was lowering fears. Pierce sought to represent all factions in government and federal positions yet could fully satisfy none of them. Party members found themselves unable to secure positions for their friends, which put the Democratic Party on edge and fueled bitterness between separate factions. Northern newspapers began accusing Pierce of filling his government with pro-slavery secessionists, while southern newspapers accused him of abolitionism. No matter what he did, he seemed to be struck. 

Pierce made mistakes by not communicating with his Vice-President, William R. King, which was not entirely his doing. By the start of their term, King was severely ill with tuberculosis and went out of the country to Cuba to attempt to recuperate. He died at his home a few days after returning one month into the presidency–the office of vice president would stay vacant for the rest of the term and Pierce was left without a second in command. With the death of the president’s only child and the death of his vice president hovering above the splintering partisan, it was not looking very positive. 

It was not that Pierce didn’t care or was unfit for the job. Pierce was up and at-em hoping to create a more efficient government than his recent predecessors. One of Pierce’s reforms was to expand the role of the United State Attorney General in appointing federal judges and attorneys, which was an important step in the eventual development of the Justice Department. On economic policy, Pierce charged his Treasury of Secretary with reforming the treasury department which was being managed unwell and Guthrie increased sight of Treasury employees and tariff collectors, many were withholding money from the government. Despite laws requiring funds to be held in the Treasury, large deposits remained in private banks with the Whig administrations. Guthrie reclaimed these funds and wished to prosecute corrupt officials, but with only mixed success. It was attempting to rid of brooding corruption. 

Secretary of War Jefferson Davis, at Pierce’s request led surveying missions for possibly transcontinental railroad routes, increasing train tracks. Davis employed the Army Corps of Engineers to supervise construction projects in the nation’s capital which included expanded the United States Capitol and the construction of the Washington Monument. 

The Pierce administration fell in line with the expansionist movement, and William L. Marcy lead the charge as Secretary of State. They re-negotiating provisions from the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo which required the US to prevent Native American raids into Mexico from New Mexico Territory. It was negotiated and a treaty with Mexican President was re-created in December of 1853. It included now southern Arizona and pieces of southern New Mexico. The treaty brought more land. 

Pierce’s presidency brought a new trade agreement with Britain after American fisherman began to feel assaulted by the increasing supervision by the U.K’s navy. The treaty was ratified in August 1854, which was seen as a first step towards the American annexation of Canada. Gaining control of Central America was another goal and the treaty of Clayton–Bulwer from 1850 was failing to keep Great Britain from expanding change. Minister to England Buchanan was not successful in getting the British to renounce their Central American possessions. Three U.S. diplomats in Europe drafted a proposal to the president to purchase Cuba from Spain but the publication of the Ostend Manifesto, drawn up by the Secretary of State, awoke scorn of northerners who saw it as an attempt to annex a slave-holding possession and bolster Southern interests.

Pierce favored reorganization of the military as well. The Secretary of War and the Navy Secretary found the Army and Navy in poor condition, with low forces, and a reluctance to gather new technology, and terrible management. Commodore Matthew C. Perry visited Japan  in an effort to expand trade. Perry signed a trade treaty with the Japanese which was successfully ratified. The 1856 launch of the USS Merrimac, one of six newly commissioned steam ships, was one of Pierce’s “most personally satisfying” days in office.

What Pierce is best known for ans associated with is Kansas–Nebraska Act and it was ultimately his downfall. The bill formally organized Kansas and Nebraska into territories, opening them to settlement and railroad building; it also repealed the ban on slavery in Kansas mandated by the Missouri Compromise in 1820, declaring that the citizens of each territory–not Congress–had the right to choose whether the territory would allow slavery. Pierce was hesitant of the bill, knowing it would result in bitter opposition from the North. He was convinced to support the bill regardless. It was greatly opposed and rallied public disagreement. Northerners remained mainly suspicious of the Pierce administration and what he was accomplishing. The Whigs split and the conflict destroyed them as a national party. The Kansas–Nebraska Act was passed in May 1854. The political turmoil that followed saw the short-term rise of two political parties and the founding of the Republican Party.

The passage of the act startled so much violence between groups that the territory became known as Bleeding Kansas. Free-Staters set up a government, and drafted the Topeka Constitution, which Pierce called an act of rebellion and sent federal troops to break up a meeting of the Topeka government. After the passage of the act coincided with the seizure of escaped slave Anthony Burns in Boston, Northeners were in his support which Pierce was determined to follow the Fugitive Slave Act to the letter, and dispatched federal troops to enforce Burns return.

At the end of his term, Pierce expected to be renominated by the Democrat party. In reality his chances of winning the nomination were slim, let alone re-election. The administration was widely disliked in the North for its position on the Kansas–Nebraska Act, and Democratic leaders were aware of Pierce’s electoral vulnerability. This loss marked the only time in U.S. history that an elected president who was an active candidate for reelection was not nominated for a second term. Pierce endorsed Buchanan, though the two remained distant; he hoped to resolve the Kansas situation by November to improve the Democrats’ chances in the general election. He installed John W. Geary as territorial governor, who got the pro-slavery legislators. Geary was able to restore order in Kansas, though the electoral damage had already been done—Republicans used “Bleeding Kansas”.

In his final message to Congress, delivered in December 1856, he attacked Republicans and abolitionists. He took the opportunity to defend himself on policy, and on achieving peaceful relations with other nations. The final days, Congress passed bills to increase pay of army officers and to build new naval vessels, also expanding the number of those enlisted. It also passed a tariff reduction bill he had long wanted. Pierce and his cabinet left office on March 4th, 1857, the only time in U.S. history that the original cabinet members all remained for a full four-year term

Franklin Pierce’s administration only furthered the process of the oncoming Civil War and led to far more bad than good. 

#Flood pressles box #sincerely anonymous