#because they can’t figure out they’re not in Britain and british words won’t work

[craptastico]

i’m thinking about. the magic system in the simon snow series again.

#IT’S SO INTERESTING #GO READ THOSE BOOKS NOW #like legit i gotta braindump now #so it’s linguistics based #and the power behind the words comes from how often people use them #but not mages so they need the normals functioning at maximum socialization #because otherwise their spells are weaker #and they use all kinds of phrases so like #clean as a whistle is one #but song lyrics and nursery rhymes #even memes and slang have power if they’re used enough #AND THIS IS WHAT REALLY EXCITES ME #ITS REGIONAL #SO AMERICAN WORDS NEED CAST IN AMERICA AND BRITISH WORDS WONT WORK #and it is SO funny in these books when that comes into play #like our perfectionist great mages are having the WORST TIME #because they can’t figure out they’re not in Britain and british words won’t work #ALSO ALSO #this is something that doesn’t come up in the first and last books bc there’s not enough unoccupied land in britain #but there’s dead spots #if there aren’t enough people to say the words there is no power and no magic #so the second book is probably my favorite because it really explores that system #but anyway go read the simon snow series its actually really good #like so good #simon snow #carry on

[kashimos-hajime]

scorched | s.r. + b.b.

summary: “You utterly destroyed me, you know that? I loved you more than I needed to breathe and you just walked away. I lost everything and you walked away.”

WARNINGS: swearing, angst, violence, a post-endgame rant wrapped up as a fic pairing: steve x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader word count: 7.3k

a/n: inspired by praying by kesha. written for @coffee-with-bucky​​ and her 2k challenge! congrats lyn :) my prompt was “i failed you. i failed everyone.”and i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t inspired by @heli0s-writes​​ and her series “as it was”. check her out! she’s one of my favourite writers on this site!

“She’s not at the compound,” Sam says, not at all surprised to see him and almost resentful, defensive. His phone is still in hand, screen alit from the text Steve sent him a few minutes ago. Everything he left behind is still here by the lake.

Almost everything.

It’s a ghost town.

“But she doesn’t want to see you anyway.”

“Sam—”

“Five hours for you was five, very long years for us,” he continues, but his tone softens when he catches sight of Steve’s face. Absolutely crushed, eyebrows weighed down, shoulders hunched forward, defeated. “She’s different, now. She’s not the woman you left.”

The mere mention of you makes Steve’s heart, already choked with dread, crack.

“And you shouldn’t go, man. It wouldn’t be good for her after all this time.”

Before, maybe Sam would’ve thought of Steve first, but there’s a distance, a yawning gap standing between them now. Sam was here for the bitter consequences of his departure—Steve wasn’t, and he knows they must’ve been shattering, terrifying, because by the way Sam is so cold about it, he doesn’t want to remember it.

“I made a mistake, Sam. I can’t let her go on thinking I don’t regret what I did.” He looks out at the lake where he passed the shield and mantle and responsibilities on to the man before him before he left, and the sun hits the lake so clearly that his breath nearly catches. You loved swimming, propelling circles around him in the blue-green pool at the compound, splashing it into his eyes. Laughing and laughing and laughing because you’re so limber on land but here you’re definitely a fish out of water.

Funny, funny, funny.

“She won’t care.”

“She has to.”

“Look, man. I’m trying to save you some pain.” Sam puts a hand out, hovering before his chest as if he stopped himself, as if he doesn’t even want to touch Steve, and the blond swallows the painful little knot in his throat. “It’s too late, and I know you want to think better late than never, but she’s changed. Things have changed.”

“That won’t stop me from trying,” Steve murmurs, walking around Sam to where a car is parked. His car. The damned car he drove to Tony’s funeral. He’s sure the keys are still in the cupholder beside your old coffee cup. He wonders who drove you home.

Sam? Bucky?

Who held a body with a heart that was tearing apart while he was chasing some fruitless daydream?

“Dude, the woman you knew is gone,” Sam calls, but Steve doesn’t listen. “You need to leave.”

“No, Sam. We made a promise to wait for each other.”

Okay, clause one: we wait for each other no matter what. Clause two: no matter what happens, we promise to work everything out. Clause three: this love is forever. Sign here.

I can’t believe you’re making me sign a fake contract for something we know won’t change, doll.

It’s a real contract because I wrote it, and it’s just for fun, anyway. I would never love anyone else besides you.

“That doesn’t matter. She’s fucking Barnes anyway.”

That stops him in his tracks. Blood freezing over in his body, he turns to look at Sam in his leather jacket and washed jeans, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes are impassive, severe, and dark with blunt honesty.

“Look, they’re happy. So can you just… leave? Go back to the forties. Settle down anywhere but here, because she is happy and so is he. Do you know how long it took for them to even think about trying to move past you?”

“Wait—” The word comes out ripped, hoarse, and he feels the blood drain from his legs as he takes a step back—

“You should just go.”

For a moment, Steve’s eyes, wide and impossibly guilty, shine with tears. At the thought of you with some other man—somehow the possibility never crossed his mind. In his mind, you are the girl who shelters underneath his arm when it thunders, who tucks her face into his chest when the movie is too scary, who peppers his faces with kisses and makes him lemonade after a good training session, who puts flower crowns on his head when they spend a weekend outside the city and makes apple pies so fulfilling he could cry, who would never love another man because you are so wholly, helplessly, in love with him.

And he left you anyway.

So he nods, because he deserves this.

He deserves this, and he leaves.

.

The wind is warm against his cheeks as he tries to think how he ended up here in Puerto Vallarta, although he does know. Sam dropped him off here with a mission that’ll hopefully lead to another, and you can build a new life for yourself, Steve. One without her in it. If you need something, you know you can call me.

An arms deal. He got a tipoff from one of his CIs that it’s happening tonight by the docks, because he needs his own resources now. There is no Ross, no Tony, no Natasha, no one on his side.

His body yearns for a fight, and he gets it when he hears a soft voice down the docks, speaking in British English, just barely over the lap of the ocean. Crouching behind a metal freight container, he tries to distinguish the voices. At least three bodies, all armed, and his target. One of the biggest arms dealers in Britain down here to make a deal.

Steve, darting out from his cover and to the fire escape by the warehouse, catches a glimpse of the silhouettes of the men waiting. Their shadows are long against the concrete of the dock. The metal clangs underneath his boots as he slowly climbs the steps.

“Where is this woman?” the first man asks roughly, impatience laced through his tone as Steve pulls himself onto the roof. Feet pattering over the metal roof of the warehouse, he keeps himself crouched as the warm, golden sunlight filters through the oily heat. He’s sweating through the kevlar suit he’s got strapped on, and droplets beads around his forehead as he adjusts the shield gauntlets along his wrists.

“She said seven, sir.”

“Tardiness,” the man tsks. “We should’ve known better than to deal with the likes of her. What did I say?”

“That you shouldn’t trust an American, sir.”

“Precisely.” Leaning over the roof, Steve spots the man in question speaking, his suit glowing from the lamplight he stands beneath and he grips the edge of the roof, frowning. The buyer and the seller in one foul swoop. A car door slams and he blinks, tearing his eyes away from his count of at least twelve men, three standing around crates and the other around the man complaining.

A woman steps out of the car, pocketing her phone as she walks towards the illuminated circle, and he frowns, narrowing his eyes. Her face is covered by hair that sways with her every step, but her figure is outlined by the fit of her pantsuit. Even through the clothes, he can see the curve of muscle, the purpose in her step.

A dangerous woman.

“Sorry for the hold up,” she calls out, her voice smooth, rich with confidence. Steve frowns as she stops just outside the circle of light, her silhouette illuminated by warm, rusty orange and cloaked in shadow. “You wouldn’t believe the legalities surrounding contraband in America,” she continues teasingly. “Let me see.”

The man jerks his head to one of his henchman by the crates who cracks it open revealing sleek black rifles, laser sights, silver canisters with a bar along the sides: EMPs, grenades of all kinds. “Is it to your satisfaction?”

“It is. I’m docked in bay four. My men will meet yours there,” she says and head honcho nods. It’s a sign for the three men to pick up one crate each and begin their slow trail up the docks. The crates are massive things, hard black metal that softly rattles with every sway and Steve’s ears prick as the woman steps closer, her heels sharp against concrete.

“I assume this concludes our business, ma’am. It has been a profitable few months. I hope you find your new treasures… helpful in your endeavors.”

“Oh, I’d love to keep communications open. You’ve been a wonderful seller, and as you know, I pay handsomely for quality goods.” Despite his previous irritation, the boss seems to straighten, smiling almost as the men around look at each other. Money. It all comes down to money.

“Of course. My London warehouse, as you know, is open to you should you find yourself across the sea.”

“Perfect. Pleasure doing business with you.” It is then that she steps into the light, and Steve’s eyes narrow at the glint of metal on her ears and in her hair as she reaches forward to shake the man’s hand.

And twist it behind his back, using him as a body shield between her and his henchmen. Her other hand goes to her head, pulling out the pin and digging it gently into the man’s throbbing vein at his neck. It sits comfortably in her palm, almost as if it is molded for her and Steve’s muscles tense, blood rushing to his fingertips.

“Shoot her, now.”

“Watch it, Fitz,” hisses the woman, voice low. She digs the tip of the pin deeper. In the washed lamplight, Steve can see the curve of the blade, the hoop her finger slots into. A throwing knife. “I want you out of this situation alive.”

The knife trails down his body to his thigh and she wraps her fingers tighter around the handle.

Schluck.

The man’s scream rings in Steve’s ears as she tosses the man aside, diving to a stack of wooden crates. Wood and stone splinters beneath the force of bullets following at her heels but she simply unclasps one of her earrings, presses a button and throws it over the crates.

There’s a moment of silence as the men stare at the device at their feet before there is an explosion of smoke. He watches as the woman vaults over the crates and sprints into the cloud and Steve leaps off the roof, pumping his arms to activate his shield gauntlets.

The first man he comes into contact with lets out a startled scream as Steve punches his lights out and his blood is singing. Smoke burns at his eyes and thickens in his lungs as he whirls around, spotting a shadow of a man and he runs toward him, sweeping out a leg to take him down before slamming his knuckles into his nose until he’s knocked out cold and there’s a painful grunt behind him, the resounding collapse of a body that has no intention of getting up again.

Bullets whiz past his face, slamming into concrete and flesh as something rushes past him and he grabs the charging man, swinging his whole body weight into his arms and bringing them both crashing into the ground. The smell of sweat leaks into his mouth as he shoves the curve of his shield into the henchman’s stomach. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The man is rolled over, eyes scrunched tight, when Steve gets off of him.

Eyes straining through the smoke, he watches as a shadow charges at two figures, latching onto the first man and striking the geezer behind him with a power kick to the chest with both legs. The second man stumbles back just as the shadow swings her legs back and brings the first man down to the ground.

Natasha.

That was something he’d seen Natasha practice a hundred times over.

The thought makes his blood run cold and he pauses for a moment, the smoke beginning to thin out as she rolls over the first man and takes down the second with two punches to the gut and a knee to the nose. 

Natasha.

This can’t be real. No. Natasha is dead.

Unless they brought her back.

No, Sam would’ve told him, wouldn’t he?

He’s not sure anymore. 

His throat cinches shut at the thought of the redhead, of the woman who’d been by his side for years, who encouraged him to fall in love with you. Maybe it’s Natasha’s ghost haunting him, taunting him with some lookalike spy, reminding him of his mistake, and he feels himself paralyzed. The memories, the smile of hers before they went back in time— He’d felt so exhausted at the responsibility of it all, the five years of his failure weighing down between his shoulders. It all rushes back to him: your wobbling lips, brave face on his brave girl, fingers digging into his suit, ordering him to come home safe, Natasha’s coy little smile.

See you in a minute.

Strong legs wrap around his abdomen and he lets out a grunt, yanked out of his dazed state as he wrenches the attacker off his back. The woman falls with smack but her fingers dig into his wrists. Her legs wrap around his arm, dragging him down with her.

Steve pitches forward, tumbling forward as she slams his hand into the concrete. His skull collides with the ground and he squeezes his eyes tight, pain blooming from the back of his head. A sharp knee digs into his other elbow and he sucks in a deep breath, eyes fluttering open to a blurry face.

“No.” The word comes out choked and he blinks against the streetlight, eyebrows furrowing together and the weight vanishes off of him. “It can’t be.” Sitting up, he feels his head swim in a dull ache, world tilting as the woman takes a step away from him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The words ring in his ears, cold, wretched, and he jerks his head up to see your face drained of blood, lips parted, eyes wide. Your shoulders are shaking, chest heaving for air and it rattles in your lungs. Steve can hear your heart pounding, your throat swallowing nothing but wet air.

“Y/N—” He soaks in your figure, the muscle, the confidence, the sharp lines where everything had been soft. You don’t even look too different—you just feel different. He used to sink into your arms thinking of golden sunlight and soft pillows. Now, when he looks at you, he thinks of serrated edges, ironwire bones. You’ve lost your heels in the fight, but you look taller than he’s ever seen you. “You’re… it’s you.”

“Steve.” For a moment, your voice is choked up and your expression softens as you scan his face, but then you tear your eyes away. Your hair is chopped shorter for practicality, just barely past your shoulders. It suits you. Suits the girl he loves, the girl he doesn’t know anymore. “Steve.”

“Are you hurt?” He reaches for you but you shrink back like he’s burned you. This isn’t who you are. You’ve never been a fighter, yet here you stand, pantsuit a bit scuffed but otherwise untouched, and his stomach twists into a Gordian knot. This is what Sam was warning him about. The snake in the garden come to life. “What are you doing here? You could’ve gotten hurt, doll—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t have that right anymore,” you spit, voice pure poison. He pushes himself to his feet just as something makes you pause and your eyebrows knit together, raising your left wrist where a watch is strapped on. His head is spinning from his skull cracking against concrete and the new revelation that the girl he knows is a stranger again. He wobbles for a moment, arms out to the side as he tries to regain his bearings but you don’t so much as give him another second of your attention. “Docks are secure, Fury. Fitz is ready for pickup. I’ll send London co-ordinates when I get back to base.”

Steve glances at the bleeding man still panicking about the knife sticking out of his leg, and you go over to him, hauling him to his feet. The man shivers, whimpers when he puts weight on his injured leg but you give no hint that you care. As if on cue, a helicopter swerves through the air, rotors sending powerful gales of air down to the ground as it lowers itself to the ground and you look at Steve with a cold disinterest, hand a fist around Fitz’s collar.

“Believe it or not, I’m not just Captain America’s pretty little girlfriend anymore.”

“I just want to talk—”

“There’s nothing I want to say to you.” Turning around, you lug Fitz into the helicopter with a strength Steve doesn’t recognize and you climb onto the chopper with a grace he knows didn’t exist before he left you.

Don’t go. Please don’t go. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“I’m going back to the compound,” you say over the loud gusts of wind whipping at the ground. “You’ll find Bucky there, if that’s who you’re really here for because if I wasn’t enough for you then, then I certainly won’t be enough for you now.” Pulling back into the helicopter, you yank the door shut with a slam, and Steve watches as it rises, a steady ascension to a place where he can’t follow.

His stomach twists, his whole body wracked with a shaking agony as his heart pushes itself up your throat. Falling to his knees, he keens over and throws up, acid splashing between his hands. He vomits out his heart, every inch of warmth you’ve ever given him so freely, every smile he’s taken for granted, the taste of your smile after you’ve made those apple pies.

He’s left hollowed out, colder than death.

He wants to cry, but even his mind tells him you don’t deserve to cry for the woman you chased away, so he laughs. Laughs until they turn into tears, and even then they don’t feel real. His body is unwilling to yield to the possibility of defeat, and yet here he is.

It was a one in a million chance for us both to survive that Snap, Steve. And Thanos destroyed the stones. If we can’t find a way to bring them back… maybe the only thing we can do now is move on.

Some people move on. But not us... Not us

Take your ring and give it to the girl you really love because it isn’t me.

Steve’s shock. There was less of a protest, only your determination to stop your lip from trembling, the tears already falling from glassy eyes. Grief bit him in the stomach, but yearning tugged his heart toward the platform.

If all you could think about in the ten years we were together was Peggy, I don’t see why I should stop you.

Y/N, you know I love you.

Not enough.

.

The compound is different. Different plot of land, different inhabitants, different facilities. He pulls up in the lot where the Avengers sign is carved into the stone and he walks the grounds, grounds he used to know but this is different soil.

Another man’s grounds.

“Steve,” Sam says, cautious on the track. He’s wearing a tee-shirt and shorts, skin glistening with sweat and a water bottle in hand. He’s got a comm link in his ear and it glows blue for a moment before muting itself. There are a few recruits running a few laps and Steve eyes them wearily before approaching Sam. His beard was shaved two days ago, his hair chopped clean even though it makes him more noticeable now. He hopes no one says anything about the old Captain America pathetically dragging himself back to a place he tried to run from. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me you came in.”

“Yeah. I… I just wanted to see Bucky.” Your name bites at his tongue and it takes all his strength not to confess what happened down in Mexico before Sam glances behind him to a building he doesn’t recognize. It’s connected to the main facility by a long tunnel but there are doors to the track as well, and they open just as Steve fixes his gaze on it.

Two figures stumble out of the building, a piercing shriek splitting the air with glee as one of them runs away from the other. Even from the distance, Steve can see the metal glint of Bucky’s arm, your favourite swimsuit strapped to your body. Bucky’s holding onto something as he chases after you and you barrel through the grass, towel cloaking your shoulders.

“They’re happy, man,” Sam murmurs lowly as they get onto the track and you’re still running but you’re no match for a super soldier. Bucky scoops you up, tossing aside his water gun and wrapping you in a huge hug from behind. “Even if Barnes wants to see you, do you think she does?”

“I already saw her in Mexico,” he utters softly. You’re laughing so loudly it makes Steve’s chest explode with light. You thrash in Bucky’s arms and he pretends to nip at your skin, growl into your ear as you tug at the towel around your neck. You’re… you. Just as he left you. Nothing like Mexico. “Why is she in the field, now? She’s not a soldier.”

“That’s for her to explain, not me. I don’t get to try to describe the hell you put her through, Steve.” Bucky puts you down and your feet in those strappy tan sandals sink into the grass as you spin around. You plant a kiss gently on Bucky’s lips, using the corner of your towel to wipe away drips from his hair before stealing another kiss. Steve’s mouth tingles, burning uncomfortably and he looks away. That used to be him, leaving the pool, smelling like chlorine and sweat and then popsicles to cool down because nothing screamed summer like fruit popsicles and swimming.

“Steve?” A tentative voice calls and Steve’s eyes refocus to the source on reflex. You’re staring at him, eyes narrowed into knife points and you hold Bucky’s arm to your chest, your fingers entwined with his as his old friend walks towards him. “Steve— you’re back? What are you… what are you doing here?”

“Guess the past isn’t where I belong,” he says with a forced smile that digs into his cheeks and Bucky lets go of your hand to hug him but his lips are parted, his eyes wide. He doesn’t believe this is real and when Steve meets your eyes over Bucky’s shoulder, your gaze is burning. Bucky’s arms squeeze around Steve tighter, tight enough that even he can’t breathe. He’s shattered in his arms, Bucky is, and Steve can only hold him.

“Let’s go inside,” Sam says, ever the mediator. Steve looks at him but his eyes are on you, and Bucky’s pulling back and then his eyes are on you, too. All eyes on you and your worried lip between your teeth. You’re tanned, toned, and your hair is shining underneath the summer sun as Bucky steps away from Steve as well. As if the euphoria of having his best friend is gone—it is. He chose a daydream over his family. “You guys need to get dry.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, eyes darkening as they linger on Steve’s face. Soaking him in, thinking a thousand miles a minute, trying to sort through whatever storm lingers in his head. His eyebrows hood his gaze as he lowers his head and Steve can see him slip away as you take Bucky’s hand, cup his face, and turn him away.

“Popsicles, yeah? Gotta get the last ones before Wanda steals ‘em away,” you whisper and Bucky’s nose brushes against your head before they begin to walk away. Bucky’s shoulders are hunched over and you’ve got an arm around his waist, and there is something sacred in the way his head brushes against yours, the way his arm drapes around your shoulders. The way his fingers play with the fluffy towel around you, bringing the corner of it to your wet cheek. The way you step in tandem. 

Something tender, something hallowed, something not his.

You’d been sharp and scorched in Mexico. In Bucky’s presence, you are nothing but dewy grass and a gentle fire, and he sees the tension ease in your shoulders despite a knot lingering in your back.

Once you’d been soft like cotton clouds like it was your nature, eager to stay away from the fight. You were just the receptionist at Stark Towers and Steve had fallen first, so eager to protect you because you were kind, gentle, funny and you didn’t care about who he was. Just that he was Steve and you were you.

I can’t let anything happen to you. You can’t protect yourself against these guys, Y/N. They’re… they’re monsters.

And he left you to them anyway, in a world still struggling to find itself repopulated and alive—

I failed you. I failed everyone.

The realization devastates him. No matter how hard he tried to fix the world, he destroyed his life anyway.

“Come on, man. If you wanna talk, we should do it in private,” Sam says. Steve follows him numbly into a building he doesn’t know anymore.

.

You’re sitting with your legs bent and angled in towards Bucky, playing with a butterfly knife that flows too easily between your nimble fingers. Sam sits on the leather seat and Steve leans back into the sofa as you bite softly into your red popsicle. Strawberry. Your favourite.

Bucky’s sucking down a blue one but his face is placid, eyes burning into the glass table between them as Sam sits down with a cup of coffee he had offered to make for Steve. The blade flips over your index finger, and then back around again. Your hair is stringy and wet, tied away from your face as you set down the knife and turn to Bucky, eyes searching. You brush his hair away from his face even though it’s cropped shorter now and smile even though he doesn’t focus on you.

He doesn’t miss Bucky’s hand around the curve of your thigh, holding you to him as if you’ll slip away otherwise. He fights the nasty remark pounding against his teeth—that’s his girl his best friend’s got his hand on—but he knows it isn’t his place anymore. Steve watches you lick sweet strawberry melt from your lips, trail your fingers along Bucky’s head delicately and pull his temple towards you for a quick peck.

It’s almost as if Bucky wakes up at your touch, and he turns to you. He searches too, scans your gaze and Steve feels like he’s intruding on a moment so he looks into his lap.

“So?” Sam prompts, tearing everyone out of whatever bubble they’ve encased themselves in and pulling them back into harsh reality. “Who wants to go first?”

There’s silence where Bucky puts down his popsicle stick on the bowl brought out, blue melt sliding down the wood slowly as you bite down on the last of your own treat.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is quiet, accepting already.

“I have so many things to say and I don’t even know how to say any of it, but I know to apologize,” the blond says after a moment of hesitation. His breath keeps catching in your throat and you lean forward to drop off your own stick by Bucky’s, almost a statement to his own words. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Sam asks for clarity, but Steve entertains the notion that maybe even his friend wants to draw it out of him.

“I didn’t know what I had until I lost it.” Steve makes a point to meet three pairs of eyes except you refuse to look at him, instead staring into Bucky’s lap like he doesn’t even exist, like you don’t exist either. “I should’ve stayed. Should’ve thought it through and realized that... everything I had back then is everything I had here.”

“Is that all?” Bucky stares at him with something like pity, something like jealousy, and Steve knows it has all to do with the woman in his arms. Ten years of conflict to push lovers together compared to five years of overcoming heartache because of one man. Steve would be jealous—had been jealous of Steve of 2012. 2012 Steve had a whole decade of love waiting for him and he has none. “Are you here to stay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“If you think you can come here and have everything that was yours just given to you on a silver platter, then you’re wrong,” you speak up for the first time and it sucks all the warmth out of the room. Bucky turns to you, hand raising from your thigh to brush a wet strand of hair away from your cheek and you clench your jaw, lips pressed together. “We built our lives without you in it.”

“Y/N.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees but you seem to shrink away from him, eyes tortuously meeting his.

“You leaving me was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me,” you whisper with a rage unbridled, unchained, just barely containing itself from exploding. “It made me realize how much stronger I am then you have ever given me credit for.”

“You weren’t that girl when I met you.” Soft girl with sunshine smiles and gauzy white dresses—lemonade pitchers, tulip gardens—you weren’t that girl, Steve’s mind protests but when you unwind from the couch, stretch every languid muscle in your body, he wonders if he ever saw you as anything more than someone he had to protect.  

“I believed you when you said I couldn’t fight.” You stand, gazing openly at him and he swallows at the hopelessness residing in your gaze, still there after five years. “That I wasn’t enough like you to even try to help. All I ever was to you was some pretty little thing who was scared to fight back and maybe I was because you sheltered me for ten fucking years.” Your voice twists with pain, overflowing with a frustration of lost time and pure, pure sadness. “You leaving me made me stand on my own two feet again.”

Bucky reaches forward to take your hand when they all see it tremble but you simply roll it into a fist and step away.

“You put me through hell, Steve. I had to learn how to fight for myself because you weren’t there. Because you left me for some fucking daydream.” For a moment, he thinks you soften because your eyebrows fall and you close your eyes. The muscle in your jaw ticks, your nose twitches, and when you open your eyes again, they are glassy with tears. “You utterly destroyed me, you know that? I loved you more than I needed to breathe and you just walked away. I lost everything and you walked away.”

Tony. Natasha. Boss. Best friend. Colleague. Sister.

“How could you do that?” you whimper, blinking as tears scorch down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily with the heel of your hand. “How could you just look at me, look at Sam, look at Bucky, and think that there is nothing worth staying for?” You throw out your hand helplessly, waiting for an answer that won’t come and Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, throat swelling shut.

“It felt like minutes,” Bucky says at last, and the darkness in the room, the stifled feeling in Steve’s chest eases only a tad because Bucky is not nearly as thunderous as you are. You twist to look at him, arms crossed over your chest and Sam reaches to touch your arm, fingers wrapped around your bicep. You spare him a glance before looking at Bucky. “We died, we came back five years later, and it only felt like minutes.”

“Bucky—”

“You chose to leave what felt like minutes after I died, after Sam died, and when Y/N told me what happened… Steve…” A shuddering convulses down his throat and Bucky looks down into his lap. You unfold your arms and immediately go to sink into the couch, wrapping an arm around Bucky. Your eyes pin him down, red-rimmed with unshed tears, accusing: you did this to an already broken man.

“I’m so sorry, Buck.” The apology sounds plastic in his mouth with how many times he’s said it, thought it. “I’m so sorry.” He says it again anyways, and he directs it at the two other bodies in the room. You gauge his expression, watch him like he’ll vanish in a flash of smoke.

“I was happy for you if leaving meant I never had to see you again. I know you deserve a happy ending, Steve. You deserve rest more than anyone I know,” he says, “but you need to know what you want before you decide to risk it all. You can’t come crawling back for second chances because there are none. You don’t come back and have everything stay the same. There’s a price every time you give something up.” He looks up, eyes like clear water. There’s nothing angry in his old friend’s gaze, just drained. “If you’re here to stay, you better be sure that this is what you want in the end.” And then Bucky is up, rubbing at his face like he’s tired rather than an inch from crying. Steve watches him go—they all do—silently, and then you look at Sam who gets up to follow.

There’s a moment when you meet eyes with Steve and he can feel the love you swaddled him in for ten years, through the Snap, through the Accords. No matter where he was, you were there.

Then that love disappears.  

“I want you to hurt like you made me hurt,” you begin softly, hands folded in your lap, t-shirt hanging off your frame, stuffed into your shorts. “Like you still make me hurt. I want you to wake up crying, I want you to rub your face raw, I want you to stay awake all night just wondering why this has happened. I want nothing more than you begging on your knees for something you can’t stop no matter how hard you try because somehow you just aren’t enough.”

He closes his eyes, lets your words devour him whole.

“Bucky was there,” you continue quietly. “He was there for me in a way you never were. He drove me home after you left. Told me that the best was yet to come. That I just couldn’t see it yet, and I didn’t believe him. For the longest time, I didn’t believe a single word he said.”

“Until you did.”

“Until one day, I looked at him and told him I know. That I know, one day, things will change,” you agree and something melts in your voice when you speak of Bucky. Kindred souls, the same heartache lurking still in chests just beginning to warm from love again. “Maybe it hurt less that day so I decided that I have to accept that this was my life now or maybe I was just so sick of crying that I told myself that this isn’t who I’m going to be. I don’t know. I just woke up one day, and he asked if I wanted to go swimming. First summer after everyone came back, and I wanted to say no, but I just had to say yes because it was swimming, and it was Bucky, and he was barely holding it together but here he was… taping and gluing me like I was some abstract project.” You chuckle, a wet sound, before glancing down at your knees. There is something you’re not telling him, and he knows it’s something secret to you and Bucky alone, so he doesn’t push it. Doesn’t ask—his chest already feels like it’s cracked open. “Some of the pieces won’t ever fit again.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, “did he train you?”

“Yeah.” Explains a Black Widow move. You sound proud, but not of yourself, of your own feats and talent, but of him. “He encouraged it. Said it was only right I knew how to fight.” Steve’s stomach turns and he looks down to swallow. Bile is burning in his throat. The threads of his heart are tearing.

“I know it’s all I’ve been saying, but I’m sorry. I… I just tried to protect you in every way I could.”

“I know.” Your words are soft against his battered ears, and he looks up at you sitting there, ramrod straight but a certain gentleness that reminds him of the past. “I know you loved me in the way you could.” Clutching, grasping, desperate not to lose another woman he loves. “When you saw Peggy, did you just decide that that was easier?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just felt like I was missing something. Something…”

“... you couldn’t find here?”

“Just something.”

You ruminate on that, eyes fixed on the popsicle sticks and Steve rubs his hands together, head bowed. The silence is terse but not hostile, and you pick up the butterfly knife on the cushion. You don’t flick it open, just run your thumb over the edge and Steve thinks you might cut him stem to stern before you place it down on the glass table.

“I used to stay up all night wondering where I went wrong,” you say it frankly. It’s not meant to hurt him anymore. You seem tired of being angry, but it’s still there, just there underneath your skin. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t eat unless Bucky made me. I would’ve rather starved than live in a world where you didn’t love me, but he said if he had to go on, then so did I. He never asked for anything in return, and I was just so fucking angry at myself that I listened to him just to spite myself. I cried all the time. I didn’t move from my bed for months. Yet, one little part of me,” you murmur, gaze rising to meet his, “always just wanted you to be happy. I wanted so desperately for you to make the right choice because then maybe this would’ve been worth it for you.”

It’s big. Your words hang on imaginary strings around his head, whistling in the faint air conditioned wind, and he clenches his jaw, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Although you’re barely holding yourself together before him, you’re deathly beautiful.

“I’m so glad that you’re so loved,” Steve intones quietly. “I’m so thankful that Bucky loves you.” He doesn’t need eyes to feel it. It’s a quiet thing, unshaking yet fragile as flowers and light as dandelion wisps.

“I didn’t think he did.” You lean back into the couch, tuck your feet underneath yourself and cross your arms over your chest. “It took me a long time to accept that he does, and now he won’t believe that I do, too.”

The confession sinks its teeth into Steve’s throat and threatens to tear his flesh.

“I tell him and I can tell he doesn’t believe me sometimes. No matter how much I want him to, it’s the one thing he can’t believe because…”

You were my girl, Steve thinks.

“He doesn’t believe he’s worth staying for. Worth choosing. You did that to him, you know? Did that to me.”

“I know.”

You stare at him and he looks at you, curled up on the couch. Your face is drying, but that torn expression still sits on your face as you run a hand over your middle, fingers folding as you close your eyes and duck your head.

His eyes trace the gesture, eyebrows knitting together, and then he looks at you because he knows. Because it had been their dream once, and when the fight is over, baby. The world still needs you, Captain America.

He had said, half joking, When will they ever stop needing me?

When you grow old and grey, and another Captain America is ready to take your place.

“Bucky’s?” he asks, body numbing. You nod, raising your eyes to his. “Does he know?”

“No. I only found out a few days after Mexico.” Three weeks ago. “I want to make it past a few more weeks, just to make sure.” You tuck your knees to your chest, arms folded over your abdomen and Steve tries to imagine it swollen with life. No longer lean with muscle but bountiful with a miracle. Blue eyes, blonde hair— no. Not anymore. “Just wanted time.”

Time. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and now…

“I know.”

Now he has none at all.

Your eyes meet his, fluttering and haunted, and he simply meets your gaze. There’s a quiet understanding in that moment as you bring your hands up to hug yourself, and he swallows, leaning back into the couch. His hands rest on his thighs, and your back sinks into the back cushion of your loveseat as he thinks of what to say.

Perhaps there is nothing to say.

Instead, his right hand goes to his pocket where a ring is still pinched tightly in between the creases. The diamond is sharp against his flesh, and he tugs it out carefully before setting it on the glass table between them. You stare at the thing, watch it glint. It’s mocking you, but Steve doesn’t want it and he doesn’t know what else to do.

“It’s always been yours,” he says, pushing it to your side of the table. The diamond scrapes against glass but doesn’t leave a mark. “It’s never been anyone else’s but yours.” The ring clatters against the gass. You’d worn that damned thing for years on end. First it was the Accords, then Wakanda, then the Snap, and he should’ve married you when he had the chance—he should’ve done so much more than what he did.

“Do you love me?” you ask quietly, eyes unmoving from the winking gemstone. The golden band is glowing in the pale lights of the compound as he nods.

“Yes.”

You reach forward to grab it, extend a leg to shove it into the pocket of your shorts, and then you’re sitting there, feet on solid ground again. You gauge him, study him, eyebrows down, lips curved into a soft frown.

“Okay.”

You stand and pick up the knife before grabbing the bowl as well. You clear your throat and look over Steve’s head, at the walls with photographs and paintings and a dartboard by the doorway, and then you look at Steve again.

Your futile attempt at a smile makes Steve smile, just barely, before you walk past him and head for the open kitchen. You set the bowl down in the sink before heading for the hallway, and Steve can hear your step, your off-rhythm breathing.

“Do you love me?” he asks, turning to look at you, and a sigh whispers past his lips as you pause. Your hand is in your pocket as you turn around, playing with the knife or the ring, he doesn’t know.

“You can’t ask me that, Steve.” Your voice is steel, your eyes unforgiving, and that soft girl is swallowed up by the scorched woman, burned by his absence. You haven’t forgiven him. You never will. “Look, I’m going to go find Bucky. We have… we’re going berrypicking in the afternoon, so…”

“Yeah, no, go. Don’t let me keep you.”

“See you tomorrow, Rogers.”

There’s an utter sense of finality to it. A chapter closing permanently and you’re already on the next page.

“See you.”

The door slides shut and you’re gone.

#fic: scorched #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #stucky x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #chris evans #sebastian stan #lyn2k #my writing

[vaguely-concerned]

Temeraire let’s read: Crucible of Gold AHOY!

- lol I’m glad hammond is back, he is phenomenally funny. I do love me a bureaucrat character who won’t let trifling things like dignity, morality, politeness or common sense get in the way of their job 

- it is a CRIME that Tharkay had to leave before he got to see Laurence all sun-bronzed and casually dressed and golden haired and relaxed, I wish to petition the universe itself on his behalf to correct this injustice 

- hahaha shen li is the best; a buddhist dragon would be the greatest party pooper among her own kind 

shen li, serenely: attachment to material things can only bring suffering

literally every other dragon, dripping bling from every available surface: um actually

- . . . without the clinging stink of murder and treachery which seemed to have by slow octopoid measures attached itself to his life. laurence I understand where you’re coming from on this but you have served colonial britain since you were like twelve. this has been an extremely slow process of waking up to smelling dem roses (fatherhood changes your perspective on your life situation I guess)

- awwwwww laurence finally studying some more chinese while temeraire helps him... no no this is just rain on my face yes I know I’m indoors it’s just me and lady allendale sitting here with our arms around each other crying about our boy reading poetry of his own freeish will

- oooh I really like how novik writes the way hammond talks -- it can be hard to write a character who constantly breaks up their own dialogue and interrupts themselves and continually couches their words without it being hard to read and annoying, but she really nails communicating that he’s a) completely graceless and with no dignity but also undeniably intelligent, b) definitely a Diplomat but not a total weasel, if only by a hair, c) hilarious

- pour one out for laurence’s civilian beard with me guys, gone too soon and dearly missed (and again tharkay didn’t even get to see it! this continues to be the greatest tragedy of these books let’s hope he grows it out again later when they’re all settled down.) 

- . . . These were distinguished from the others mainly for their having had less time in their careers to demonstrate a lack of initiative or skill, so he could have some small hope of uncovering some previously hidden talent. OH MY GOD LAURENCE the straight up savagery 

- DAD!LAURENCE!!! DAD!LAURENCE!!!!!!! (aaah it’s so interesting that when he gets a bit more stern you can definitely see sides of his father peeking out, but he deeply remains his mother’s son -- he’s acting from a place of affection, feeling of responsibility and concern for their futures, not the weird controlling shit lord allendale routinely pulls)

roland is such a teenager at this point oh my god. also laurence’s whole speech to demane about respecting her boundaries and agency... *chef kiss emoji* and ALSO demane is so sympathetic in this still because who HASN’T wanted to dangle some asshole over a cliff for being a creep to your friend/crush... they’re all good and perfect and I love them actually

- ...I’ve managed to put it out of my mind in the last few books but with the allegiance going down like that I keep remembering there were so many actual children onboard and now I feel ill

being an adult and realizing the full fuckedupedness of these things sucks haha

- 1) the description of seeing the ship sinking from underwater is hauntingly beautiful and 2) as I have said many a time before, thank god for demane

- see this is the other side of the coin of these books making you care so deeply about the characters; I know that no important characters die in this book but I am still so fucking stressed out by all of this D:D:D:

- well well well if gong su’s ludicrous competency wasn’t suspicious before it certainly is now, I guess china trains its spies well in the culinary arts haha

- I mean uh. what a way to symbolically and literally sever laurence from his former life and former self, I guess. you’d be hard pressed to do so more explosively at least

 - something extremely bad happened to granby, we can tick that off the list

- I feel like the prose and writing in general is super improved in this one? it feels sharp and purposeful in a way the last few haven’t quite been

- He hoped Riley would be mourned; Riley deserved to be mourned ahfksahsdajklhsajkfhaslkjfhsakjdfhdaslkfhakj pain :(:(:( I’m so sorry laurence and I didn’t even like the guy. I can’t believe that the first thing this madman does after trying to secure their survival as best he could is writing letters -- on dragonback!!! hands stiff from cold so he can only work in five minute increments!!! -- to make sure riley’s memory isn’t blackened how can he be like this

- emily roland is so smart and capable and amazing my heart is blooming with pride

- iridescent feathered dragons... holy shit this is awesome

temeraire has a little feather envy tho and also maila casually eavesdropping so he can chat up (literally) hot babes... I know they’re prisoners of war and everything but this is all pure unadulterated gold

- oh temeraire darling no have no fear hammond has no self respect whatsoever, that will not be what stops him

- I can’t believe laurence is actually taking time to tie himself in knots over not following perfect procedure around his officers’ future career options while they’re FUCKING MAROONED with a bunch of asshole sailors fkdfhsjdh

- GET YOUR DIRTY FUCJING HANDS OFF DEMANE OR I’LL CHOP THEM OFF FOR YOU YOU SWINE

sipho is like eleven and a nerd and ready to run at all these grown men armed just with a branch PAIN

- granby’s unending exasperation at laurence not knowing all the stuff that seems self-evident to him having grown up with dragons fksjdhfskajd

- aw laurence finally having a little dad talk with roland ;____; and demane has proposed to her repeatedly and she would agree in a moment under other circumstances ;________________; and it never even occurred to me that that’s why she was so upset about him taking on his own dragon but of course that would fuck everything up if that’s what she was planning OH NO ;_________________________________________________;

laurence confirmed for boytoy & hideously embarrassed about it flasdfsdkjhfksd 

“But I don’t want someone I want, if I can’t be sure of seeing him one week in the year” crack crack goes the sound of my heart breaking

I hope they find a way to solve this eventually :(

- really interesting what a clear view emily has of roland and laurence’s relationship tho, considering he’s basically her father figure -- like there’s clear affection, physical attraction and camaraderie there but it never feels particularly romantic & they both have other shit to do. (and laurence knows it too on some level, considering his main emotion when she refuses his proposal is relief lol. it really shows off this central conflict he has where like... he has a very clear idea of who he feels he should be and managed to convince himself he was for a long time, and what that man wants and needs (namely very little, emotionally) and is loyal to. aaaand then there’s the person he actually is, who’s been fighting his way to the surface since temeraire showed up in the very first book and sort of woke him up by giving him something he actually loves and values with all of himself and can’t compromise on. proper gentleman/navy!laurence feels like he has to do what society deems decent and marry roland to be a good person, actual!laurence seems to know that what they already have isn’t wrong or immoral in any way as long as they’re both happy with it. ugh I love him and I hope his last remaining character development includes realizing that who he really is is not only acceptable but actually a better man than that imagined perfect self ever could be and how many people love him for who he is already A N Y W A Y onwards)

- the incan dragons continue to be dope as hell

it’s super interesting how they’ve grown to value people -- and not just one special person, like british dragons, but whole groups of people -- over gold and jewels. like the tendency is there in dragons from other cultures; temeraire loves The Bling but would still easily prioritize laurence and his crew over it. presumably some of it is cultural and some of it must stem from the sheer trauma of losing so many people within a few centuries, which is basically living memory for a dragon (which makes it equal parts sympathetic/heartwarming and juuuuust on the edge of being too creepy and possessive haha).

- jeez this book is doing a good job at showing what a haunting fucking sight it must be to enter a land where like. 90% of the people are dead in plague and their cities stand abandoned

- fhasdklhfaskljfhs hammond going full diplomat on the dragons squabbling... he truly is something

and laurence apologizing to demane because he was out of line and he is a fellow captain now T_____T lord allendale could never

- haven’t had a lot to say for a while because I’m just so entranced with the world building and stuff haha, I find the irl history of this area super interesting as well

- ambassador iskierka........ what a time to be alive

poor poor poor granby hahahaha

- if these books were named harry potter style this one would be ‘william laurence and that time he tried to put off wearing his ceremonial robes for as long as humanly possible’

- granby being good at drawing but having atrocious handwriting is such a good little character detail, novik is just so expert at nonchalantly plopping them in 

- temeraire is being haunted by a green-eyed monster the size of a continent huh lol fair play to maila tho, he’s given it his sleazy all right from the start

I can’t believe gong su invented dragon ice cream solely so temeraire could eat it out of a tub over this... the real mvp

- awwww granby <3 I’m glad there’s some actual canonical queer rep in this series as well (as for the technically not stated straight(heh) out in canon... listen my friends if you can come up with any kind of heterosexual explanation for normally extremely sensible tenzing tharkay gazing at his friend and thinking shit like ‘in the fading light he was a statue gilded by sunlight’ and ‘it was a pang not unmixed with pleasure to look on him, as ever’, you are free to try to come at me with it but I won’t believe you lol. also laurence has the most potent disaster bisexual energy of any man in modern media even if he hasn’t quite caught on to it himself) 

tbh I know it’s mostly in desperation but they should come up with some new kind of medal to give granby for having this particular Talk with william laurence, one of the most awkward men to ever walk this earth... braver than any us marine etc.

- temeraire and iskierka in this scene STRONGLY evoke dirtbag teens sneaking off to make out in the backseat of a car or something god bless

- ...I guess you can’t fault the empress for siding with the dude already crashing like a natural catastrophe over his own home continent and who is eyeing the other six like a starving eagle would a pack of mice. all the europeans suck but I guess it’s sort of her best bet to ally herself with the biggest bully on the playground, especially since forces in her own court would be hard pressed to do anything about the situation. respect sister & congratulations granby lol

- hahahahahahaha leave it to hammond to be forcibly adopted by a dragon 

poor churki tho she’s a grownass adult and she only has one weird coke-addled diplomat and three basically adolescent dragons to work with here

- GRANBY SETTING SOME BOUNDARIES FINALLY I’m so proud of him ;__; this book really does have a lot to say about dragon/human relations huh

- LETHABO!!!!!!!!!!! man i’m so happy she’s doing well, she fucking deserves it and she’s doing good work

- laurence has evolved to his ultimate form of give-no-fucks-do-some-good laurence and hammond was not prepared lol 

“You forget yourself, Captain Laurence,” Hammond said . . . 

“I forget nothing,” Laurence answered . . . 

im crying b/c he literally has forgotten before but remembers himself at the end of victory of eagles b/c of tharkay and and aaaaaaaaaaaaaugh here he is refusing to do the dirty work he’s handed once more 

- lily and maximus! this is not a drill it’s the good good kids back at it again. also temeraire’s phenomenally misplaced sense of superiority re: his reaction to kulingile growing bigger than any of them fkshdfksahdfkj

- berkely <3

- poor harcourt :( ah well she’ll survive it tho he wasn’t that important it’s not like she lost her dragon lol (I honestly can’t feel that bad about riley considering y’know how he was not only chill with but actively for the institution of slavery)

- YOOOOOOO GONG SU! and temeraire is so happy they’re going back to china aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I love this (laurence’s stammering outrage at this reveal is also highly entertaining “he STAYED in my father’s HOUSE!!!!!!!”)

- man that entire last battle scene was so cool in the context of the rest of the series; the sheer effort and ingenuity that went into avoiding a bigger battle and slyly aiding the only worthy cause in the situation (the tswana and freeing the slaves) is so satisfying, especially after VoE

- holy shit I really enjoyed this one! It had a good balance of travelling/character moments and giving us time with the culture and characters of the Inca and their dragons, as well as driving the overall plot forward splendidly! I also feel like we got some more meat to the laurence POV (in hindsight it feels like it was mostly temeraire POV in tongues of serpents, which is fine but I do love our golden boy and his slow burn character development too)

on to blood of tyrants! I don’t know anything about this one except a) amnesia and b) some Very Important Lines I’ve already picked up along the way, I’m not sure I’m prepared (as a trope amnesia can be pretty hit or miss for me, so it’ll be interesting at least!)

#temeraire #meta #his majesty's dragon #yes hello I am back on my bullshit

[deana-r]

Ageless Artifacts

By deana.r

During the Second World War, the Germans had dropped bombs against Britain as an offensive, resulting in its strategic failure. The area affected by the blitz later on became a site where further historical examinations have been held. Among the debris, a vase had been found, containing several letters that have already been worn from ashes and its own aging nature. The contents of those letters however, shocked the modern world in such a cultural level, that it was eventually immortalized in museums, historical fiction, and other entertainment branches. In our modern day society, it received a higher regard than what it might have gotten during its own time. 

Note: Some portions of the artifacts were smudged. The manner of addressing were also on a first name basis, hence the sender was unidentifiable, and the receiver vague.

I.

1936 

London, England

Dear Wilson, 

I turned nine today! You're still two months older that I am, but at least we're both the same age old, even if it's just for now. How is it in Newbury? Even though I'm all the way here in London, I hope you'll come and visit again! I still have that magnifying glass that you gave me. My little sister loves to play with it. Sometimes, she even asks Emily to play with her when I'm busy with my studies. She came to visit me today, and we played while our parents chatted. Remember Emily? She came around the same time you did a few months ago. I've grown to quite like her. She's pretty and cute. She always loves to bring her dolls around, and she'd never put them down. We're boys, so we like to play with wooden airplanes! At least, that's what my father tells me. He bought me an English war plane as a birthday present. It looks just like the ones from the Great War, with its majestic blue, red and white. My uncle came around today and told his stories to Dianne and I. Apparently, he had fought as a soldier. He was very brave. I couldn't understand why the army had made him spend half of his career in a dress and high-heels. My father once told me that men like that were undeserving to be called that – "men". I wonder what it means to be a man. Do you know Wilson? It seems like I won't be seeing him in a while. I wonder where he's leaving to. I hope it won't be long. Wilson, today was the first time I saw him leave without my father bidding him a goodbye. Father never forgets to say goodbye. Now, he's just staring at him with a frown. I hope they're not fighting.

Sinserely, (sorry if it's incorrect. I'm still working on my spelling)

Dianne and I

II.

1940

London, England

Dear Wilson, 

I'm still thinking about you every day. Dianne is looking forward to those strawberry tarts that you gave us during my thirteenth birthday. I remember my father had told me I'd finally become a man that day. Also, I've heard several stories about our childhood friend, Emily. It seems she's stopped her obsession with dolls and now moved on to fencing. Strange isn't it? A woman who fences. It's just as strange as a man who likes other men. At least, that's what my father tells me. Wilson, I still don't know what it takes to become a man. Do you need to be fearless and buff? Collect a hundred types of airplane models, and wish to serve the army? Because I don't. Yet, my father demands that I join the Royal Air Force by the time I turn fifteen. Wilson, I'm afraid that I won't be the man that my father wants me to be.

With much concern, 

me

III.

1941 

London, England 

Dear Wilson, Today, my classmates called me a "Nancy Boy". I didn't know what it meant, but I figured it was because of the poems that one of the boys found in my notebook. Lately, I've been writing a lot of those. It seems to be the only way I could truly express my emotions, because it's as if no one wants to lend an ear considering that I'm a boy. But Wilson, I want to thank you for listening to me. Truly, you are my best friend. I feel quite troubled though. I sent letters to my uncle – to his prison. Do you think he received them? He hasn't replied for quite a while. I hope he isn't too lonely. I found the picture locket that he gave me a few years ago. There was a picture of himself and another man, and now I've many questions yet to be answered. Anyway, how is it in Newbury? I'm a tad worried for you, because my father told me as of late that it was only a matter of time until the Germans come again. Do you think we'll win the war? The clouds are darker than they usually are. 

Sincerest wishes, 

Your childhood friend 

IV.

1942 

Lincolnshire, England 

Dear Wilson, 

I lost the end of the bargain. I've become a soldier. I was finally able to ask my Uncle some questions, and he told me to hide. I didn't understand what he meant until my first few days. It's just as what my Uncle had told me before he went to prison. There were men cladded in women's clothing, serving as entertainment for the fighting men. It seemed as if that was all they were told to do, as if that was all they were meant to do for the war – get laughed at. I couldn't tolerate the sight. They were the men who wanted to fight, to win, to gain victory for Britain, and yet, the authorities wouldn't let them. So what if they were queer? Wilson, I didn't understand why I needed to hide, but now it seems clear. This is all a load of rubbish. A man from my flight had been made fun of by one of our soldiers, and now that he had been caught, he's bound to serve the army the way he never expected, nor wanted. Why must they assume that a man's sexuality determines their bravery on the battlefield? I know for a solid fact that I don't deserve to be treated this unfairly, to only be imprisoned right after like my uncle, who had risked his life in the first war along with all the other fighting men. The law is terrible. 

Wilson, I've been a coward, but please abide by this request. Hide my letters in a place where no one would dare look – hide them somewhere safe. If anyone were to discover my writings, only God knows what they'll do to me next. I do not wish to stop writing to you, and I do miss you painfully, but this may be my last letter. There are still many things I have yet to say to you, but at a time in the skies, it's either fall of fly. If I live by the last dire moment, I promise I'll tell you the truth. If I don't, well, pray that I do. I can't say my final goodbye without seeing your face one last time.

With much hope, 

my life. 

Note: it was later on discovered that remnants of the letters have been found inside a burnt suitcase. The location was several miles west from the blitz, where a train had been bombed as well, resulting in the death of all passengers. Traces identified that the letters were connected with the ones prior, despite the Artifacts' critically damaged state.

V.

1942

Lincolnshire, England 

Dear Wilson, 

I miss the old days when you, Emily and I would run through the willow swept bridges above the river – our reflections, we used to smile at. Dianne misses it too. I... miss you too. Wilson, I know this might sound like it came out of the blue, but is it true? I heard that you're getting engaged with Emily, and that the both of you shall be wed by the time you turn eighteen. Do you love her? Wilson, there's still some things that I am unsure of, but by the time I've fit the puzzles in my head, please don't slip away from me yet. How do I explain? I suppose, I've never really liked airplanes. I've only liked being with you, and if you liked airplanes, I wanted to also do the same. How do I explain this feeling? It's quite difficult to comprehend. Whatever it is, I'm sure my father won't tolerate it. He may even hate me for it. I hope you won't. Dare I say, I hope you feel otherwise, the way I so passionately feel for you. Forgive me Wilson, but I- (the following words were smudged). 

Truthfully, 

Your Best friend

VI.

1943

Lincolnshire, England 

Wilson, 

Please, please reply to me as soon as you can. I must know that you are safe. I hear Newbury had been bombed from the skies – the Germans really did come again. Please Wilson, if you had passed first before me, I'd never feel deserving to live. Please, Wilson. Please give me another chance to see you. Didn't I promise that I'd return? I can't be too late. Wilson, I wished I could have told you everything from the beginning. Although we've known each other since we were children, I can't bear the notion that this is it. I'm so sorry that I was too late.

VII.

1943

Lincolnshire, England

Dear Wilson,

I heard your family was able to escape. Once you've received this letter, maybe the rest might have been burnt to dust. Maybe that would have been for the best, but Wilson, always keep this secret close to your heart. My uncle... he had told me to hide who I am, because we are - (the following words were incoherent), but we're also very beautiful people, Wilson. I know this to be true because my Uncle has always been kind, but many people can't understand what's there, because they only judge from so far. Remember the magnifying glass that you gave me? I wished so badly that they'd have those for eyes. There was this soldier who called me a "fruitcake", but I know he didn't mean anything sweet. I've been used for a year, Wilson, and I'm very tired of it. I'm tired of being thought of as weak, and I'm tired of waiting for the war to end, knowing that our very own British soldiers were going to persecute us by that time comes. The next time you see me, I don't want to be sleeping behind cold metal bars. I want to be with you and Emily, someplace safe and happy. Will you promise me that you'll do just that? Will you promise me you'll live happily? It's just like the airplanes. I won't until you'll be. 

Sincerely, 

R. C. 

VIII.

1945

Newport, England

Dear Wilson, 

I'm spending my birthday alone, and it only reminds me of how much I miss you. I still hold my uncle's picture locket dearly, and although his stories depicted sorrows until his last breath, I truly believe that his ghost was delivered happily to heaven. Just like him Wilson, I long for the day we find that happiness. That's all I've ever wanted. As long as I am able to stay by you, Emily and Dianne, there isn't anything else that I could ever ask for. Dianne, my beloved sister... I miss her, Wilson. I really do. I wish I could be there for her in London, but I cannot return home. Ever since I ran away from the station in Lincolnshire, I promised myself that I wouldn't ever look back. The skies are clearing though. Maybe my mind will too. My father said I was an abomination, and that I should have sacrificed my life in the skies like a noble man, but I know for sure that God loves me, and that it wasn't his plan. Because now, I've found a reason why I continue to live. The war is going to end soon, and by that time comes, I would have already ended my own. Thank you for everything. You know Wilson, there are many things that I find beautiful in this world. The way the sun glistens through ash-stained clouds, the way grass shines silver linings after a storm has gone, or the way your laughter sends earthquakes in my heart — you might think I jest, but it is true. I don't know when, but I know we'll meet again. Take care on that train Wilson, and take care of the child in Emily's womb. I wish you the best of all God's blessings, and I constantly pray for your safe arrival. 

Adieu Wilson. 

Yours forever, 

I love you

(P.S. I'm sorry I never told you) 

Note: after the bombing of the train, further examination has shown that the burnt suitcase in which the last four letters were found in, contained a photograph placed in between the pages of the owner's notebook. The face was slightly blurry, but seemed to be faintly smiling. The background was faded, yet it gave a bright memoir. The young man in the photo looked like an apparition from a far distance, but he still looked vividly alive. It was assumed that the subject in the photo was the unknown sender, the one Wilson had treasured the most. 

#ww2 #short story #commentbelow #lgbtq #history

[kristinsimmons]

The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy

By e-PATIENT DAVE DEBRONKART

Caution: This post is not a prediction. It’s just a tutorial about the concept of herd immunity, with an eye to why it’s probably not an approach the US wants to take in solving the complex problems we’ve gotten ourselves into with COVID-19.

Click this graphic to go see a six second animation of these images, created in 2017 by Reddit user TheOtherEdmund. You many need to watch a few times. Get a feel for the differences in what happens in the different blocks, and come back to discuss:

This weekend I’ve labored to understand this concept, which first came to my ears regarding coronavirus in March, when British prime minister Boris Johnson proposed it as a possible approach for Britain to take: let the virus take its course, and they’d end up with “herd immunity,” and that would be the end of that.

In my unsophisticated knowledge “herd immunity” meant “you let the weak cows die, and the rest of the herd will be fine.” And in fact in April a Tennessee protestor held up a sign saying “Sacrifice the Weak – Reopen TN.” (It’s not clear whether the sign was mocking or real (Snopes), but it illustrates the point.)

But it turns out there’s a lot more to the concept than just “sacrifice the weak.” There’s a specific way herd immunity works – and it does work for things like measles and mumps and polio, via vaccines. But in the absence of a vaccine, it’s an absolute disaster.

Here’s why. Here’s a snapshot from the start of the animation.

Each blue dot is a healthy uninfected person – you.

Each yellow dot is someone who’s immune – “can’t touch this,” if you’re into MC Hammer.

Each red line is where someone uninfected crossed paths with an infected person and got infected.

Notice: the more people get vaccinated, the fewer red lines happen. Vaccines prevent infection – who knew??

As time goes by (in the animation and during an epidemic), here’s what it looks like a while later.

If nobody is vaccinated, the disease spreads pretty rapidly; as more of the population is vaccinated (more yellow dots), the frequency of new red lines drops dramatically.

The explosion of infections among the unprotected is exactly what happened before vaccines. Epidemics were rampant and unstoppable.

And here’s what it’s like at the end of this animation (though in real life it doesn’t stop):

See how around 90% in this example there are nearly no infection connections – few red lines? For any given disease situation, this point is called the herd immunity threshold. When you get to this many yellow dots, it’s manageable. Hospitals aren’t overwhelmed, and you can do contact tracing, as South Korea and others do: you can hunt down every single remaining case and find out everyone they contacted. In other words, you can find and protect the blue uninfected dots … and you can stamp out the disease.

Of course there are a zillion variables that change the speed: how contagious is it? (Each mumps patient infects 10-12 others; each polio patient infects 5-6 others, etc. This is what’s called the “R” number.) How tightly packed is the population? (It’s believed that New York’s crammed subway system was a major factor in the early explosion.) Etc.

Regardless of the variables, that’s the basic concept. (For coronavirus the R number is around 3, and the herd immunity threshold is tentatively believed to be somewhere around 60%.)

But here’s the problem:

We ain’t got no vaccines.

So we’re stuck at “0% vaccinated.”

That’s why, everyplace the virus shows up, it spreads. It surprises everyone, because at first it’s slow, because infected people are invisible for days or weeks (which is why forehead thermometers are dumb), so it’s spreading silently. Then BOOM, a certain percentage get sick. And by that time it’s spread all over the place.

It’s not unlike a wildfire that spreads underground. By the time it erupts, you’ve got a widespread problem on your hands. And the longer you take to notice it and start fighting, the bigger a problem it has become. Which is exactly what happened in the US. (Nobody disputes this; the only argument is whom to blame, but that won’t save your life or mine.)

The other approach: get infected and survive.

Here’s where we get to the COVID-19 version of the story.

There’s another way for a herd to be immune, aside from vaccines: have a lot of critters get sick. Some die, and the rest develop antibodies.

This doesn’t always work – we don’t know yet whether COVID-19 survivors are immune, because the disease is too new. Plus, it’s just a new coronavirus (“novel,” as they say); other coronaviruses cause the common cold, which people get year after year – there’s no immunity and no vaccine. (If you’re thinking “Yikes!!”, that’s appropriate.) But no cold virus has ever been fatal before, so we didn’t have much motivation to solve it.

There have been two killer coronaviruses: (Thanks to Bill Reenstra for pointing to these, which I’d overlooked in the original post.)

SARS-COV-1 infected only 8,000 people, killing 774 (about 10%), and was contained in 7½ months.

MERS has never stopped but is rare. Since arising in 2012 it’s infected 2,519 people, killing 35% of them (866 deaths so far).

Of course we hope the urgency, extreme spread, and enormous death count of COVID-19 will motivate immense investments to achieve new things.

Update next day: But while I was working on this post, CNN Health posted an informative article, What happens if a coronavirus vaccine is never developed? It’s happened before. It quotes British Covid-19 expert Dr David Nabarro: “It’s absolutely essential that all societies everywhere get themselves into a position where they are able to defend against the coronavirus as a constant threat, and to be able to go about social life and economic activity with the virus in our midst.” 

In any case, instead of each of these diagrams being labeled “vaccinated,” our reality today is that each yellow dot doesn’t mean “vaccinated,” it means “got infected & survived”:

Ha ha look how funny – this particular image shows herd immunity kicking in after 75% of the population has gotten infected. In the USA that would be 75% of 328 million is 246 million infected people. Ha! Ha!

That includes 75% of everyone you know getting infected. Including, probably, you! Ha! Ha!

And since our best estimate is that 0.5% to 1% of all infections for this virus die, that would be anywhere from 1.23 million to 2.46 million deaths. What a laugh riot!

(Again, these are not exact numbers; they’re just to convey the principle. But they are in the right ballpark.) (And by the way, in these diagrams, each dot represents around 400,000 Americans.)

A herd immunity policy without vaccines is mass murder. And worse.

It’s not just mass murder; it’s a whole lot of very sick people. A friend had the virus and had a fever of 103 for ten days. She was suffering, and of course with this damn virus there’s the always-present fear: “Will I be one of those who suddenly goes downhill fast and dies?” Think about living that way for a couple weeks or more – both you and your family.

Whoever cares for those very sick people – a relative or a professional – is vulnerable to getting sick, too. More than 200 doctors and nurses had died by April 10 – and last week the stress caused two different New York professionals to commit suicide: a top ER doc and a newly minted EMT, months out of training. And Peter Elias MD wrote on Facebook, “The data I have seen is in the range of 1 in 10 to 1 in 5 household members or caregivers.”

Imagine all that if we have half the population infected.

Your only way out: Avoid contact! Wear masks! Wash your damn hands!

We will, someday, have vaccines or at least treatments. (Either that or the world is ending.) Remember, all those diagrams in the animation have variables, and a big one for this virus is how often people bump into each other – literally or figuratively.

Another big variable, when they do cross paths, is whether the virus passes between them and enters the other one’s body. That’s where distancing, masks, and hand washing come in. They are our only defense right now – but they work.

Avoid getting or spraying the virus. Either you or the other guy may be the sprayer – there’s no way to know. Just be responsible. And every time you come home from outside, wash your hands for “two happy birthdays.” The soap bubbles break open the little virus cases, and poof, they lose their power. Just with soap!

You are not powerless against this bugger. You just gotta do it and keep doing it. Maybe for a year or two. Just avoid being either end of a red-line infection connection.

The more we slow down that animation, the better the chance the geniuses will invent effective medicines before that red line knocks on your door.

Be responsible in your community. Stop the spread, and spread the word: Tell people “It’s not just me. I don’t wanna kill a nurse.”

And if anyone suggests herd immunity, pleaseshow them this. I’ve had smart scientific people check it, and this is true. Herd immunity is fine with vaccines. We ain’t got one.

Additional resources

Here’s Why Herd Immunity Won’t Save Us From The COVID-19 Pandemic – a good, concise, clear and accurate article on ScienceAlert

What the Proponents of ‘Natural’ Herd Immunity Don’t Say (NYTimes)

A 2014 Nova piece on herd immunity

For the nerdy, a surprisingly readable economics policy paper from April 24 discussing different ways to look at the overall COVID-19 problem, including herd immunity as one option. (47 page PDF, but really understandable … if you skip the stuff that’s hard to understand.)

e-Patient Dave deBronkart is a cancer survivor, noted for his activist work in promoting access to health care data. This article originally appeared on his blog here.

The post The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

[lauramalchowblog]

The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy

By e-PATIENT DAVE DEBRONKART

Caution: This post is not a prediction. It’s just a tutorial about the concept of herd immunity, with an eye to why it’s probably not an approach the US wants to take in solving the complex problems we’ve gotten ourselves into with COVID-19.

Click this graphic to go see a six second animation of these images, created in 2017 by Reddit user TheOtherEdmund. You many need to watch a few times. Get a feel for the differences in what happens in the different blocks, and come back to discuss:

This weekend I’ve labored to understand this concept, which first came to my ears regarding coronavirus in March, when British prime minister Boris Johnson proposed it as a possible approach for Britain to take: let the virus take its course, and they’d end up with “herd immunity,” and that would be the end of that.

In my unsophisticated knowledge “herd immunity” meant “you let the weak cows die, and the rest of the herd will be fine.” And in fact in April a Tennessee protestor held up a sign saying “Sacrifice the Weak – Reopen TN.” (It’s not clear whether the sign was mocking or real (Snopes), but it illustrates the point.)

But it turns out there’s a lot more to the concept than just “sacrifice the weak.” There’s a specific way herd immunity works – and it does work for things like measles and mumps and polio, via vaccines. But in the absence of a vaccine, it’s an absolute disaster.

Here’s why. Here’s a snapshot from the start of the animation.

Each blue dot is a healthy uninfected person – you.

Each yellow dot is someone who’s immune – “can’t touch this,” if you’re into MC Hammer.

Each red line is where someone uninfected crossed paths with an infected person and got infected.

Notice: the more people get vaccinated, the fewer red lines happen. Vaccines prevent infection – who knew??

As time goes by (in the animation and during an epidemic), here’s what it looks like a while later.

If nobody is vaccinated, the disease spreads pretty rapidly; as more of the population is vaccinated (more yellow dots), the frequency of new red lines drops dramatically.

The explosion of infections among the unprotected is exactly what happened before vaccines. Epidemics were rampant and unstoppable.

And here’s what it’s like at the end of this animation (though in real life it doesn’t stop):

See how around 90% in this example there are nearly no infection connections – few red lines? For any given disease situation, this point is called the herd immunity threshold. When you get to this many yellow dots, it’s manageable. Hospitals aren’t overwhelmed, and you can do contact tracing, as South Korea and others do: you can hunt down every single remaining case and find out everyone they contacted. In other words, you can find and protect the blue uninfected dots … and you can stamp out the disease.

Of course there are a zillion variables that change the speed: how contagious is it? (Each mumps patient infects 10-12 others; each polio patient infects 5-6 others, etc. This is what’s called the “R” number.) How tightly packed is the population? (It’s believed that New York’s crammed subway system was a major factor in the early explosion.) Etc.

Regardless of the variables, that’s the basic concept. (For coronavirus the R number is around 3, and the herd immunity threshold is tentatively believed to be somewhere around 60%.)

But here’s the problem:

We ain’t got no vaccines.

So we’re stuck at “0% vaccinated.”

That’s why, everyplace the virus shows up, it spreads. It surprises everyone, because at first it’s slow, because infected people are invisible for days or weeks (which is why forehead thermometers are dumb), so it’s spreading silently. Then BOOM, a certain percentage get sick. And by that time it’s spread all over the place.

It’s not unlike a wildfire that spreads underground. By the time it erupts, you’ve got a widespread problem on your hands. And the longer you take to notice it and start fighting, the bigger a problem it has become. Which is exactly what happened in the US. (Nobody disputes this; the only argument is whom to blame, but that won’t save your life or mine.)

The other approach: get infected and survive.

Here’s where we get to the COVID-19 version of the story.

There’s another way for a herd to be immune, aside from vaccines: have a lot of critters get sick. Some die, and the rest develop antibodies.

This doesn’t always work – we don’t know yet whether COVID-19 survivors are immune, because the disease is too new. Plus, it’s just a new coronavirus (“novel,” as they say); other coronaviruses cause the common cold, which people get year after year – there’s no immunity and no vaccine. (If you’re thinking “Yikes!!”, that’s appropriate.) But no cold virus has ever been fatal before, so we didn’t have much motivation to solve it.

There have been two killer coronaviruses: (Thanks to Bill Reenstra for pointing to these, which I’d overlooked in the original post.)

SARS-COV-1 infected only 8,000 people, killing 774 (about 10%), and was contained in 7½ months.

MERS has never stopped but is rare. Since arising in 2012 it’s infected 2,519 people, killing 35% of them (866 deaths so far).

Of course we hope the urgency, extreme spread, and enormous death count of COVID-19 will motivate immense investments to achieve new things.

Update next day: But while I was working on this post, CNN Health posted an informative article, What happens if a coronavirus vaccine is never developed? It’s happened before. It quotes British Covid-19 expert Dr David Nabarro: “It’s absolutely essential that all societies everywhere get themselves into a position where they are able to defend against the coronavirus as a constant threat, and to be able to go about social life and economic activity with the virus in our midst.” 

In any case, instead of each of these diagrams being labeled “vaccinated,” our reality today is that each yellow dot doesn’t mean “vaccinated,” it means “got infected & survived”:

Ha ha look how funny – this particular image shows herd immunity kicking in after 75% of the population has gotten infected. In the USA that would be 75% of 328 million is 246 million infected people. Ha! Ha!

That includes 75% of everyone you know getting infected. Including, probably, you! Ha! Ha!

And since our best estimate is that 0.5% to 1% of all infections for this virus die, that would be anywhere from 1.23 million to 2.46 million deaths. What a laugh riot!

(Again, these are not exact numbers; they’re just to convey the principle. But they are in the right ballpark.) (And by the way, in these diagrams, each dot represents around 400,000 Americans.)

A herd immunity policy without vaccines is mass murder. And worse.

It’s not just mass murder; it’s a whole lot of very sick people. A friend had the virus and had a fever of 103 for ten days. She was suffering, and of course with this damn virus there’s the always-present fear: “Will I be one of those who suddenly goes downhill fast and dies?” Think about living that way for a couple weeks or more – both you and your family.

Whoever cares for those very sick people – a relative or a professional – is vulnerable to getting sick, too. More than 200 doctors and nurses had died by April 10 – and last week the stress caused two different New York professionals to commit suicide: a top ER doc and a newly minted EMT, months out of training. And Peter Elias MD wrote on Facebook, “The data I have seen is in the range of 1 in 10 to 1 in 5 household members or caregivers.”

Imagine all that if we have half the population infected.

Your only way out: Avoid contact! Wear masks! Wash your damn hands!

We will, someday, have vaccines or at least treatments. (Either that or the world is ending.) Remember, all those diagrams in the animation have variables, and a big one for this virus is how often people bump into each other – literally or figuratively.

Another big variable, when they do cross paths, is whether the virus passes between them and enters the other one’s body. That’s where distancing, masks, and hand washing come in. They are our only defense right now – but they work.

Avoid getting or spraying the virus. Either you or the other guy may be the sprayer – there’s no way to know. Just be responsible. And every time you come home from outside, wash your hands for “two happy birthdays.” The soap bubbles break open the little virus cases, and poof, they lose their power. Just with soap!

You are not powerless against this bugger. You just gotta do it and keep doing it. Maybe for a year or two. Just avoid being either end of a red-line infection connection.

The more we slow down that animation, the better the chance the geniuses will invent effective medicines before that red line knocks on your door.

Be responsible in your community. Stop the spread, and spread the word: Tell people “It’s not just me. I don’t wanna kill a nurse.”

And if anyone suggests herd immunity, pleaseshow them this. I’ve had smart scientific people check it, and this is true. Herd immunity is fine with vaccines. We ain’t got one.

Additional resources

Here’s Why Herd Immunity Won’t Save Us From The COVID-19 Pandemic – a good, concise, clear and accurate article on ScienceAlert

What the Proponents of ‘Natural’ Herd Immunity Don’t Say (NYTimes)

A 2014 Nova piece on herd immunity

For the nerdy, a surprisingly readable economics policy paper from April 24 discussing different ways to look at the overall COVID-19 problem, including herd immunity as one option. (47 page PDF, but really understandable … if you skip the stuff that’s hard to understand.)

e-Patient Dave deBronkart is a cancer survivor, noted for his activist work in promoting access to health care data. This article originally appeared on his blog here.

The post The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

[swords-of-truth-blog]

Another Man - TNP interview 2017

Up there with the best interviews with TNPS I’ve read, some real insight into their process and mentality, espcially the stuff about them slowing down Aphex Twin songs as kids. (Typed up from the Another Man article earlier in the year...)

WITH A FOURTH THESE NEW PURITANS ALBUM NEARING COMPLETION, THE Barnett TWINS ARE AS UNCOMPROMISING AS EVER

TEXY Paul Moody

These New Puritans would like to get a few things off their chest. First, despite being perennially pegged as part of pop’s privately-educated elite, they are in fact proud sons of Essex whose family tree boats more colourful characters than an episode of Who Do You Think You Are? Secondly, despite internet rumours to the contrary, their debut album Beat Pyramid  was not inspired by a Belgian techno outfit in thrall to the mysterious Father Abraham.    “Our Wikipedia page says that the biggest influence on our first record was The Smurfs,” Jack Barnett sighs, nursing nothing stronger than a glass of water in an East End bar. “Because of that, 75 per cent of all the interviews we do mention it. I did have that album, and it is good, but y’know…”  Barnett’s exasperation at the limitations imposed on his imaginative scope are understandable. Over the last decade, his band – now reduced to a core of Jack Barnett and twin brother George – have blazed, like Halley’s Comet, across the skies of the British music scene.    Brilliant and bonkers in equal measure, their three studio albums – 2008’s Beat Pyramid, 2010’s Hidden and 2012’s Field of Reeds – have established These New Puritans as genuine eccentrics whose next move cannot be predicted (Barnett told interviewers at the time of Field of Reeds that the follow up would be “Disney Pop”, sung by an East European vocalist. While this is unlikely, you still wouldn’t bet against it.)    Incorporating seemingly random elements ranging from children’s voices to factory noise; Jamaican dance hall to the deepest voice in Britain; a harrier hawk taking flight to the sound of a human skull being smashed (achieved using a Foley technique involving striking a hammer against a melon covered in cream crackers), their ever-changing collision of art rock, electronica, classical and sound collage has seen them move at breath-taking speed. It’s little wonder that some less enlightened observers have been left simply gazing in awe.    Signed to Infectious (and Domino outside the UK), they have built a loyal global fan base with an influence far beyond the quick-fix of chart success. In 2007 fashion designer Hedi Slimane commissioned the 15-minute piece Navigate, Navigate for a Dior show in Paris, while celebrity admirers include Suede, who asked them to support at the Royal Albert Hall in 2010, and Elton John, who praised the lush arrangements of Field of Reeds. In April 2014 they inverted the hoary notion of the ‘live album’ by performing songs from their entire back catalogue at the Barbican with the aid of a 35-piece orchestra (captured on the 2015 album Expanded).    “I never liked the idea of there being two paths,” says Jack, looking back over their career to date. “There’s one where you can be successful, and the other where you can be experimental. The art is combining the two. The irony is that, in my head, I always think we’re making pop music. It’s only when I look at the reality of pop that I see it’s really banal.”    Barnett’s own reputation as a composer has also grown exponentially. In 2015 he was musical director of a stage production of Aldous Huxley’s 1932 dystopian novel Brave New World. Set in the modern day, this involved writing short pieces to mirror – among other things – the sound of someone perusing their Facebook wall. “Jack’s music always has extraordinary range: there is so much in the way of colour, texture and variety to it,” says Jame Dacre, the show’s artistic director. “As a composer he combines an innate and passionate understanding of storytelling with an astonishing musical range and technical rigour.”    For Barnett, it was exactly the kind of challenge he thrives on: both cerebral and sonically challenging. To create the effect of Soma – the euphoric narcotic on which Huxley’s population is hooked – he used an obscure digital technique called Harmor resynthesis; for the slogans used by the World State, a barrage of hyper-oscillating noise. “At that time a lot of people were writing about dystopias, but they imagined violence and repression being the thing that oppressed people rather than banal pleasures,” he says, still fascinated by the subject. “It’s exactly those psychological weaknesses that oppress people now. We’re constantly presented with mediocre luxury – like being in business class in a plane rather than economy. In real terms, there’s almost no difference – an Amazonian tribesman wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. It makes you think, is that really all people aspire to?”    If These New Puritans are unlike any other band, they are also completely unlike each other. Pale and intense, Jack chooses his words with the care of a Scrabble grandmaster. Resident in Berlin since 2014, he’s a committed Europhile, citing 19th-century Russian novelist Nikolai Gogol and Lithuanian filmmaker Sarunas Bartas as current inspirations. George – the older twin by a minute – is positively cavalier in comparison. A highly successful model who has fronted campaigns for Burberry, Valentino and Lanvin among others, you sense that, as well as playing drums and contributing lyrics, he acts as a vital sounding board for his brother’s more extravagant flights of fancy.    “We just pursue the music,” he says, explaining that his regular EasyJet trips to Berlin from his London home are as much about mapping TNP’s direction as their sound. “We have similar beliefs about things. It’s been like that since we were kids.”    For These New Puritans, home is where the art is. Brough up by their mum (an art teacher) and dad (a builder) in Leigh-on-Sea in Essex, their maverick approach mirrors that of the town itself – local alumni include musician Vivian Stanshall, Helen Mirren and novelist John Fowles.    Growing up, music was never far away. “Our mum was good friends with Wilko Johnson and (Dr Feelgood vocalist) Lee Brilleaux, so we would knock about with his kids,” Jack explains. “And our dad was a huge reggae fan,” George adds dryly. “He was into Steel Pulse, smoking weed, and being the only white guy there.” Their musical awakening came seeing Sparks and Captain Beefheart on re-runs of The Old Grey Whistle Test. By eight, the twins were already writing songs, with their roles clearly defined – Jack on guitar and George on drums. “I used to listen to The Velvet Underground when I was ten,” Jack says of their advanced progress. “But I never once thought about the words or what they meant. They weren’t important to me – it was all about the sound.”    As teenagers the pair would hole up in the loft, slowing down Aphex Twin tracks to quarter speed to figure out how they were created. However, drawn towards the thriving post-punk scene centred around Southend’s Junk Club, they were soon playing gigs of their own, confusing audiences around the country with their ever-evolving sound. “Our music was changing so quickly,” Jack says with a grin. “A promoter would book us three months in advance to play at some indie club. By the time we turned up we wouldn’t be playing any of the songs they wanted to hear. Instead it would be the noisiest music you can imagine.”    “People have this idea we’re from an indie background because we used guitars on (debut album) Beat Pyramid,” George adds. “If anything, that’s the exception. We’ve always been into electronic music.”    The band’s eureka moment came in 2010’s Hidden. A complete volte-face, it combined a glacial sonic assault with word-salad couplets such as Three Thousand’s “Wear fun death-suit / Tropical design / Blade grammar to the death / Everybody run.” Voted NME’s Album of the Year, it cast them as sonic adventurers in the mould of Sigur Rós and Radiohead, a reputation bolstered by 2013’s stunning Field of Reeds. A combination of lush symphonics and woozy electronica, it nodded to everyone from (fellow Essex natives) Talk Talk to conductors André de Ridder and Hans Ek *, positioning them firmly as a neo-classical outfit.    So where will these shape-shifting pop chameleons go next? After two years in Jack’s Berlin studio, their new album is, he says, “7t per cent finished”. While they admit to absorbing ideas from everyone from Stockhausen to electronic label Tri Angle Records – notably Rabit – they’re deliberately vague on details. One thing is for certain, however: it won’t be their ‘Berlin album’. “I hate that idea,” Jack says, recoiling at the thought. “The new album sounds like us. I can’t think of any other way of describing it.”    I can, however, say that the drumming is brilliant,” George adds. He explains that the music they’re working on is both “brutal and beautiful”, with a central theme of “transcendence”. “We’ve got this phrase: don’t dream backwards, dream forwards,” he says. “I think that sums up the way we’re thinking. Look to the future, not the past.”    They both stress that this aim is only achievable without the digital trickery of compression, reverb and distortion. “In the 60s and 70s they were trying to get as hi-fidelity as they could,” says Jack with an air of exasperation. “Why hang on to something that is pre-existing? It’s much more interesting to go forwards and make something clear and pristine.” **    This seems as good a place as any to leave them. In a world increasingly dominated by brazen self-promotion, These New Puritans’ refusal to talk themselves up is a breath of fresh air. At 27, you get the sense that the remarkable Barnett brothers are only getting started on their journeys through sound.    “I have always seen the role of the artist as transporting the listener away from grim reality,” says Jack in conclusion. “There are ways out. That’s music to me. We don’t want to change to have success. If anything, I like the idea of the world changing around us.”

* = André de Ridder was conductor on Field of Reeds but Hans Ek is in fact an arranger ** = The author has perhaps misconstrued something Jack and George have said in many earlier interviews, that in the 1950’s producers aimed for sonic perfection, but by the 1960’s and 1970’s they wanted distortion, which TNP don’t like.

#These New Puritans #experimental #artrock #art rock #Brave New World #Berlin #Essex #Aphex Twin #Talk Talk #Another Man

[genesischi]

Um, hi. I hope you don't mind me asking if you have any suggestions on how I should deal with my new college's enablement services? For the course interview,I explained I have diagnosed mental health issues, and was in the process of being assessed for autism as an adult (I should have the final diagnosis before/after) starting the course in August. I disclosed to explain my circumstances -- and because my GP advised me to... But I don't really know what they expect me to ask for? (1)

2) I went through a 3year BA degree with no accommodations *before I had a breakdown* inmy honours year. Don’t get me wrong - I found lectures pointless (Idon’t process audio information very well). Exams were nightmares,every little noise, footsteps of invigilators… And now I make itclear that I was disclosing to explain my circumstances - how do Iaccept help? It took me years to go to a dr for my mental healthissues. From your blog, it seems as if you have personal experience…

I’m really reallyglad you asked me! I don’t mind at all. I panicked a little atfirst since I had no idea how to answer, but after calming down frominitial communication shock I realised that while my experience is ofcourse individual and the solutions I have found won’t necessarilywork for you, I can always make suggestions.

Disclaimer: All thisinformation is based on current British law, any other countries willrequire checking the laws there.

So I can’t promisethis will be helpful, and always feel free to ask follow-upquestions, but I’ll certainly do my best and try.

Okay, so first thingsfirst, how to deal with the enablement services? What problems areyou having: do you not know what to say to them? Do they not listento you? Are their suggestions not helpful? Are they overfull and notable to make time for you? Are there funding problems? I can’treally help without knowing what the problems are.

For lectures (notknowing anything about what you may have already tried, or what typeof course you do or the teaching style where you go) I would suggestperhaps having a audio recorder with a speech-to-text software so youcould upload it and read it later, however this is very expensive andrequires a sufficiently powerful computer or laptop, so depends onwhat funding you have. Otherwise, and far cheaper, would be to askyour teachers for their lecture notes, class plans and curriculum,and if your lessons have presentations to obtain copies - I knowthese are very generic but I’ll cover the basics since I don’tknow the specifics here.

There are lots of studyTumblr blogs that could probably advise better on how to take notesin way you find easy to follow, but I can’t really help there,since I don’t take notes EVER. I either pay attention and learn bylistening and talking in class (though I don’t process well withaudio alone either, I need visual and audio to line up), or I couldtake notes and actually learn nothing.

The solutions I foundfor exams were to ask for separate invigilation, which does notrequire much funding as they are either teachers and it’s part oftheir contract, or they’re volunteers/parents who are doing a gooddeed.

The problem with thiscan be limited amount of rooms available when you need them,depending on where you are, some places have excess rooms. However,if you think this would help you and rooms are scarce, this shouldcome under what in England and Wales is called “ReasonableAdjustment”, which means legally under the United Kingdom EqualityAct 2010 organisations, employers and services have to supplyreasonable adjustments to anyone meeting one or more of the“Protected Characteristics” (e.g. disability, age, gender, etc).So in this example they cannot deny you based on rooms, in that casein Britain there would be a case for discrimination.

Separate invigilationgave me a room on my own, with two invigilators, one for the student,one for the paper (in case you need to leave to go to the toilet orsomething like that, they can’t leave the paper alone so you needtwo). From my experience they don’t patrol around, they just sitand look bored, so that removes the feeling watched aspect. We alsonegotiated that they would never be behind me, only ever in my lineof sight since it makes me nervous when people stand behind me. Youmay also be able to ask to be in a certain position (whatever is toyour liking) near the doors or windows, or specifically ask to be ina room with/without certain electronics (e.g. fluorescent or buzzinglights/fans).

I get separateinvigilation as it means I don’t disturb other people taking theexams when I leave early, another clause that I require. Depending onthe exam length, and the place I was taking the exam there weredifferent rules, some I could leave the room but not the building,but that the paper could be removed and I be allowed to sit and chatwith the invigilator, and some allowed me to completely leave and gohome.

I know this is unusualto finish earlier rather than later, but I’m usually finishedwithin a third or two thirds of the time given, and I really can’thandle sitting in silence doing nothing between 30 mins and twohours. The silence and lack of activity allows anxiety and intrusivethoughts and other bad things to happen.

One of the things thatwas discussed but ultimately ruled out for me in exams was to allowme previously-approved music. If I remember correctly it was decidednothing with words could be allowed as it could in some way be usedto cheat, but instrumental pieces or relaxing sounds like whale musicor the wind or rain - this is something you could discuss if it mighthelp you.

A more common one butone that still had to be negotiated was the use of a “wordprocessor” aka a computer/laptop, since I struggled with orderingmy thoughts, and if I needed to edit on paper it would look verymessy and waste a lot of time, where with a laptop it’s much easierto edit and move text around to insert or change things.

Now, having reread yourquestion I was less sure I understood it, but thought I’d keep theabove information in case I’d interpreted it correctly there.

If you actually meanthow do you get the mindset of accepting help that is given ratherthan just proudly refusing it, then I may still be able to help, butit’s a rather personal answer yet again.

I’d say the trick tolearning to accept help, is to realise that you’re human, you’renot innately capable of everything. But also the more important bitis to remember that those who created all these rules and systemswere also humans, and they got it wrong, they created a structurethat doesn’t work for a huge percentage of the population who gothrough it. Some may fake it better than others, but I know thateveryone struggles at some point.

So, in summary what youneed to figure out is what are struggling with (the hardest part),what support could actually help you, and finally what is actuallypossible/legal/within the rules.

I find that mindmappingon my worst days is the best way to figure out what is causing theproblems, I then needed to filter out home/personal issues andfinetune my observations to what was relevant to my educationprovider. From there, you need to discuss (withfriends/family/supporters) or think about what can be done for thedifficulties you have identified. And then, take this to yourenablement service for further discussion.

Be prepared forrejection of some ideas due to funding and/or plausibility, and awarethis may take months of sessions to arrange to your liking. You mayhave to compromise.

I think that’s allI’ve got to say, but I’m happy to help more and talk privately ifyou wish.

#education #university #college #protected characteristics #Equality Act 2010 #school refusal #school phobia #problems with exams #problems with lectures #struggling at school #breakdown #mental breakdown #mental illness #autism #coping with mental illness #coping with autism #coping with mental illness at university #coping with mental illness at college

[tally-my-words]

Another pairing meme...

1. Rate the ship:

NOTP/ Never considered it / good / cute / sexy / OTP

2. List some of the couple’s annoying habits that irritate their friends.

Completely ridiculous tendency to let the other get their way when there should be one soul on the planet who says ‘no’ first. There is one, her name is Mercy. 

They go through cycles of communicating everything but something will then sneak past the ‘We should have talked about this’ because they try and assume they’re all good.

3. What do you consider to be ‘their song’; quote the lyric you think relates most to them.

“And, love, if your wings are broken Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too” Rachel Platten, Stand by Me 

4. Do either of them have any secret kinks they’re too embarrassed to share?

With each other? Not really. There are intimacies they don’t share easily. Adam likes having a scary werewolf boyfriend putty in hands. Ben likes being the scary werewolf boyfriend who turns to putty. They occasionally share partners so kinks are sort of part for parcel. Intimacies.are a bigger deal. Including rugby and nightmares about infinity.

 Adam’s tattoo...  בִּנְיָמִין זְאֵב יִטְרָף, בַּבֹּקֶר יֹאכַל עַד; וְלָעֶרֶב, יְחַלֵּק שָׁלָל

5. How often do they have sex?

When it works for their schedule. They work a lot. They’re more worried about sleeping together than sex. Probably more nights that not. 

6. Describe how they’d react in the following situation:

(pick one)

1.Character A catches someone flirting with Character B

Ben is an asshole the first time he catches his new boyfriend flirting with someone by accident... Though new is insanely irrelevant. They’ve lived together over a year, been dating five months, and other people’s definitions of sex isn’t  what they’ve had 

2. Tickling each other

Adam will totally ‘sneak up’ on Ben. He’ll pretend he’s going to hug or touch for a different reason before throwing Ben off balance in that special way no one can to a werewolf but their mate. 

3. Getting drunk

Adam got drunk and high and totally came home high. Was highly suggested, but the result was two very frustrated people who didn’t realize they were bumbling into a relationship. So much unresolved sexual tension. 

7. Who asked who out, how did it happen?

Adam asked Ben out to the movies. They were assholes. The story also involves scrambled eggs and confessions. 

8. How do they comfort each other?

Snuggles, sleep, and weapons.

9. Write a drabble (approx 300 words) of one of the following

1. a late night conversation

“I am going to have to get an annulment figured out,” Adam whispers, leaning against Ben’s shoulder. He looks to look up at the man in a nurse’s scrubs. “Hardison married us!” Adam pauses, lulled by the drugs. He whispers angrily, not realizing that Ben is still awake at his side. “So now I’m going to have to get an annulment. Ben doesn’t want this, it isn’t fair.” Adam’s insistence is vehement.

Ben looks up at Quinn and mouths, “Do not laugh.” The hitter manages not to laugh. Ben can see the mirth in the corner of Quinn’s eyes. “I will murder you if you antagonism him!” Ben wants it, more than anything.

“It made sure he could take care of you. He won’t kill Hardison too quickly,” Quinn comments. He leans down and looks over Adam’s charts. Ben will encourage him to be too liberal with the pain pump. He doesn’t think the human will have any problems coming off the morphine, though.

He bites his lip and puts it back down. He then leans down and pokes Ben.

Adam looks scandalized.

“You’ll have a lot to figure out, but start with the big ones and work your way down to the little shit,” he demands. Ben glares and Quinn shoots a finger at him. “He’s high, he’s been kidnapped, and you’re both being moody.”

Ben shifts and looks over to his partner, a little too close for comfort, eyes unable to focus. “So, no flirting obnoxiously with nurses?”

Adam rolls his eyes and nods. “Absolutely no antagonizing the nurses. They work their asses off and get nothing but shit from the patients and the doctors.”

Ben gives a triumphant grin and wags his fingers goodnight to Quinn who slips out rolling his eyes.

“It’s rather convenient being hitched.”

2. looking at old photographs

Sam sent over some family documents about the Men of Letters. He’s been trying to convince Adam that it’s different from being a hunter. Nothing, so far, has convinced Milligan of that. He’s not a Winchester and knowledge has never been different from the pain and suffering that the boys associate with endless quests to kill evil entities of the supernatural. No pamphlet about the difference between the two new organizations will convince Adam to join either group. The Men of Letters keeps among its narrow ranks only those who’ve died and come back. The newly founded Women of Letters is far more liberal in its application requirements.

One of the requirements, third on a page of scanned vellum in Sage’s practiced hand is “No sexist.”

Neither man is proud of the fact that Ben’s tendencies for harsher comments towards one-half of the human population. Adam flips a few pages further into the document before either can be compelled to comment. It will take longer than the five years they’ve dated to work out all of Ben’s issues. They’ve barely touched on Adam’s.

Adam looks down and sees pictures of John. Scanned in faded color. Other pictures of the Men of Letters follow. None of Kate’s pictures survived the foreclosure.

Ben finally speaks up. “Maybe it’s why Mercy was so damned insistent on tacking my picture to the thumb board,” he manages. Mercy isn’t psychic, though.

Adam’s grin slowly grows. “No, she just wanted proof that you’re happy. She knows that was hard won.”

“It confuses everyone whenever Zack delivers my lunch, you know,” Ben teases.

“Trust silly Americans not to know the difference between a housemate and a flatmate,” Adam replies, eyes rolling. He closes the document and sends a quick message back to Sam.

‘I’m a good mechanic.”

3. making up after an argument

“You can’t challenge him like that,” Ben roars the moment he’s shut the car door between him and Hauptman’s house.

“He’s risking your life with less regard than he has for Mercy!” Adam fires back immediately. Ben is the natural choice to send after Mercy. She’s stuck in a foreign country and he would give anything to get his best friend back. Sending Ben might mean losing his mate. Ben isn’t something he owns to give away. Ben is Hauptman’s and Hauptman isn’t sending him after Mercy. Hauptman is sending his mate to Heathrow. Ben’s alpha is throwing him at the British Master of the Isles to discuss the terms of Hauptman being in Europe and to negotiate the continent’s werewolf politics.

Ben is mostly comfortable with this. It might be pure suicide, though. Ben … Ben cannot defy his alpha and would gladly trade his life for Mercy. Mercy’s more important to him. She’s Hauptman’s heart and between the alpha werewolf and his walker mate they have given him the power to have Adam safe.

“He’s risking your life, Ben!” Adam repeats, tears bubbling around the corners of his eyes. “You’re banished. Returning to Britain is a direct challenge against all those in power there. I know you think with the former Master dead you’ll be safe, but this Ruben might kill you to make a point.”

“If he does, Adam will have his excuse to show force with any alpha or werewolf in Europe he sees fit. He picked me because I am the right person for this. Either way, Adam doesn’t lose power and doesn’t risk Mercy. The pack needs her back.”

“Stop calling him Adam,” the human whispers half angry, his rage simmering down to a smooth boil.

“I knew him first. Want me to call him boss?” Ben offers.

“Better.”

-  or share a headcanon about the ship

Milligan has raked Ben over the coals every time he's caught him being an asshole to people in food service - including delivery drivers.

[blitherandblather]

Get Out There and Don’t Vote

Democracy... what a load of shit.

I hate democracy and the whole democratic process. Democracy is built on the presupposition that we're all born equal and, maybe we are. We're sure as fuck not equal by the time we're old enough to vote, though. I'm not equal to, say, Tim Peake. That fucker's been to outer space. He's literally left the planet. He's seen the Earth in its entirety, with no imaginary borders or divisions between religions or beliefs. My vote isn't worth as much as his. Neither is yours. If I get to vote purely on the basis that I'm alive, then he should get five votes, because he knows more than I do. And he's been to space and he's a nice guy who genuinely seems to want to make the world a better place. I'm also not equal to Christopher Langan. Never heard of him, huh? He's the smartest man in the world. Let that sink in. He's the smartest man in the world. We're not equals. This guy taught himself how to read when he was four years old. Do you understand that? Not only was he reading at four, he taught himself how to do it. When I was four years old, I discovered that I would collapse on the floor if I spent ten minutes spinning around in circles. The only thing I've got in common with the Christopher Langan is my first name. And, yet, we both get one vote apiece.

It goes the other way, too. There exists in there world people who have deliberately never read a book. Ever. Not even at school, where you have to read books or they don't let you leave. There are people who are in their eighties and still have to go to school every day because they refuse to read a single book. They're going to die in detention. How stubborn do you have to be to never read a book? It doesn't even have to be a good book. Just read something, anything. You can't form opinions on anything if you don't read; the only thing you can do is appropriate other people's opinions and pass them off as your own, with nothing to back them up with should you be questioned on them. Don't be proud that you've never read a book, it's not an achievement, it's a fucking embarrassment. If you've never read a book, you don't get to vote, okay? You don't understand anything. You can't understand anything and you refuse to learn how anything works, so you don't get to vote on how anything works. Thankfully, this isn't a rule that has to be enforced; it's surprisingly self-policing, that one.

Also, you one get one vote, and that's it. So, if you vote on I'm A Celebrity..., that's it. You've used your vote for the year. If you took the time to call in to a TV show and let them know you'd prefer it if (Interns: Check which D-Lister couldn't get a pantomime gig this year) got voted out of the jungle instead of (Interns: Check which 80's supermodel has an autobiography coming out this Christmas), then you're done voting for the year. You don't get to decide who runs the country.

Another rule in my version of utopia, the voting age should be lowered to six. Six-year-olds are the most open minded and caring people in the world. They can tell just by looking at a person if they're good or bad. They also care. They're bothered what happens to the world because they're going to be stuck there for a long time. The want people to be happy and, as long as they themselves are fed and have a bed and a few toys and a family unit that cares for them, they don't really want much else. They want everyone to have that. Happiness, to a child, is a universal human right. The voting age then cuts off again at sixteen, when kids turn in to assholes, angry at the world and selfish. They have sponge-minds that suck up any information presented to them as though it's the absolute truth and the only truth that exists. Tell them something else two hours later and their entire philosophy changes. You can't trust teenagers. They're too malleable. Their minds are like plasticine. One day, homosexuality is faggy and the next they discover they quite enjoy a finger in the ass during foreplay. Their brains are bombarded by new ideas and philosophies, which is great, but their brains are also working at full capacity, capable of seeing all points of view simultaneously. There's no consistency in a youngster's mind. If they could, they'd tick every box on a ballot sheet, then set fire to it, because of the inherent corruption that comes with any form of government. You can vote again between the ages of thirty and sixty, when you actually know a thing or two about a thing or two, but you're still young enough for it to matter. If you're ninety years old, voting doesn't apply to you because you don't do anything all day and you're going to die tomorrow, anyway.

Either way, it's all fucking pointless. Who gives a shit who's in charge? What difference does it make? Here in the UK, we have two political parties and a bunch of time-wasters. Can't vote for the Tories, because they put money ahead of humanitarianism. Can't vote for Labour, because they're too soft on the hard issues. We tried voting for the Lib Dems once, but they panicked we'd called their bluff and realised they were in way over their heads, forming a coalition, in which fuck all got done for four years. It was terrible, in as much as nobody noticed anyway.

What, exactly, does the government do? There's an old, unfunny adage that proclaims “If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal” and it's true, to a point. It doesn't matter who's in charge because nobody is. Any time there's an actual decision to make, a decision that is genuinely going to affect the people of a country – and I should point out here, I mean the people of this country – they throw the decision right back to us, the dumb shits who voted them in to power in the first place. The EU referendum was decided by ordinary schmucks like you and I, many of whom had no idea we were in the EU in the first place. Why the fuck are we paying these people to govern the country if they're just going to make us do their job for them?

In 1948, Britain entered Malaya to battle the Chinese Communist Party. This conflict when on to 1960. Between 1950 and 1953, Britain was involved in the Korean War. 1951, the Canal Zone Emergency in Egypt saw us involved in guerilla warfare. 1952-1960, Kenya. 1955-1959, Cyprus. 1956, the Suez Canal. 1962-1975, Oman and Dhofar. '62-'66, Borneo. '63-'67, Yemen. '69-the end of time, our good friends in Northern Ireland; the “troubles”. 1982, the Falklands. 1990-91, Gulf War One. '92-2001, Balkans. 2000, happy millennium, Sierra Leone! 2001-2014, for fuck's sake, Afghanistan. 2003, Gulf War II: The Gulfening. And so on. Since WW2 which, admittedly, wasn't our fault, there has been one day where a British Serviceman hasn't been killed in action. That's what the government does. It sticks a pin in a map to decide who we're going to fight with today.

There are one hundred and twenty four thousand members of the Tory party and five hundred and fifty two thousand in the Labour party. That's a total of seventy billion politicians in the country. That's fifty politicians for every civilian. Do we really need that many people to pick a fight? Could we not just have one guy clicking “random article” on Wikipedia until a country comes up on his screen and, so long as they're not as well armed as us, we go to war with them? That would leave us with the question of what to do with all those suddenly out-of-work politicians, but I'm sure we could figure something out. Using them as fuel or hardcore or something. They're fuck all use for anything else.

Because they react, and that's it. They're supposed to be the leaders of our country, but they don't actually lead us anywhere, do they, the cunts? They see what the rest of us are doing and the react to it, retroactively pretending it was their idea all along. And we, for our part, ignore everything they say (apart from who we're currently at war with) and just plod on with our meaningless lives, moaning that the price of fags has gone up 15p but beer's gone down six, so that's all right, isn't it? If the whole lot of them just fucked off on holiday, would any of us even notice? Would our lives be any different if every single politician in the world boarded a spaceship and flew off in to the sun? Depends on the propellant, I suppose, but that's more a chemical consideration rather than a political one.

Point is, I vote in every election that comes along. I vote in the big one every four years and I vote for the little local ones whenever the slip comes through my door. In between elections, I tend to ignore everything that goes on in Parliament. I'm like one of those arseholes – exactly like them, in fact – who becomes an expert in the louge every four years during the Winter Olympics, but forgets even the existence of the word “louge” in-between. The only thing I really understand about politics is that it's always wrong. The politicians in power are never the ones I voted for, even when they are. When someone I vote for gets in to power, they instantly pull of the masks are reveal themselves to be Mr. Wickles the caretaker. Ha ha, you fools! It was me, all along!

So, what's the point of voting? We never win. Doesn't matter who you vote for, the government gets in either way. They carry on doing whatever the fuck it is they do, and we carry on trudging through our daily lives, pretending that we had a say in things. It's huge lie we've all agreed to play along with and it's miserable and depressing and pointless and endless.

Except that, they play along too. They play along knowing that we're playing along. They do whatever it is politicians do because they know, every four years, that we won't let them play anymore if they don't follow the rules. We don't know what the rules are, but we know what they aren't, and we can tell when they're not playing fair. We don't kick them out of the game; we just put them on the naughty step for four years, after which they can try again. We all do this, and we all have to do this because, Jesus Christ, imagine what they'd do if they thought we weren't paying any attention at all.

#vote voting politics government Tories Labour Blather LibDems

[anglenews]

Deal or no deal, there’s no number in the Brexit box that will please the British public

We’ve had about 100 episodes of Brexit Deal Or No Deal over the last few days alone. Labour has ruled out a no-deal outcome while the Conservatives are continuing with the rhetoric of ‘no deal being better than a bad deal’. It boils down to you saying potato, me saying ‘potarto’ and all we’re left with is a discussion about the correct pronunciation of the word rather than working out when the chips will actually be ready. The meat of the problem, to mix a metaphor, is that actually the complete disarray on all sides has been caused by the simple fact that no matter what happens – deal or no deal, WTO rules, EU-lite or a halfway house – Britain after Brexit is completely f*cked not going to be better off in the short or longer term. Whatever deal we’re left with, even if that is the dreaded ‘no deal’, Britain would be better off financially and socially in the EU. Some reports have said it’s now 50/50 for deal or no deal. The sources I’ve spoken to inside government are more optimistic, putting it at around 33% chance of no deal, but any deal, including no deal, is a bad deal. Under WTO rules, trade tariff both importing to and exporting goods from the EU is estimated to cost an extra £18.1bn a year. That’s £347m-a-week we could be using, if Brexit logic is to be used, to fund the NHS. And that’s if you take an objective viewpoint. Pro-EU the Centre For European Reform (CER) says the total cost could be between 2.2% (£40bn) and could reach 9% of GDP (£180bn) a year, anti-EU Business For Britain says it would cost £7.4bn a year. That’s between £142m-a-week to £3.5bn-a-week. The short answer is that nobody knows the exact cost but most economists would be surprised if the UK economy loses less than the fabled ‘£350m-a-week’ we were supposedly paying to the EU used on the side of the Brexit bus. We weren’t. When fact checked, it fell to £161m-a-week. As a guide, Sainsbury’s predicts that goods will go up by 22% in price if no deal is reached. Those stark figures ignore the shift in movement of labour away from the UK, with young and agile workers moving elsewhere while fewer retired ex-pats (a net cost to whichever country they’re in) leaving the UK for warmer environments. Yet there are still some who disagree. ‘In reality, no deal is not just better than a bad deal – it may be the best deal,’ John Longworth, co-chair of Leave Means Leave has said. He’s wrong (just the bureaucracy of the borders would cripple the UK). But the problem is that making a deal with the EU isn’t going to be good for Britain, it’s just less bad. There is no deal that the EU will make that is better than those offered to its 27 members who didn’t vote to leave. The details of negotiations have been guarded tightly but EU negotiators have been called ‘the enemy’ by Chancellor Philip Hammond and have been cited as tough negotiators unwilling to budge. For a deal to be struck, the unstoppable force of British rhetoric must battle through the immovable object of the EU bloc. With 27 countries versus one, it’s likely the UK will blink first. We will end up paying similar amounts into the EU for a lot less benefit and little if any influence on future policy negotiations. If we managed the deal, it is the least worst of most other options but it still harms Britain. The best deal for Britain is remaining in the EU and working with the 27 other member states about how to make the most of membership. That’s more true than it’s ever been. The EU Withdrawal Bill’s second reading in the commons has reportedly been delayed because of ‘hostile’ amendments. What it means in practice is this March 2019 deadline that was never going to be hit is never going to be hit. Some have even suggested that this means the Bill could struggle to be passed before Christmas, delaying meaningful negotiations even further. And this drawn out, protracted politicking around nuance ignores actually going out and working through the real details and somehow making the least worst deal work. And this makes no deal more likely. ‘In another six months, if no deal is in sight, it won’t make much difference either way,’ Matthew Flynn of the Spectator writes.   ‘[The] damage will have been done, but there will be little prospect of undoing it. The government money will have been spent. And the businesses we will lose will already have gone. ‘At that point, we might as well walk away, because there won’t be much point in paying for a deal that won’t be worth much anymore.’ And that’s because Britain has little power here. [Theresa May’s] rhetoric is so silly,’ John Springford, of the CER, has said. ‘She’s saying “ok EU, we want a divorce, we want to sleep in the same bed, we don’t want to pay any rent and if you say no, I’m going to punch myself in the face”.’ The nuance of the words we’re using in the negotiations have already taken nearly 18 months without a meaningful resolution. The actual negotiations can’t work because Britain can’t leave with a worse deal than being in the EU would offer and the EU can’t negotiate a deal where Britain isn’t worse off when it leaves. You say potato, I say ‘potarto’, let’s please call the whole thing off before it’s too late. Share this: Source http://www.anglenews.com/deal-or-no-deal-theres-no-number-in-the-brexit-box-that-will-please-the-british-public/

[kristinsimmons]

The Problem With “Herd Immunity” as a COVID-19 Strategy

By e-PATIENT DAVE DEBRONKART

Caution: This post is not a prediction. It’s just a tutorial about the concept of herd immunity, with an eye to why it’s probably not an approach the US wants to take in solving the complex problems we’ve gotten ourselves into with COVID-19.

Click this graphic to go see a six second animation of these images, created in 2017 by Reddit user TheOtherEdmund. You many need to watch a few times. Get a feel for the differences in what happens in the different blocks, and come back to discuss:

This weekend I’ve labored to understand this concept, which first came to my ears regarding coronavirus in March, when British prime minister Boris Johnson proposed it as a possible approach for Britain to take: let the virus take its course, and they’d end up with “herd immunity,” and that would be the end of that.

In my unsophisticated knowledge “herd immunity” meant “you let the weak cows die, and the rest of the herd will be fine.” And in fact in April a Tennessee protestor held up a sign saying “Sacrifice the Weak – Reopen TN.” (It’s not clear whether the sign was mocking or real (Snopes), but it illustrates the point.)

But it turns out there’s a lot more to the concept than just “sacrifice the weak.” There’s a specific way herd immunity works – and it does work for things like measles and mumps and polio, via vaccines. But in the absence of a vaccine, it’s an absolute disaster.

Here’s why. Here’s a snapshot from the start of the animation.

Each blue dot is a healthy uninfected person – you.

Each yellow dot is someone who’s immune – “can’t touch this,” if you’re into MC Hammer.

Each red line is where someone uninfected crossed paths with an infected person and got infected.

Notice: the more people get vaccinated, the fewer red lines happen. Vaccines prevent infection – who knew??

As time goes by (in the animation and during an epidemic), here’s what it looks like a while later.

If nobody is vaccinated, the disease spreads pretty rapidly; as more of the population is vaccinated (more yellow dots), the frequency of new red lines drops dramatically.

The explosion of infections among the unprotected is exactly what happened before vaccines. Epidemics were rampant and unstoppable.

And here’s what it’s like at the end of this animation (though in real life it doesn’t stop):

See how around 90% in this example there are nearly no infection connections – few red lines? For any given disease situation, this point is called the herd immunity threshold. When you get to this many yellow dots, it’s manageable. Hospitals aren’t overwhelmed, and you can do contact tracing, as South Korea and others do: you can hunt down every single remaining case and find out everyone they contacted. In other words, you can find and protect the blue uninfected dots … and you can stamp out the disease.

Of course there are a zillion variables that change the speed: how contagious is it? (Each mumps patient infects 10-12 others; each polio patient infects 5-6 others, etc. This is what’s called the “R” number.) How tightly packed is the population? (It’s believed that New York’s crammed subway system was a major factor in the early explosion.) Etc.

Regardless of the variables, that’s the basic concept. (For coronavirus the R number is around 3, and the herd immunity threshold is tentatively believed to be somewhere around 60%.)

But here’s the problem:

We ain’t got no vaccines.

So we’re stuck at “0% vaccinated.”

That’s why, everyplace the virus shows up, it spreads. It surprises everyone, because at first it’s slow, because infected people are invisible for days or weeks (which is why forehead thermometers are dumb), so it’s spreading silently. Then BOOM, a certain percentage get sick. And by that time it’s spread all over the place.

It’s not unlike a wildfire that spreads underground. By the time it erupts, you’ve got a widespread problem on your hands. And the longer you take to notice it and start fighting, the bigger a problem it has become. Which is exactly what happened in the US. (Nobody disputes this; the only argument is whom to blame, but that won’t save your life or mine.)

The other approach: get infected and survive.

Here’s where we get to the COVID-19 version of the story.

There’s another way for a herd to be immune, aside from vaccines: have a lot of critters get sick. Some die, and the rest develop antibodies.

This doesn’t always work – we don’t know yet whether COVID-19 survivors are immune, because the disease is too new. Plus, it’s just a new coronavirus (“novel,” as they say); other coronaviruses cause the common cold, which people get year after year – there’s no immunity and no vaccine. (If you’re thinking “Yikes!!”, that’s appropriate.) But no cold virus has ever been fatal before, so we didn’t have much motivation to solve it.

There have been two killer coronaviruses: (Thanks to Bill Reenstra for pointing to these, which I’d overlooked in the original post.)

SARS-COV-1 infected only 8,000 people, killing 774 (about 10%), and was contained in 7½ months.

MERS has never stopped but is rare. Since arising in 2012 it’s infected 2,519 people, killing 35% of them (866 deaths so far).

Of course we hope the urgency, extreme spread, and enormous death count of COVID-19 will motivate immense investments to achieve new things.

Update next day: But while I was working on this post, CNN Health posted an informative article, What happens if a coronavirus vaccine is never developed? It’s happened before. It quotes British Covid-19 expert Dr David Nabarro: “It’s absolutely essential that all societies everywhere get themselves into a position where they are able to defend against the coronavirus as a constant threat, and to be able to go about social life and economic activity with the virus in our midst.” 

In any case, instead of each of these diagrams being labeled “vaccinated,” our reality today is that each yellow dot doesn’t mean “vaccinated,” it means “got infected & survived”:

Ha ha look how funny – this particular image shows herd immunity kicking in after 75% of the population has gotten infected. In the USA that would be 75% of 328 million is 246 million infected people. Ha! Ha!

That includes 75% of everyone you know getting infected. Including, probably, you! Ha! Ha!

And since our best estimate is that 0.5% to 1% of all infections for this virus die, that would be anywhere from 1.23 million to 2.46 million deaths. What a laugh riot!

(Again, these are not exact numbers; they’re just to convey the principle. But they are in the right ballpark.) (And by the way, in these diagrams, each dot represents around 400,000 Americans.)

A herd immunity policy without vaccines is mass murder. And worse.

It’s not just mass murder; it’s a whole lot of very sick people. A friend had the virus and had a fever of 103 for ten days. She was suffering, and of course with this damn virus there’s the always-present fear: “Will I be one of those who suddenly goes downhill fast and dies?” Think about living that way for a couple weeks or more – both you and your family.

Whoever cares for those very sick people – a relative or a professional – is vulnerable to getting sick, too. More than 200 doctors and nurses had died by April 10 – and last week the stress caused two different New York professionals to commit suicide: a top ER doc and a newly minted EMT, months out of training. And Peter Elias MD wrote on Facebook, “The data I have seen is in the range of 1 in 10 to 1 in 5 household members or caregivers.”

Imagine all that if we have half the population infected.

Your only way out: Avoid contact! Wear masks! Wash your damn hands!

We will, someday, have vaccines or at least treatments. (Either that or the world is ending.) Remember, all those diagrams in the animation have variables, and a big one for this virus is how often people bump into each other – literally or figuratively.

Another big variable, when they do cross paths, is whether the virus passes between them and enters the other one’s body. That’s where distancing, masks, and hand washing come in. They are our only defense right now – but they work.

Avoid getting or spraying the virus. Either you or the other guy may be the sprayer – there’s no way to know. Just be responsible. And every time you come home from outside, wash your hands for “two happy birthdays.” The soap bubbles break open the little virus cases, and poof, they lose their power. Just with soap!

You are not powerless against this bugger. You just gotta do it and keep doing it. Maybe for a year or two. Just avoid being either end of a red-line infection connection.

The more we slow down that animation, the better the chance the geniuses will invent effective medicines before that red line knocks on your door.

Be responsible in your community. Stop the spread, and spread the word: Tell people “It’s not just me. I don’t wanna kill a nurse.”

And if anyone suggests herd immunity, pleaseshow them this. I’ve had smart scientific people check it, and this is true. Herd immunity is fine with vaccines. We ain’t got one.

Additional resources

Here’s Why Herd Immunity Won’t Save Us From The COVID-19 Pandemic – a good, concise, clear and accurate article on ScienceAlert

What the Proponents of ‘Natural’ Herd Immunity Don’t Say (NYTimes)

A 2014 Nova piece on herd immunity

For the nerdy, a surprisingly readable economics policy paper from April 24 discussing different ways to look at the overall COVID-19 problem, including herd immunity as one option. (47 page PDF, but really understandable … if you skip the stuff that’s hard to understand.)

e-Patient Dave deBronkart is a cancer survivor, noted for his activist work in promoting access to health care data. This article originally appeared on his blog here.

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