#‘harris is changing the system from within’

[welcometoqueer]

U.S. Recount Updates/News:

Pennsylvania's U.S. Senate race will officially go to a recount. GOP candidate David McCormick is leading incumbent Democratic Sen. Bob Casey by less than 0.5% in the vote total, triggering an automatic recount under state law.

Furthermore,

Election and cybersecurity experts sent a formal letter to Vice President Kamala Harris urging a recount in key states, citing potential breaches in voting machines and the fact that voting systems were breached by Trump allies in 2021 and 2022.

https://freespeechforpeople.org/computer-scientists-breaches-of-voting-system-software-warrant-recounts-to-ensure-election-verification/

Cited evidence within the footnotes include:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/2022/08/15/sidney-powell-coffee-county-sullivan-strickler/

Additionally,

The Nevada Secretary of State issued a violation notice regarding election security. A police report has been filed after evidence emerged indicating that Nevada officials may have removed 26,902 ballots from their reported mail-in ballot totals.

[ID:

Three images.

The first is a statement regarding a recount being triggered in the Pennsylvania Senate race. It reads:

“Unofficial Results in U.S. Senate Race Trigger Legally Required Automatic State Recount

Harrisburg, PA — Secretary of the Commonwealth Al Schmidt announced today that unofficial results in the Nov. 5 general election race for U.S.

Senate have triggered a legally required statewide recount.

Senator Bob Casey and Dave McCormick have vote totals within the one-half of 1 percent margin that triggers a mandatory recount under state law.

As of today, the unofficial returns for the U.S. Senate race submitted by all 67 counties show the following results for the top two candidates:

Robert P. Casey Jr. - 3,350,972 (48.50%)

David H. McCormick - 3,380,310 (48.93%)

Once counties finish counting their ballots, they must begin the recount no later than Wednesday, Nov. 20. They must complete the recount by noon on Nov. 26 and must report results to the Secretary by noon on Nov. 27. Results of the recount will not be published until Nov. 27.

The Department estimates that the recount cost will exceed $1 million of taxpayer funds.

This is the eighth time the automatic recount provision has been triggered since the passage of Act 97 of 2004. In the four cases in which the recount was carried out, the initial results of the election were affirmed. Those recounts and the costs for each were as follows:

2022 primary: Oz vs. McCormick, Republican race for U.S. Senate, $1,052,609.

2021 general: Dumas vs. Crompton, Commonwealth Court, $1,117,180.

2011 primary: Boockvar vs. Ernsberger, Democratic race for Commonwealth Court, $525,006.70.

2009 general: Lazarus vs. Colville vs. Smith, Superior Court race, $541,698.56.

For more information about the legally mandated automatic recount procedures, see the Department's directive on this topic (link.mediaoutreach.meltwater.com).

Update on outstanding ballot totals

As of this afternoon, county election officials reported there are 60,366 uncounted provisional ballots and 20,155 uncounted mail-in and absentee ballots. That 80,521 total includes all ballots for which county boards of elections have not yet made a final resolution regarding their validity or eligibility to be counted.

As of the issuance of this release, the Department's election returns page [link.mediaoutreach.meltwater.com] reflects the unofficial totals that counties have reported. These numbers will change beginning Thursday morning, Nov. 14, as counties continue to canvass provisional ballots and otherwise count ballots. These changes are unrelated to the recount.”

The second image depicts the first page of a formal letter addressed to Vice President Kamala Harris from election security experts urging an election recount in key states. It reads:

“November 13, 2024

The Honorable Kamala Harris

The White House

Office of the Vice President

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N. W.

Washington, DC 20500

Dear Vice President Harris,

We write to alert you to serious election security breaches that have threatened the security and integrity of the 2024 elections, and to identify ways to ensure that the will of the voters is reflected and that voters should have confidence in the result. The most effective manner of doing so is through targeted recounts requested by the candidate. In the light of the breaches we ask that you formally request hand recounts in at least the states of Michigan, Nevada, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania. We have no evidence that the outcomes of the elections in those states were actually compromised as a result of the security breaches, and we are not suggesting that they were. But binding risk-limiting audits (RLAs) or hand recounts should be routine for all elections, especially when the stakes are high and the results are close. We believe that, under the current circumstances when massive software breaches are known and documented, recounts are necessary and appropriate to remove all potential doubt and to set an example for security best practices in all elections.

In 2022, records, video camera footage, and deposition testimony produced in a civil case in Georgia' disclosed that its voting system, used statewide, had been breached over multiple days by operatives hired by attorneys for Donald Trump. The evidence showed that the operatives made copies of the software”

(The page cuts off here).

Below there are footnotes with cited evidence for grounds to request a recount.

“No. 17-cv-02989-AT (N.D. Ga. filed Aug. 8, 2017).

1. Emma Brown, Jon Swaine, Aaron C. Davis, Amy Gardner, "Trump-allied lawyers pursued voting machine data in multiple states, records reveal," The Washington Post, (August 15, 2022). Available at: https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/2022/08/15/sidney-powell-coffee-county-sullivan-strickler/

3 Kate Brumback, "Video fills in details on alleged Ga. election system breach," The Associated Press, (September 6, 2022). Available at: https://apnews.com/article/2022-midterm-elections-technology-donald-trump-voting-92c0ace71d7bee6151dd33938688371e

The third image is an excerpt of the Election Security Violation Notice issued by the Nevada Secretary of State. It reads:

“ELECTION INTEGRITY VIOLATION REPORT

The information you report on this form may be used to help us investigate violations of Nevada election laws. When completed, mail, email, or fax your form and supporting documents to the office listed above. Upon receipt, your complaint will be reviewed by a member of our staff. The length of this process can vary depending on the circumstances and information you provide with your complaint. The Office of the Secretary of State may contact you if additional information is needed.

INSTRUCTIONS: Please TYPE/PRINT your complaint in dark ink. You must write LEGIBLY. All fields MUST be completed.

SECTION 3.

COMPLAINT IS AGAINST

Please detail the nature of your complaint. Include the name and contact information (if known) of the individual, candidate, campaign, or group that is the subject of your complaint. Your complaint must also include a clear and concise statement of facts sufficient to establish that the alleged violation occurred. Any relevant documents or other evidence that support your complaint should be listed and attached. You may attach additional sheets if necessary.

On 11-8-24, the mail ballot accepted list deleted 28,320 ballots from Clark County. At this same time, Sam Brown lost his lead. These ballots were accepted on 11-7-24 and then on 11-8-24 for the first time since 10-16-24 and reporting began, ballots were deleted from 2 counties. Washoe and Clark.

See ATTACHED.”

/end ID]

[crptdkssr]

sorry but i think i should be allowed to vote in the american election just so i can withhold my vote specifically to spite pretentious liberal tumblr bloggers

[cherryrouge]

aperture

photographer!y/n x harry

warnings: profanity, mentions of an age gap

word count: 1.9k

harry’s leg is bouncing, his thumbs drumming on his thighs. he’s mouthing the set list to himself as he hears the commotion from backstage. people rushing from place to place, getting their pre-show jitters out of their systems, laughing from easy conversation being shared in passing, music being played over the arena’s speakers, and fans making there way to their places. there’s a thrumming in his bones and a seemingly perpetual cloud over his head, forbidding him from thinking of anything but his anticipation. he’s itching to get out there. to see the crowd, to perform for them, to give them a good show, to cease these thoughts and feelings. 

he loves performing. it’s his life work and he’s not too shy to admit that he is quite good at it. singing his music and dancing, the electricity within the venue, the screams, the signs, the tears, the joy. everything about it is intoxicating and addicting. the aftermath is splendid as well, the hugs shared between him and the band, the talk of heading out for drinks that he just enjoys to listen to knowing that he would not join, and he loves seeing the photos that y/n gets, of him (backstage or on stage) or of the fans. the energy that only she could capture. the unity among this body of people. 

it’s the occurrence and outcome of performing that he loves, not the overlong waiting period before. 

there is a shinning light in the waiting though, and it’s her. with her camera and bright smile. the newest member to their team, y/n is a warm and welcome presence. they had hired her for the second leg of love on tour. she was a new, fresh face on the scene, just graduated college with a natural talent in capturing invaluable moments. he knew as he looked at her application and instagram that she was perfect for this role. and how right was he. within the first week of working, she had wiggled her way into the hearts of everyone around her. even the fans had seemed to have taken a liking to her, shouting her name as she passed them to take pictures of harry and the band from the floor. and as much as harry teased them, looking at them with feigned offense as he told them that they should be paying attention to him, not her, harry couldn’t even blame them. he had taken a rather large liking to her, as well. 

he liked how things seemed to fall into place when she was around. a gap filled with quiet giggles and shutters of the camera. there was a longing feeling in his chest when she was away and a blissful calm when she was near. he figured this can be attributed to his vaguely romantic affections to her. 

somewhere between the first time he met her, her shaky hands and nervous laughter, and now, as he waits for her to come to him, his thoughts of her changed. at first, strictly professional, friendly business. then, it was genial, sharing stories and past experiences. and now, nearly affectionate, flirty jokes and mutual yearning. at first, when he recognized this change, he chastised himself. how unprofessional, how inappropriate, how juvenile, this crush was. a crush he had on someone he technically was the boss of and someone he was quite older than. however, his frustration and concerns for the situation crumbled under the heavy weight that was his admiration for the woman. even now, he tells himself to not give in, to keep his compliments and flirtatious comments to himself in preparation for her arrival. but he can’t dwell in that for much longer when a soft, rhythmic knock sounds on the door.

“hi, harry!” she says, entering the room. by habit, he quickly turns his head to look at her from his place on the couch in the green room. her smile is bright as she looks at him, framed by beautiful rosey lips that harry can’t stop himself from fantasizing about. her makeup is kept light and accentuates her natural features, her hair down. her outfit quite simple, a tight, white baby tee, flared, high-waisted jeans that look as though they came straight out of the seventies, brown heeled boots, and camera in the clutches of her delicate, red- polished fingers. he realizes in this moment, like he had in many others, that he stood no chance. he held no power or control over his ever growing affections when she was this beautiful, this lively, this kind, or this gentle.

“‘lo, love. you look gorgeous. gonna steal the show looking like tha’” harry comments with a dimpled smile. fuck, harry, can’t be helped, can you? he complains to himself. but just like always she giggles at him, letting out a soft “oh, stop” as she situates herself and her camera. they fall easily into their routine. she asks him about his day and if he’s nervous, she moves around him, taking pictures every now and then, and shares stories from her day when asked. he watches her as she flits about the room, blushing like a little boy when she catches his gaze, he shares his own stories from the day, adding his own flare and exaggeration just to get her laughing.  

“oh, you have to tell the finger gun story! they’ll love it! especially, if you act it out! that would be so cute!” she exclaims through her giggles. harry smiles at her as she talks, watching her as she finally settles on the couch adjacent to him.

“cute, huh?” he teases. fucks sake, he scolds himself like his mum used to when he was a little boy and said something he shouldn’t have. it was peculiar how out of body he felt when he was around her, there were times when he could get a grip and stop his flirting, his flushing, and over all childish behavior. and there were times he could not. it seemed to be the latter most often, much to his dismay. 

her face flushes and she smiles back at him, muttering a shy “shut up.” she tucks the left side of her hair behind her ear, something he had noticed she did when blood rushes to her cheeks, warming the skin there an uncomfortable amount. god.he wishes he could kiss them, or even gently nip at them, hold them in his hands and stroke them with his thumbs. harry tries to shake these thoughts from his head before he does something rash and unwelcome. the fear of making this beautiful, sweet angel of a woman uncomfortable is crushing, the thought alone cracking his heart. he decides to focus on lacing up his sneakers. 

she watches him, thankful for the time to calm herself down and let the perspiration starting to dampen the nape of her neck die down. she’s always thankful for the times she can just watch. a naturally shy person, she finds it hard to come back with witty comments or flirty rebuttals when harry speaks to her. she wishes she could, god, does she wish she could. she fears that her lack of response will eventually make him stop. which, in earnestness, she admits would be the worst outcome. it had happened before, in college. a boy named andrew in her statistics class, who she had really, really liked, decided to show interest in her at a party. he flirted, and flirted, and flirted. and y/n simply giggled in response before awkwardly changing the subject. and of course, he lost interest, which y/n deduced was her fault because everything she did in that moment was an indicator of disinterest. he couldn’t see her blushed cheeks with every brush of his hand or compliment passed her way. he couldn’t see her glances at him when he looked away. of course he couldn’t tell! he wasn’t a mind reader and he didn’t have eyes on the back of his head! he was a frat-boy, majoring in finance who wanted to hit it and quit it! she criticizes herself for her past mistakes, or miscommunications, hoping that it doesn’t happen again. at least not with harry.

she understands the implications of them being together. he’s her employer, a fair amount older than her, and harry fucking styles. she supposes her non-response approach to flirting with him might be good, aids her in her fight to keep things professional, if not, friendly between herself and harry. regardless of if that’s what she wants, she knows that’s what’s best. and how could she even be so sure that he, of all people, would want her. she shakes her head, physically ridding herself of these thoughts before they turn mean. 

she continues to watch as his fingers work at the laces of the shoes, there’s a knock on the door and a call that he has ten more minutes of preparation before he must perform. it’s then that she decided to snap a photo of him. she pulls the camera away from her face to look at the picture before shyly smirking to herself. 

“hm?” 

“oh, nothing, this is just a good picture of you.” 

“lemme see.”

she gets up from her spot to sit next to him on his couch, showing him the photo. as he takes in the image, she takes in him and she wishes that her eyes were cameras themselves so she could keep the image of the smirk on his face, the dimple indenting his cheek, the slope of his nose, his eyelashes framing his green eyes as the sparkle under the light of the room in tangible memory.

“you know, you’re quite talented.” he jokes, turning his head to look into her eyes. the closeness of their faces surprising the both of them, but not enough to make them move away from each other. what the fuck am i doing? harry comments to himself, hoping for it to be enough to break him out of his trance. with the scrunch of her nose and a breath of her laughter, he knows once again that he is not strong enough.

“i think i’ve been told once or twice.” their noses brush and they’re eyes lock on each others. they’re still for a moment, both fighting an internal battle, so badly wanting to give in but so very worried for what it would mean if they do. they both, almost as if magnetized, move their heads ever so slightly closer, noses bumping in a clumsy manner. it’s that action that pulls them apart. harry turns his head to look behind her, coughing softly. y/n turns hers forward.

“i should leave. give you sometime to relax by yourself,” she pauses, grabbing her camera before standing. she walks to the door, standing in front of it as she looks at him looking at her.

“break a leg, harry. you’ll do great, you always do.” she says with a nervous smile, tucking her hair behind her ears and exiting the room. a new wave of disquieting thoughts fill the space she once occupied. but he had little time to dwell on those as he walks out of the room and to the box in which he’ll be rolled to the stage. he turns around to see her, already staring back a him. she offers a gentle, reassuring smile and a thumbs up. harry returns the gesture before turning away and fits himself in. 

fuck. 

hello, everyone! this is the first installment of my harry & photographer!y/n series. i truly hope you enjoy! please, please, please feel free to leave any comments, questions, or suggests you have for me and the story!

-rory.

[loaisacult]

LOA IS A CULT. Everyone Including myself and those who are familiar with it, know it’s a cult! I know everyone lies for attention or to live in the end because I used to be a big blogger myself. I won't reveal who I was, but I saw firsthand how these bloggers, claiming to be friends in real life, are actually deceiving everyone—they're all liars. Behind the scenes, they're working regular jobs while curating content from friends and family to share as their own as proof. Many of them have multiple accounts and blogs to give the illusion of authenticity. If you don't believe me, create a fake account and replicate the process—fabricate a success story, and watch as bloggers emerge from the shadows seeking help. Most of them have disappeared now... I wonder why that is, lol. It's time to open your eyes to the reality behind these façades and question the true motives driving this deceitful tumblr .

Despite the presence of manifestors, witches, and astrologists manifesting against Donald Trump in the world it's amusing to see that he still emerged victorious and by a whole lot!!!

It's worth noting that among the founders of the law of assumption and the void state on platforms like Tumblr, inconsistencies and inaccuracies have surfaced in their stories over time – there seems to be a trend of untruthfulness, among them (it might be interesting for you to verify this observation by checking out posts from your favorite bloggers, especially the newer ones; I've taken a look and it appears they're all just making their posts using GPT !

"Persist with belief"; A call to continue holding onto faith and dedication similar, to how spiritual groups encourage their followers to stay steadfast in their beliefs.

“Embrace the mysterious without needing evidence." This mindset echoes the inclination towards accepting the unknown and intangible elements of existence often upheld by certain groups that prioritize faith in the unseen, over concrete proof.

Echoing the cults claims of enlightenment or salvation, without tangible evidence but guaranteeing miraculous transformations assures me of its validity.

Despite the uncovering of deceit and dishonesty by individuals within a system built on mistruth; trust and belief persist unshaken. Mirroring the resilience shown by groups, in the face of revealed falsehood.

"When someone blindly follows something or someone else – it's, like trusting without proof of why or how things work out in the end."

“Discover the truth within yourself”. Encouraging the exploration of truths and insights through belief in something greater; a familiar motif, in spiritual practices.

Encouraging connection, with the energy of the universe is a spiritual idea that highlights the importance of harmonizing with greater forces beyond our sight.

"Fulfill your destiny"; The concept of shaping your own future through faith alone is frequently referenced in spiritual communities as a means to claim authority, over your own life path.

“Rise above the boundaries of the realm " suggesting the possibility of surpassing earthly restrictions through belief in something greater; mirroring stories of spiritual groups seeking elevated levels of existence.

Calling upon the power of the Encouraging believers to tap into mystical powers is a common theme, in teachings of spiritual groups that offer promises of special intervention or extraordinary abilities.

These instances provide insight into the use of language, with spiritual cult like tendencies that focus on faith and commitments that extend beyond tangible proof.

Please, there are bloggers out there sharing and telling us to save Palestine, claiming you can manifest a trillion dollars out of thin air, yet they can't manifest an end to war or even a simple solution. They say you can't control other people, yet they talk about manifesting specific people,, changing your family completely, or even your own race. You all were claiming you were manifesting Harris. I thought manifestation never fails, loool. "Oh, just persist, it will reflect like Neville leaving the war," they say, but all Neville managed could very well fall under the coincidence category, just like healing a burned hand, hahahahah. It's baffling that people are wasting their lives on something they know deep down is false. For the children in this community, just stick to a routine, focus on school and work, and foster your own life. While doing so, perhaps listen to subliminals, but don't rely on these vicious lies. Your time and energy are too precious to be spent on such unfounded claims.

Before you start getting defensive in my comments, take a moment to think and tell me how long you've been manifesting. How long have you been persisting in this process? Share in the comments first, and reflect on how little has actually changed. When you ask questions of these bloggers, why do they always seem to victim blame you instead of providing real answers? They claim to love and care about you so much, yet they charge for subliminals and can't manifest even simple things like you entering the void state. They won't manifest for your mental health desires, despite all the supposedly enlightening infographics they share. They talk about being able to shift reality and consciousness, yet they can't offer real help. Isn't this just typical cult behavior? It's time to question the authenticity of these practices and recognize the inconsistencies.

Some of these bloggers are in their 20s and live on disability, which gives them both the time and money to spread misinformation and false hopes. If you're young and still have potential, please make wise choices. Some aspects of spirituality are indeed real, and manifesting can be a genuine practice, but remember there's a reason why 99% of these bloggers are deceitful. They all eventually leave before their lies catch up with them. It's a disgrace that they pretend to help you in their DMs while knowing you're struggling with issues like poverty and abuse. I truly hope things improve for you, but don't rely on this cult-like mentality.

Critics might come into the comments and claim you just have doubts, but that's not the case. Once I left the Law of Assumption and started genuinely working, studying, and ensuring my grades were satisfactory, my life changed. I got a boyfriend, landed my dream job, and even took steps towards my desired appearance with a nose job. These achievements didn’t just materialize from thin air; they came from hard work. I accomplished more in three months after leaving the cult than some do in five years. I know people who've been in this community for a decade—when will they wake up to reality? That nagging feeling of doubt is actually common sense trying to prevent you from ruining your life.

How many times are you going to think, "I can't tolerate my life; I'm just going to shift," before it becomes unbearable and you realize you're stuck? How many liars need to be exposed? How many times do people have to be scammed before they see the truth? The so-called void masters aren’t helping; if they could truly access the void, they'd expose the liars. But then they’d have to admit they're lying too, and that no one has achieved these creative writing promises. It's all for attention and affirming to manifest is not a magic solution.

Let's be real here—your favorite bloggers allowed the Turing administration to achieve a landslide victory, with the court gone, the Senate gone, the House gone, and the residence done. Project 2025 is in motion, but sure, everyone’s supposed to be GOD, right? You people are worse than religious fanatics. I secured my visa because I knew otherwise, I'd be stuck here; you can't rely on the fake law of assumption. Go ask your bloggers why Trump won, and they'll just tell you to persist or claim it's all an illusion. Seriously? We'll see how much of an illusion it is once Palestine is wiped off the map, and all these so-called void masters can do is make a note to ignore the 3D world, loool. It's absurd that they think such real-world issues can simply be brushed aside with wishful thinking. Time to question these beliefs and face reality.

This message isn't directed at the older members of this cult because, at this point, only you can wake yourself up. But to the younger ones, please focus on building your life in the actual world. It's very real, and your suffering will only worsen if you keep clinging to false hopes.

To all the bloggers who know they're spreading lies, go ahead and manifest that my post gets deleted. I apologize for even considering that some of you revise events where people have literally died. Try revising this post or imagine me apologizing. It's time to stop spreading deceit and start facing the truth. Your actions have consequences, and it's crucial to start acknowledging the reality of the world we live in.

Even those who claim to manifest outside of time are no different—they're all selling courses for hundreds of dollars each month, with packages reaching into the thousands. It's ironic, isn't it? They preach about manifesting abundance yet charge exorbitant fees for their wisdom. Just think about it for a moment: if they could truly manifest unlimited wealth and success, why would they need to profit off of your hard-earned money? The truth is, their business model depends on your belief in their promises, and they capitalize on that by offering overpriced courses that are often filled with recycled content. This practice raises questions about the authenticity of their teachings and whether they genuinely have your best interests at heart.

The feeling you’re having is your body and mind trying to tell you there's truth in what I'm saying. It's like they're working to save you from falling into the trap of delusions. You are caught up in loa and you’re actually caught up in their own illusions. Many of these successful loa folks outside of tumblr grew up in wealthy families, living good lives, and got richer with a mix of luck and hard work. That's why so much of this community feels ridiculous; it's mostly made up of kids chasing dreams and adults spinning lies or looking for attention because they have too much free time.

Society keeps these cycles going, making it easy to fool ourselves. The temptation of quick success and promises of an easy life are hard to resist, especially for those always surrounded by comfort and now searching for something deeper than just money. For some, the LOA community seems like a beacon of hope and purpose. But it's important to see that while some find value, others get caught in a loop of broken promises, clinging to the idea that just thinking positively will bring success without real effort.

This way of thinking can will you ppl away from reality, you’re following and worshipping people seeking likes and attention takes the place of real achievements. LOA IS A CULT. Please wake up

[harryslittlefreakk]

to build a home

Summary: buzz cut!rry and y/n spend their first new year’s together after splitting up and they look back on happier times. inspired by the song!

Warnings: sad!rry 🥲 fluff, smut

A/n: a little new year’s drabble !! wishing everybody happiness and love for the year ahead 💖

you can join my general taglist here!

and find the rest of my writing here 🫶🏼 enjoy!

Harry had been here countless times before, though this was one of his first times as a guest. He reached inside his pocket for his keys instinctively, muscle memory from all the times he’d slumped through the door after a long day at work, all the times he’d stumbled inside with one hand wandering all over your body. But now he was standing on the doorstep, cold and nervous with one hand gripping onto a key ring that no longer held a key to your home.

He could hear the bustle of a party inside, the low beat of music echoing from the sound system he’d chosen. Every inch of the house, even from the outside, had traces of both you and him written into the walls. The only thing that was all you was the ‘for sale’ sign posted at the end of the driveway.

He remembered the day you’d spotted the house, the slim building covered in climbing wisteria, squealing from across the road as you pointed out the ‘for sale’ sign. You’d been walking back to the car after viewing a different house, desperately trying to find somewhere to make a home together. He’d called to enquire about the house as you stood there pinned to his side, imagining what you could do with all the different rooms. You’d moved in only a few months later, renovating the house together through the lonely months of the pandemic, spending your days covered in dust and paint but never feeling happier.

Harry bit the bullet and rang your doorbell, fingers clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle you bought. He watched for movement through the frosted door, shifting awkwardly as he ran a hand through what was left of his hair. He’d shaved it on a whim, too many rom-coms telling him you needed to do something drastic after a breakup, and since he already had tattoos, a haircut was the only possible solution.

“Hey, Harry,” you smiled, cheeks already stained pink from the alcohol. He knew you well enough to know you liked a few glasses while cooking, a final one as you finished setting up the drinks and nibbles, and a bottle or two as you danced with friends. You looked beautiful, one of his old band t-shirts tucked into a sparkly silver skirt, waved hair draped around your shoulders. Harry leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek, holding out the champagne bottle in his hand with an awkward smile. “S’for you,” he told you, shuffling into the doorway. He kicked off his shoes, eyes glued to the floor as he followed you into the living room. Too uncomfortable to acknowledge that he knew this house like the back of his hand, somewhat too proud to remember all the times you’d snuggled together on the sofa his friends were now sitting on. You stopped suddenly, swivelling to look back at him with parted lips. “Your hair,” you gasped, instinctively reaching out a hand to touch it. It snapped back to your side, your heart in your throat as you apologised. “Sorry, I-”

“Just fancied a change,” Harry told you, rubbing his hand across the top. You plastered a grin back onto your face, turning back on your heel wordlessly as your friends stood to greet him. You’d decided to stay civil for them, for the sake of keeping the peace within the group you’d grown close to together throughout your years as a couple. You hadn’t ended on bad terms, merely a result of wanting different things from your life. Harry’s priority had always been his music, and as much as he loved you, you both knew he couldn’t resist the offer of a new tour or new shows halfway across the world. You wanted a family, your uninterrupted time together during the pandemic leaving you wanting more. He wanted a family too, but you knew the majority of the parenting would fall on you while he was out doing what he loved, and somewhat selfishly, that wasn’t the life you wanted. These were all things you’d known when your relationship became serious, but you’d foolishly believed he’d change. You never wanted to change him, never wanted to take away his love of performing, but you needed him to be more present. Sleeping on a tour bus and following your love around the world was fun, but it wasn’t a lifestyle you could keep up forever.

Harry gazed around the room as he spoke with Mitch and Sarah, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hands. It hadn’t changed at all since the morning he’d moved out, framed pictures of the two of you still littered across the shelves. His awards still sat on the bookcase, shiny and void of dust as if they were your prized possessions. It sent a chill through him, to be sat here smiling in the house he’d bought for you, unchanged except for the lack of him. He was heartbroken and yet relieved when you told him you wanted to sell the house, the idea of different men one day sleeping in his bed too much to bear. He stood up suddenly, excusing himself from the conversation and padded over towards the back door, fingers tracing across the edge of the dining table as he walked through. You watched him go, slipping away to follow him as your guests continued to talk and dance.

Harry was perched on the steps of your patio, eyes wandering across the dark night sky. He glanced over at you as you plopped down next to him, scooting over slightly to give you more space. “How did we get here?” he murmured, swilling the liquor around the walls of his glass - something, anything to distract from the tears forming in his eyes. You sighed, placing a gentle hand on his thigh. “I’m a guest in my own house.”

“Harry-” you started, eyes trailing across his face. “I was meant to be enough for you, I wanted to be enough for you.” He turned to face you, green eyes glistening in the moonlight. “You’re everything, H. I just needed a little more,” you told him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“If I was everything I wouldn’t be living in a rented apartment on the other side of the city.”

“I know, I know,” you whispered, choking back the start of tears. “I miss you every day Harry,” you confessed, words barely coherent between sobs. He wrapped an arm around you, his owns tears spilling out from heavy-lidded eyes. “I love you,” he told you, thumb rubbing delicately across your back. You stayed that way for a while, drinking in the silence around you both, hurt lingering in the air.

“It’s nearly midnight,” Sarah called out from the door, bringing you back to reality. Youd been sat there in dead silence for over half an hour, an unspoken conversation echoing around your minds. Harry tapped his hand against your back, sniffing away the last of any long-dried tears as he stood up. You turned to watch him slip past Sarah’s petite frame as she padded over to pull you to your feet, draping an arm over your shoulder as you walked back through the house. “Ok?” she asked, slipping a glass of prosecco into your hands as you rejoined the group. You’d set up the projector earlier ready to display the new year’s countdown and fireworks. You clicked it on just before the huge ‘10’ flashed across the living rooms bare wall, purposely left that way for when you and Harry wanted to cuddle and watch films in the late evenings.

Your friends shouted every number excitedly, party poppers and kazoos ready to blow as the clock struck midnight. Everyone shifted around to cuddle up in their couples, arms wrapped around each other ready for their new year’s kiss, leaving only you and Harry stood on your own, feet away from each other where usually you’d be pressing drunken kisses to each other’s mouths before the countdown even finished. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the numbers got lower. 2024 would be the first year you started without Harry in half a decade.

3

He yanked on your hand, pulling you into his side

2

He smiled down at you, wrapping an arm around your waist

1

He cupped your cheek with his cold hand, leaving you staring up at him with parted lips

Happy New Year

Echoed around the room as he dove towards you, lips crashing against your mouth. It was hard but gentle, soft yet deep, his mouth immediately melding with yours in a heartbreakingly familiar way.

“For old times sake,” he whispered, eyes glinting as he pulled away. You were speechless still, his kiss saying so much and yet not enough. “Harry,” you whispered, tugging him closer to you. Here, buried into his chest, feeling the same old little butterflies flit in your stomach, you were happier than you’d been in months.

Harry lingered in the kitchen as the last of your friends filtered out, scrubbing at dishes in the kitchen sink, nervous hands needing to find something to do. He heard the front door click shut, followed by the sound of your bare feet padding across the wooden floors, stopping behind him. He turned around to see you leaned up against the dining table, watching him. “You don’t need to do that, H,” you murmured, rim of a wine glass pressed against your mouth. “Wanted to,” he smiled, placing the last plate onto the drying rack and drying his hands on his trousers. He stalked towards you, grazing the back of his hand over your blushed cheek. “Stay here tonight,” you told him, the alcohol adding an over-confident edge to your nervousness.

He picked you up, just high enough to sit you down on the edge of the table, green eyes trailing over your face as you stared back at him, eyes wide and cheeks warm. His gaze was dark, caught somewhere between pain and lust. They dragged across your face, again and again, searching for any sign hesitance or doubt. When you didn’t flinch under his stare, his lips found yours again. Soft at first, tongue nudging delicately at your teeth for permission to lick into your mouth, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair. You chuckled against his lips as you felt nothing to grab onto, hand instead splayed across the tickle of his stubbly head.

He pulled back for a second, leaning behind you to clear a space at the end of the table before guiding your torso back until your back was flush with the wood. His hands shoved your skirt up around your waist, mouth peppering gentle kisses up and down your thighs. His touch felt so foreign, yet so much like home. He was so gentle with you now, not able to throw you around like he used to. Every move was tentative, careful not to push you too far, as if he ever could.

Harry hooked a finger under the band your pants, the tip of him grazing over your folds. He held them to the side with one hand, head lazing against your thigh as he looked over your pussy, groaning at the sight he’d longed for every day you’d been apart. He’d always craved you, just needing a little touch or taste to get through the day, or celebrate the end of a long one. He pressed a kiss into your entrance, true affection coursing through his bones. His tongue darted out, almost involuntarily, licking a stripe along your centre, then pausing to see how you’d react. When your hips bucked into him, impatient and starved of his touch for too long, he began to lick and lap at you, murmuring contently as he tasted your sweet juices on his tongue. He moved slow but with purpose, savouring the moment rather than chasing after your high as he used to. You’d never think having someone’s head between your thighs could be romantic, but this was about as romantic and loving as it could be. He was licking into you with care and attention, smirking against your folds as you writhed around, constantly trying to grab at his non-existent hair. The stubble was tickling your inner thighs as he moved, something you were used to from his chin but it felt better now. He was different, changed since you last saw him, and yet still the same perfect man.

He slipped a digit inside of you, pulling the thoughts from your mind as he began pushing into your sweet spot, tongue fucking into you simultaneously. He’d usually be spilling out obscenity by now, rasping against your folds in the way he knew you loved. But like this, silent except for the tiny moans and groans emitted from you both, you felt reborn. Approaching everything differently, vulnerable to each other’s wants and needs. His lips wrapped around your clit, feeling your legs beginning to shake beneath him and knowing you needed that one final push. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, back arching off the table as your juices ran down his hand. It was so simple, so easy and still perfect. “Happy new year,” he whispered, pressing a kiss onto your mound as he finally came up for air.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @angstygyal @hannah9921 @he6rtshaker

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Throwing out the Epilogue and Cursed Child, how would you imagine the ending of the series? Like, what comes next after Harry goes to bed after beating Voldemort?

Anonymous asked:

What changes you would like to see in the wizarding world after the war?

Anonymous asked:

If you could rewrite the epilogue of Harry Potter, how would you do it and what changes would you make?

Thank you for the asks, it gave me a reason to try and think more about what I actually want from a post-book 7 story since I usually prefer to diverge from canon before book 7. I already talked a bit about the epilogue here, but this is more of a list of things I would like to see instead of reasons I don't like the existing one. There are going to be a lot of headcanons here, so be ready for that. I don't have something super thought out in terms of how it'll happen or who will be involved in everything in the long run. But I have a few bullet points about the epilogue itself and further in the future for the HP characters.

Like, for the epilogue itself, as I wrote in the past, I'd make it only a few months in the future, not years. What I'd put there is:

Showing a bit of the Golden Trio's friendship, and the three being hopeful about the future.

They are back at Hogwarts for 8th year and offhandedly mention Harry tried to go straight to Auror training and regretted leaving Hogwarts behind so quickly.

Ron was with Harry in Auror training and when Harry told him he was dropping out, Ron dropped out too. Kingsly assures them they could both return and continue the training from the point they dropped out after 8th year (Ron would return, Harry wouldn't).

They all get to worry about a future they weren't sure they'd have.

It's mentioned Neville is helping out Sprout and Harry is helping out the changing roaster of DADA teachers (since McGonagall decided to not really sign one on permanently to avoid the curse until it could be broken).

Some sections of Hogwarts are still a little worse for wear or were rebuilt completely after the battle and it shows.

Society is a little different. I want to see a Hogwarts where houses don't matter as much. Actually, start building the unity the sorting hat sang about. Show Harry has a few Slytherins he's friendly with. Show a pure-blood Slytherin be at least polite to Hermione — show the seeds of change.

Harry and Hermione are both mentioned going to the ministry for various meetings, and we get a hope that the ministry could be changed from within. That the system that let Voldemort and the Death Eaters take over so easily could be helped.

The epilogue won't show the actual changes or politics, just imply they are happening/or will happen. Many of the ex-DA members are primed for key positions in the ministry which would help this change to happen. Still, it would be slow, but now that there is no war, they have time. Like, the epilogue would mention people like Susan Bones getting a good position in the DMLE or something.

They reference rebuilding Diagon Alley and many places that were destroyed along with setting up a war monument and a separate monument for muggleborns.

Basically, I just want to end on a note of hope, of seeing a reason to work towards a future Harry finally had, you know?

But, that note of hope needs to have a bitter taste to it. I'd mention how this year, almost all the students could see the Thestrals leading the carriages to Hogwarts, an entire generation who gazed upon death.

Like, I don't care that much who Harry marries and what he names his kids, so I don't really mind not seeing that and leaving that to each reader to imagine their own future for him. If I were to rewrite the epilogue, that's what I'd do, I'd keep it vague.

As for other things I have in mind for Harry's future after the books, well, I think I mentioned some of them in the post I linked but I'll note down a few:

Harry becomes DADA professor and eventual deputy headmaster for McGonagall and Professor Potter doesn't let an abused kid go unnoticed. He's going to do something about it, for all houses.

Ron does still become an Auror, and I see him getting really good and valued there. I want Ron to become head of the DMLE instead of Harry.

I like to imagine Hermione becoming an Unspeakable actually, I think she'd enjoy it more than politics. Like, as much as she cares, she isn't very politically savvy. She is going to use Harry's Potter Wizengamot seat and war hero status (+ her own war hero status) to help him and other ex-DA members push for more creature rights and changes in the Wizarding World though.

Neville becomes a Herbology Professor and head of Gryffindor, and he and Harry become closer friends when they work together at Hogwarts.

Harry also breaks the DADA curse, either by figuring it out (he's very intuitive about magic and he knows how Tom thinks, so he could figure it out) or the curse recognizes him and just ceases. Even if Harry isn't a Horcrux anymore, I think carrying Tom's soul for so long had a lasting effect, so he just might get a pass. And even if the curse doesn't break, honestly, if anyone knows how to survive a year at Hogwarts when something's out to kill you it's the Boy-Who-Lived. So the curse might break after it fails once because it's Harry James Potter, Master of Death extraordinaire, and exception to magic.

I think Luna continues editing the Quibbler with her father, as well, and after the war, it becomes a real competition for the Prophet. She still becomes a Magizoologist in my headcanon.

Harry would eventually become Hogwarts headmaster, I think, in my version of events. Obviously, this would be way later, but I really see it happening. I'm hoping in his time as headmaster he'll finally fire Binns and get an actual history teacher into this school.

As for shipping, in my ultimate vision, Harry and Theo get together either during 8th year or by meeting in the ministry, maybe in Wizengamot warlock conventions (since Theo's father was a Death Eater and is either dead or in Azkaban, it'll be Theo there). I believe Theo wasn't actually in Britain during book 7 and the war and that's how he got out of being a Death Eater. He wasn't mentioned among the Slytherins that were in Hogwarts, so it's possible. I disagree with everything Cursed Child did to my boy Theo Nott except him being an Unspeakable since I can see that happening. His and Hermione's work dynamic in the DOM could be really fun, I think and it might be how he and Harry start talking.

For everyone else, I'm honestly less picky. I'm fine with Ron and Hermione together at the end, but I'd also be fine if they won't be, so 🤷‍♀️

[feedists4progress]

WHY US? WHY NOW?

Politicians are not perfect people. Voting, especially in the US, is not a perfect system. It's not the be-all end-all of political action and it certainly does not fix everything wrong with our nation and political system. It certainly does not fix the United States' complicity in the Palestinian genocide or its other atrocities overseas.

BUT.

The Harris campaign, by virtue of choosing Tim Walz over any of the other options, more has already demonstrated its willingness to listen to its would-be constituents over voices and donors from within the Democratic party urging them to choose a running mate who caters to the moderate center. In this choice, Harris has already demonstrated that she is flexible: she is not immune to pressure from the people she hopes to govern. This alone gives us as voters and constituents so much more leverage to apply pressure on her administration to achieve political victories we actually want: a ceasefire in Gaza, universal healthcare, nationwide abortion access, protected trans rights and trans healthcare, and more.

There is SO MUCH on the line in this election — and so many of the issues at risk this year are or are adjacent to fat liberation and queer issues:

Healthcare and prescription reform

Racial equity and justice

Abortion access (reminder that Plan B is less effective for those over 155 lbs!)

Trans rights, safety, and healthcare access

LGBTQIA+ rights

Disability rights and healthcare (including Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security)

Environmental reform and climate change mitigation

Public health and vaccine funding

Public education funding and related infrastructure

Labor rights

We have a lot to lose this year. But if we can elect an administration that is at least invested in moving forward, we'll also have a lot to gain.

SO, WHAT CAN I DO?

Check your voter registration!

Text voters and help them register!

Phonebank or textbank for blue candidates!

Write postcards to voters in swing states!

Knock doors if you're able!

Join a voter protection & registration hotline!

Donate to your local candidates (find them here)!

If you're not sure where to start, these organizations host tons of events you can get involved with:

Democrats.org

Democratic Volunteer Center

Field Team 6

Mobilize

Sister District

Swing Blue

Swing Left

Vote Save America

WHY TIM WALZ?

The guy gets it. Need I say more?

[ms-hells-bells]

Because senator Kamala Harris is a prosecutor and I am a felon, I have been following her political rise, with the same focus that my younger son tracks Steph Curry threes. Before it was in vogue to criticize prosecutors, my friends and I were exchanging tales of being railroaded by them. Shackled in oversized green jail scrubs, I listened to a prosecutor in a Fairfax County, Va., courtroom tell a judge that in one night I’d single-handedly changed suburban shopping forever. Everything the prosecutor said I did was true — I carried a pistol, carjacked a man, tried to rob two women. “He needs a long penitentiary sentence,” the prosecutor told the judge. I faced life in prison for carjacking the man. I pleaded guilty to that, to having a gun, to an attempted robbery. I was 16 years old. The old heads in prison would call me lucky for walking away with only a nine-year sentence.

I’d been locked up for about 15 months when I entered Virginia’s Southampton Correctional Center in 1998, the year I should have graduated from high school. In that prison, there were probably about a dozen other teenagers. Most of us had lengthy sentences — 30, 40, 50 years — all for violent felonies. Public talk of mass incarceration has centered on the war on drugs, wrongful convictions and Kafkaesque sentences for nonviolent charges, while circumventing the robberies, home invasions, murders and rape cases that brought us to prison.

The most difficult discussion to have about criminal-justice reform has always been about violence and accountability. You could release everyone from prison who currently has a drug offense and the United States would still outpace nearly every other country when it comes to incarceration. According to the Prison Policy Institute, of the nearly 1.3 million people incarcerated in state prisons, 183,000 are incarcerated for murder; 17,000 for manslaughter; 165,000 for sexual assault; 169,000 for robbery; and 136,000 for assault. That’s more than half of the state prison population.

When Harris decided to run for president, I thought the country might take the opportunity to grapple with the injustice of mass incarceration in a way that didn’t lose sight of what violence, and the sorrow it creates, does to families and communities. Instead, many progressives tried to turn the basic fact of Harris’s profession into an indictment against her. Shorthand for her career became: “She’s a cop,” meaning, her allegiance was with a system that conspires, through prison and policing, to harm Black people in America.

In the past decade or so, we have certainly seen ample evidence of how corrupt the system can be: Michelle Alexander’s best-selling book, “The New Jim Crow,” which argues that the war on drugs marked the return of America’s racist system of segregation and legal discrimination; Ava DuVernay’s “When They See Us,” a series about the wrongful convictions of the Central Park Five, and her documentary “13th,” which delves into mass incarceration more broadly; and “Just Mercy,” a book by Bryan Stevenson, a public interest lawyer, that has also been made into a film, chronicling his pursuit of justice for a man on death row, who is eventually exonerated. All of these describe the destructive force of prosecutors, giving a lot of run to the belief that anyone who works within a system responsible for such carnage warrants public shame.

My mother had an experience that gave her a different perspective on prosecutors — though I didn’t know about it until I came home from prison on March 4, 2005, when I was 24. That day, she sat me down and said, “I need to tell you something.” We were in her bedroom in the townhouse in Suitland, Md., that had been my childhood home, where as a kid she’d call me to bring her a glass of water. I expected her to tell me that despite my years in prison, everything was good now. But instead she told me about something that happened nearly a decade earlier, just weeks after my arrest. She left for work before the sun rose, as she always did, heading to the federal agency that had employed her my entire life. She stood at a bus stop 100 feet from my high school, awaiting the bus that would take her to the train that would take her to a stop near her job in the nation’s capital. But on that morning, a man yanked her into a secluded space, placed a gun to her head and raped her. When she could escape, she ran wildly into the 6 a.m. traffic.

My mother’s words turned me into a mumbling and incoherent mess, unable to grasp how this could have happened to her. I knew she kept this secret to protect me. I turned to Google and searched the word “rape” along with my hometown and was wrecked by the violence against women that I found. My mother told me her rapist was a Black man. And I thought he should spend the rest of his years staring at the pockmarked walls of prison cells that I knew so well.

The prosecutor’s job, unlike the defense attorney’s or judge’s, is to do justice. What does that mean when you are asked by some to dole out retribution measured in years served, but blamed by others for the damage incarceration can do? The outrage at this country’s criminal-justice system is loud today, but it hasn’t led us to develop better ways of confronting my mother’s world from nearly a quarter-century ago: weekends visiting her son in a prison in Virginia; weekdays attending the trial of the man who sexually assaulted her.

We said goodbye to my grandmother in the same Baptist church that, in June 2019, Senator Kamala Harris, still pursuing the Democratic nomination for president, went to give a major speech about why she became a prosecutor. I hadn’t been inside Brookland Baptist Church for a decade, and returning reminded me of Grandma Mary and the eight years of letters she mailed to me in prison. The occasion for Harris’s speech was the annual Freedom Fund dinner of the South Carolina State Conference of the N.A.A.C.P. The evening began with the Black national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” and at the opening chord nearly everyone in the room stood. There to write about the senator, I had been standing already and mouthed the words of the first verse before realizing I’d never sung any further.

Each table in the banquet hall was filled with folks dressed in their Sunday best. Servers brought plates of food and pitchers of iced tea to the tables. Nearly everyone was Black. The room was too loud for me to do more than crouch beside guests at their tables and scribble notes about why they attended. Speakers talked about the chapter’s long history in the civil rights movement. One called for the current generation of young rappers to tell a different story about sacrifice. The youngest speaker of the night said he just wanted to be safe. I didn’t hear anyone mention mass incarceration. And I knew in a different decade, my grandmother might have been in that audience, taking in the same arguments about personal agency and responsibility, all the while wondering why her grandbaby was still locked away. If Harris couldn’t persuade that audience that her experiences as a Black woman in America justified her decision to become a prosecutor, I knew there were few people in this country who could be moved.

Describing her upbringing in a family of civil rights activists, Harris argued that the ongoing struggle for equality needed to include both prosecuting criminal defendants who had victimized Black people and protecting the rights of Black criminal defendants. “I was cleareyed that prosecutors were largely not people who looked like me,” she said. This mattered for Harris because of the “prosecutors that refused to seat Black jurors, refused to prosecute lynchings, disproportionately condemned young Black men to death row and looked the other way in the face of police brutality.” When she became a prosecutor in 1990, she was one of only a handful of Black people in her office. When she was elected district attorney of San Francisco in 2003, she recalled, she was one of just three Black D.A.s nationwide. And when she was elected California attorney general in 2010, there were no other Black attorneys general in the country. At these words, the crowd around me clapped. “I knew the unilateral power that prosecutors had with the stroke of a pen to make a decision about someone else’s life or death,” she said.

Harris offered a pair of stories as evidence of the importance of a Black woman’s doing this work. Once, ear hustling, she listened to colleagues discussing ways to prove criminal defendants were gang-affiliated. If a racial-profiling manual existed, their signals would certainly be included: baggy pants, the place of arrest and the rap music blaring from vehicles. She said that she’d told her colleagues: “So, you know that neighborhood you were talking about? Well, I got family members and friends who live in that neighborhood. You know the way you were talking about how folks were dressed? Well, that’s actually stylish in my community.” She continued: “You know that music you were talking about? Well, I got a tape of that music in my car right now.”

The second example was about the mothers of murdered children. She told the audience about the women who had come to her office when she was San Francisco’s D.A. — women who wanted to speak with her, and her alone, about their sons. “The mothers came, I believe, because they knew I would see them,” Harris said. “And I mean literally see them. See their grief. See their anguish.” They complained to Harris that the police were not investigating. “My son is being treated like a statistic,” they would say. Everyone in that Southern Baptist church knew that the mothers and their dead sons were Black. Harris outlined the classic dilemma of Black people in this country: being simultaneously overpoliced and underprotected. Harris told the audience that all communities deserved to be safe.

Among the guests in the room that night whom I talked to, no one had an issue with her work as a prosecutor. A lot of them seemed to believe that only people doing dirt had issues with prosecutors. I thought of myself and my friends who have served long terms, knowing that in a way, Harris was talking about Black people’s needing protection from us — from the violence we perpetrated to earn those years in a series of cells.

Harris came up as a prosecutor in the 1990s, when both the political culture and popular culture were developing a story about crime and violence that made incarceration feel like a moral response. Back then, films by Black directors — “New Jack City,” “Menace II Society,” “Boyz n the Hood” — turned Black violence into a genre where murder and crack-dealing were as ever-present as Black fathers were absent. Those were the years when Representative Charlie Rangel, a Democrat, argued that “we should not allow people to distribute this poison without fear that they might be arrested” and “go to jail for the rest of their natural life.” Those were the years when President Clinton signed legislation that ended federal parole for people with three violent crime convictions and encouraged states to essentially eliminate parole; made it more difficult for defendants to challenge their convictions in court; and made it nearly impossible to challenge prison conditions.

Back then, it felt like I was just one of an entire generation of young Black men learning the logic of count time and lockdown. With me were Anthony Winn and Terell Kelly and a dozen others, all lost to prison during those years. Terell was sentenced to 33 years for murdering a man when he was 17 — a neighborhood beef turned deadly. Home from college for two weeks, a 19-year-old Anthony robbed four convenience stores — he’d been carrying a pistol during three. After he was sentenced by four judges, he had a total of 36 years.

Most of us came into those cells with trauma, having witnessed or experienced brutality before committing our own. Prison, a factory of violence and despair, introduced us to more of the same. And though there were organizations working to get rid of the death penalty, end mandatory minimums, bring back parole and even abolish prisons, there were few ways for us to know that they existed. We suffered. And we felt alone. Because of this, sometimes I reduce my friends’ stories to the cruelty of doing time. I forget that Terell and I walked prison yards as teenagers, discussing Malcolm X and searching for mentors in the men around us. I forget that Anthony and I talked about the poetry of Sonia Sanchez the way others praised DMX. He taught me the meaning of the word “patina” and introduced me to the music of Bill Withers. There were Luke and Fats; and Juvie, who could give you the sharpest edge-up in America with just a razor and comb.

When I left prison in 2005, they all had decades left. Then I went to law school and believed I owed it to them to work on their cases and help them get out. I’ve persuaded lawyers to represent friends pro bono. Put together parole packets — basically job applications for freedom: letters of recommendation and support from family and friends; copies of certificates attesting to vocational training; the record of college credits. We always return to the crimes to provide explanation and context. We argue that today each one little resembles the teenager who pulled a gun. And I write a letter — which is less from a lawyer and more from a man remembering what it means to want to go home to his mother. I write, struggling to condense decades of life in prison into a 10-page case for freedom. Then I find my way to the parole board’s office in Richmond, Va., and try to persuade the members to let my friends see a sunrise for the first time.

Juvie and Luke have made parole; Fats, represented by the Innocence Project at the University of Virginia School of Law, was granted a conditional pardon by Virginia’s governor, Ralph Northam. All three are home now, released just as a pandemic would come to threaten the lives of so many others still inside. Now free, they’ve sent me text messages with videos of themselves hugging their mothers for the first time in decades, casting fishing lines from boats drifting along rivers they didn’t expect to see again, enjoying a cold beer that isn’t contraband.

In February, after 25 years, Virginia passed a bill making people incarcerated for at least 20 years for crimes they committed before their 18th birthdays eligible for parole. Men who imagined they would die in prison now may see daylight. Terell will be eligible. These years later, he’s the mentor we searched for, helping to organize, from the inside, community events for children, and he’s spoken publicly about learning to view his crimes through the eyes of his victim’s family. My man Anthony was 19 when he committed his crime. In the last few years, he’s organized poetry readings, book clubs and fatherhood classes. When Gregory Fairchild, a professor at the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia, began an entrepreneurship program at Dillwyn Correctional Center, Anthony was among the graduates, earning all three of the certificates that it offered. He worked to have me invited as the commencement speaker, and what I remember most is watching him share a meal with his parents for the first time since his arrest. But he must pray that the governor grants him a conditional pardon, as he did for Fats.

I tell myself that my friends are unique, that I wouldn’t fight so hard for just anybody. But maybe there is little particularly distinct about any of us — beyond that we’d served enough time in prison. There was a skinny light-skinned 15-year-old kid who came into prison during the years that we were there. The rumor was that he’d broken into the house of an older woman and sexually assaulted her. We all knew he had three life sentences. Someone stole his shoes. People threatened him. He’d had to break a man’s jaw with a lock in a sock to prove he’d fight if pushed. As a teenager, he was experiencing the worst of prison. And I know that had he been my cellmate, had I known him the way I know my friends, if he reached out to me today, I’d probably be arguing that he should be free.

But I know that on the other end of our prison sentences was always someone weeping. During the middle of Harris’s presidential campaign, a friend referred me to a woman with a story about Senator Harris that she felt I needed to hear. Years ago, this woman’s sister had been missing for days, and the police had done little. Happenstance gave this woman an audience with then-Attorney General Harris. A coordinated multicity search followed. The sister had been murdered; her body was found in a ravine. The woman told me that “Kamala understands the politics of victimization as well as anyone who has been in the system, which is that this kind of case — a 50-year-old Black woman gone missing or found dead — ordinarily does not get any resources put toward it.” They caught the man who murdered her sister, and he was sentenced to 131 years. I think about the man who assaulted my mother, a serial rapist, because his case makes me struggle with questions of violence and vengeance and justice. And I stop thinking about it. I am inconsistent. I want my friends out, but I know there is no one who can convince me that this man shouldn’t spend the rest of his life in prison.

My mother purchased her first single-family home just before I was released from prison. One version of this story is that she purchased the house so that I wouldn’t spend a single night more than necessary in the childhood home I walked away from in handcuffs. A truer account is that by leaving Suitland, my mother meant to burn the place from memory.

I imagined that I had singularly introduced my mother to the pain of the courts. I was wrong. The first time she missed work to attend court proceedings was to witness the prosecution of a kid the same age as I was when I robbed a man. He was probably from Suitland, and he’d attempted to rob my mother at gunpoint. The second time, my mother attended a series of court dates involving me, dressed in her best work clothes to remind the prosecutor and judge and those in the courtroom that the child facing a life sentence had a mother who loved him. The third time, my mother took off days from work to go to court alone and witness the trial of the man who raped her and two other women. A prosecutor’s subpoena forced her to testify, and her solace came from knowing that prison would prevent him from attacking others.

After my mother told me what had happened to her, we didn’t mention it to each other again for more than a decade. But then in 2018, she and I were interviewed on the podcast “Death, Sex & Money.” The host asked my mother about going to court for her son’s trial when he was facing life. “I was raped by gunpoint,” my mother said. “It happened just before he was sentenced. So when I was going to court for Dwayne, I was also going for a court trial for myself.” I hadn’t forgotten what happened, but having my mother say it aloud to a stranger made it far more devastating.

On the last day of the trial of the man who raped her, my mother told me, the judge accepted his guilty plea. She remembers only that he didn’t get enough time. She says her nose began to bleed. When I asked her what she would have wanted to happen to her attacker, she replied, “That I’d taken the deputy’s gun and shot him.”

Harris has studied crime-scene and autopsy photos of the dead. She has confronted men in court who have sexually assaulted their children, sexually assaulted the elderly, scalped their lovers. In her 2009 book, “Smart on Crime,” Harris praised the work of Sunny Schwartz — creator of the Resolve to Stop the Violence Project, the first restorative-justice program in the country to offer services to offenders and victims, which began at a jail in San Francisco. It aims to help inmates who have committed violent crimes by giving them tools to de-escalate confrontations. Harris wrote a bill with a state senator to ensure that children who witness violence can receive mental health treatment. And she argued that safety is a civil right, and that a 60-year sentence for a series of restaurant armed robberies, where some victims were bound or locked in freezers, “should tell anyone considering viciously preying on citizens and businesses that they will be caught, convicted and sent to prison — for a very long time.”

Politicians and the public acknowledge mass incarceration is a problem, but the lengthy prison sentences of men and women incarcerated during the 1990s have largely not been revisited. While the evidence of any prosecutor doing work on this front is slim, as a politician arguing for basic systemic reforms, Harris has noted the need to “unravel the decades-long effort to make sentencing guidelines excessively harsh, to the point of being inhumane”; criticized the bail system; and called for an end to private prisons and criticized the companies that charge absurd rates for phone calls and electronic-monitoring services.

In June, months into the Covid-19 pandemic, and before she was tapped as the vice-presidential nominee, I had the opportunity to interview Harris by phone. A police officer’s knee on the neck of George Floyd, choking the life out of him as he called for help, had been captured on video. Each night, thousands around the world protested. During our conversation, Harris told me that as the only Black woman in the United States Senate “in the midst of the killing of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery,” countless people had asked for stories about her experiences with racism. Harris said that she was not about to start telling them “about my world for a number of reasons, including you should know about the issue that affects this country as part of the greatest stain on this country.” Exhausted, she no longer answered the questions. I imagined she believes, as Toni Morrison once said, that “the very serious function of racism” is “distraction. It keeps you from doing your work.”

But these days, even in the conversations that I hear my children having, race suffuses so much. I tell Harris that my 12-year-old son, Micah, told his classmates and teachers: “As you all know, my dad went to jail. Shouldn’t the police who killed Floyd go to jail?” My son wanted to know why prison seemed to be reserved for Black people and wondered whose violence demanded a prison cell.

“In the criminal-justice system,” Harris replied, “the irony, and, frankly, the hypocrisy is that whenever we use the words ‘accountability’ and ‘consequence,’ it’s always about the individual who was arrested.” Again, she began to make a case that would be familiar to any progressive about the need to make the system accountable. And while I found myself agreeing, I began to fear that the point was just to find ways to treat officers in the same brutal way that we treat everyone else. I thought about the men I’d represented in parole hearings — and the friends I’d be representing soon. And wondered out loud to Harris: How do we get to their freedom?

“We need to reimagine what public safety looks like,” the senator told me, noting that she would talk about a public health model. “Are we looking at the fact that if you focus on issues like education and preventive things, then you don’t have a system that’s reactive?” The list of those things becomes long: affordable housing, job-skills development, education funding, homeownership. She remembered how during the early 2000s, when she was the San Francisco district attorney and started Back on Track (a re-entry program that sought to reduce future incarceration by building the skills of the men facing drug charges), many people were critical. “ ���You’re a D.A. You’re supposed to be putting people in jail, not letting them out,’” she said people told her.

It always returns to this for me — who should be in prison, and for how long? I know that American prisons do little to address violence. If anything, they exacerbate it. If my friends walk out of prison changed from the boys who walked in, it will be because they’ve fought with the system — with themselves and sometimes with the men around them — to be different. Most violent crimes go unsolved, and the pain they cause is nearly always unresolved. And those who are convicted — many, maybe all — do far too much time in prison.

And yet, I imagine what I would do if the Maryland Parole Commission contacted my mother, informing her that the man who assaulted her is eligible for parole. I’m certain I’d write a letter explaining how one morning my mother didn’t go to work because she was in a hospital; tell the board that the memory of a gun pointed at her head has never left; explain how when I came home, my mother told me the story. Some violence changes everything.

The thing that makes you suited for a conversation in America might be the very thing that precludes you from having it. Terell, Anthony, Fats, Luke and Juvie have taught me that the best indicator of whether I believe they should be free is our friendship. Learning that a Black man in the city I called home raped my mother taught me that the pain and anger for a family member can be unfathomable. It makes me wonder if parole agencies should contact me at all — if they should ever contact victims and their families.

Perhaps if Harris becomes the vice president we can have a national conversation about our contradictory impulses around crime and punishment. For three decades, as a line prosecutor, a district attorney, an attorney general and now a senator, her work has allowed her to witness many of them. Prosecutors make a convenient target. But if the system is broken, it is because our flaws more than our virtues animate it. Confronting why so many of us believe prisons must exist may force us to admit that we have no adequate response to some violence. Still, I hope that Harris reminds the country that simply acknowledging the problem of mass incarceration does not address it — any more than keeping my friends in prison is a solution to the violence and trauma that landed them there.

In light of Harris being endorsed by Biden and highly likely to be the Democratic Party candidate, I thought I would share this balanced, understanding of both sides, article in regard to Harris and her career as a prosecutor, as I know that will be something dragged out by bad actors and useful idiots (you have a bunch of people stating 'Kamala is a cop', which is completely false, and also factless and misleading statements about 'mass incarceration' under her). I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to be criticised or that there is nothing about her career that can be criticised, but it should at least be representative of the truth and understanding of the complexities of the legal system.

[darkinfinity]

Hi, happy 28th! I decided to join the 28th appreciation, so here are all the fics I read and enjoyed in the past month! Fics are organised by word count :)

🌷Tell me it's the strongest shape by @louandhazaf (E, multi, 73k)

Nick and Elgar have it all. They’re famous, successful, and engaged to be married—and sometimes they play with others.

When uni student Louis gets street cast by Elgar for a GQ photoshoot, he's drawn into Nick and Elgar’s complicated relationship.

They've always invited mates into their bed. It doesn’t ever mean anything. Until… it does.

🌷A crown of heartache by WordsInBloom28 (E, 70k)

The Royal Tail: an alpha den, a strip club, a place where secrets are concealed and consent is medicated. It’s also the place Harry has been trapped for the last three years.

Through luck or fate, Harry finds his way to Louis, a kind alpha who offers safety and comfort. After being freed from the confines of the den, Harry struggles to shake the darkness from his past.

He has a choice to make. Live in a mental prison of his own making or find the strength within himself to face his demons head on with Louis at his side.

🌷In the still of the night by @jacaranda-bloom (E, 68k)

In a society where omegas are expected to follow a predetermined path, Louis strives for more; for his voice to be heard, for recognition, for true love.

In a world where your past defines your future, Harry fights against the system; for equality, for a different life, for acceptance.

When their two worlds collide, will they be beaten down by conformity or will they rise up and forge a new path together?

OR the Dirty Dancing AU where Louis is a feisty omega who wants to change the world, Harry is an alpha from the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody puts Louis in a corner.

🌷Chasing, searching, dreaming by @parmahamlarrie (E, 46k)

Everyone is chasing, searching, dreaming of their soulmate.

Harry has known who his soulmate is since he was twenty years old, and ever since, he has been waiting for Louis to be ready for him. The unexpected passing of Louis' mum, and the fact that now he is the guardian of his twin two-year-old little siblings, just means that Harry is going to have to wait a bit longer.

A soulmate AU full of cute kids, house building, therapy, and a lot of dreaming.

🌷Four, five, finished? by @beanno28 & @lalalaartje (E, multi, 45k)

Now that they've all settled down in their relationship dynamic, Zayn, Harry and Louis agree it's time for the next step. A new phase in their lives, so to speak. They're having a baby! Or well. That's the plan. As usual for the three of them, nothing goes as planned.

Adjustments have to be made, emotions have to be lived through and discussed and all in all, our three boys need to buckle up for the ride and hope to reach their final destination without major figurative car crashes.

🌷A hopeless connection by @parmahamlarrie (E, 34k)

In a world where everyone has a soulmate, what do you do when you don’t have one?

As soon as Louis Tomlinson was born, his Timer, the one that determined when he would meet his soulmate, was already at zero. He’s spent the last twenty-five years of his life looking for that void to be filled with faceless strangers. Can he still find love?

🌷Santa baby honey by @sadaveniren (E, 29k)

“Let’s cut right to the chase,” Niall said, loading the powerpoint, which was just one page, comprised of Louis’ face and the words How do you solve a problem like this asshole? “It’s the beginning of November and Louis is already being a fuckwit. How are we gonna have him knock that shit off this year?”

aka Louis is the CEO of a toy company and Christmas is a stressful time of year so his assistant decides the best way to make him chill out is by getting him laid through a Secret Santa

🌷Thespian sweetheart by orchidsinnewyork (16k)

Harry definitely was not. He’d stopped listening.

Across the room, someone had caught his eye. 

The stranger’s light brown hair fell into wisps, framing his mask. His cheekbones could be seen even with half his face covered, and his slender fingers were brushing along the buttons of his coat. He was smiling even though he had no one in company. He seemed to glow as he stood under a chandelier, the fragments of glass reflecting bursts of light onto his frame.

Harry had never seen someone like that before. He’d been staring for too long, completely ignoring Count Paris as his gaze focused on the stranger. And he hadn’t realised it until the stranger turned his head, and their eyes met.

Harry saw his lips part, and curled into a small smile as he removed his mask. Staring back at Harry were a pair of brilliant blue eyes, twinkling at him like twin stars. The stranger winked at him, and his head felt giddy. 

~

Uni AU where Harry participates in a Theatre production, and is supposed to perform a stage kiss that winds up becoming quite real. Featuring awkward encounters, insane dreams, OT5 and peanut butter.

🌷I'll look after you by @elmeiko88 (M, 15k)

I mean, when Harry inherited his late uncle's hybrid, he didn't necessarily expect this...

Where Louis is a nice hybrid cat who's never lived with anyone but an old man, and who discovers the freedom of living with Harry...

🌷I dig your cinema by @silverstuff50 (E, 13k)

It wasn’t that Louis didn’t want to see Harry’s latest film; it was a tragically pathetic fact that Louis had watched every single show and film, every interview, every red carpet that Harry had done since his ex-boyfriend had decided to leave Uni in the second year and pursue an acting career.

It's just that he wanted to watch it on his own, in his flat, with a soft blanket, beer, ice cream, and a large box of tissues.

🌷licking sugar off taboos, we pour wild honey and wine over the walls by @larentslovebot (E, 10k)

Louis Tomlinson is a big name in the industry. A lyrical mastermind, who does not appear in public and dedicates his existence to music. Deciding to find aspiring musicians for his label, he expected to tutor young talents and make them the next heads of show business. What he didn't expect was to meet Harry Styles, omega with attitude and a captivating scent.

🌷Woke up feeling knotty by @jaerie (E, 8k)

Beta Louis has a kink for knotting and the secret aesthetic porn blog he runs about it is more than proof. When he accidentally finds out his alpha best friend Harry is one of his biggest fans, he knows he has to come clean after everything that has already happened between them. Harry just might be willing to help him out anyway.

🌷I'll keep you warm by @parmahamlarrie (T, 6k)

Louis is the kind of guy who keeps his head down and minds his own business. He’s lived on the same street for years and barely would recognize the buildings, let alone his neighbours. That’s all about to change however, due to a broken key and an unexpected snow storm.

🌷Pretty and preposterous by @brightlyharry (5k)

Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

🌷What the silence said by @larrysballetslippers (E, 3k)

“Our lives were just beginning, our favourite moment was right now, our favourite songs were unwritten. ‘Love is a mixtape’, Rob Sheffield.”

Or, Louis has tried to ask Harry, the quiet and cute librarian at his local library, out for some time. He never expected that quoting Harry's favourite books work so well for him. A very silent Valentine's day fic.

[captainjonnitkessler]

I don't think the Democrats will ever allow an actual socialist to run for office under their party name, though. The Democrats are not a socialist party, in fact I think the goals of the Democratic Party as an institution are fundamentally misaligned with socialism. I think it would be harder to stage an internal coup from inside the Democratic Party and fundamentally change its ideals from within than t just build the infrastructure for a new party. Obviously it would take many years and a lot of political will, but it just makes sense to me for left-wingers to want a fully left-wing party, and not to have to concede political positions to a party that simply doesn't respect their ideology lol.

I don't think the Democrats can prevent anyone from running for office as long as they're registered as a Democrat, can they? My point is mostly that if leftist policies were as widely popular as some people seem to think they are - popular enough that a revolution is viable and/or that Harris would have won if she'd committed to them - socialists could be sweeping (at least some) primaries and forcing the Democrats left through sheer numbers.

I don't think a leftist party is viable until after we get rid of the two-party system - otherwise, you just split the non-conservative vote. So we need to organize to get rid of the two-party system, and then organize to form a new party, and then keep that party together and keep it from fracturing into a dozen factions - which IS going to involve compromising with people who don't respect your ideology - and then organize to actually gain some ground in public perception against a citizenry that absolutely hates socialism with a pathological fury. And I don't think I've really seen any evidence that American leftists are interested in or capable of doing that much organizing.

[anghraine]

Perhaps the most purely surreal aspect of the election, btw, is that it actually went pretty great in my state (Washington). I don't even mean standard West Coast results. Washington is sapphire this year.

Harris/Walz are running about 20 points ahead of Trump statewide—currently, they're further ahead here than in Oregon or California. They're winning in Whitman County in eastern Washington and came within a few of points of winning Spokane County. Clark County, which is adjacent to the border with Oregon and contains the Portland suburb of Vancouver WA, can be a lot "swingier" than Multnomah County just to the south (which contains Portland) and a ballot box was literally blown up there to screw with the election results. Clark County worked to get new ballots to everyone affected and Harris is not only clearly winning in Clark, but further ahead than Biden in 2020—leading Trump by nearly 10 points iirc.

One of the few politicians I truly like, my beloved governor Jay Inslee, is stepping down, and had endorsed his Democratic AG, Bob Ferguson. Ferguson is easily winning the state, though not leading as much as Harris is, which is a kind of nice change from so many Democrats (including pretty mediocre ones) doing better than her, even though I've liked Ferguson as AG.

I will say that Ferguson was running against what goes for a good Republican candidate these days—a "moderate" with ties to King County (Seattle) who was not the first choice of the vile Washington GOP, but beat out some far-right assholes in the Republican primaries. For part of the campaign, it seemed like Reichert (the Republican candidate) might be "normal" enough and local enough to conceivably eke out a win, but in the event, Ferguson is ahead by double digits.

Our Democratic senator easily held her seat and also ran ahead of Ferguson in counties like Whitman.

Inslee's acknowledgment of Trump's win includes zero congratulations or unity blather, but instead remarks that Washington State sued the first Trump administration 97 times and won 95 of those cases while he was still president, and we will do it again if we have to (these suits were of course driven by AG Ferguson, now our governor-elect).

For the first time in generations, Washington Democrats actually won every statewide elected office—there are nine of them and the margins of the victories vary a lot, but the GOP failed to win even one, and the state government remains a Democratic trifecta as well.

There were four deceptively-worded, Republican-funded, corporate bullshit initiatives on the state ballot this year. Three are already dead in the water. As Governor Inslee put it, "Washingtonians sent an unequivocal message that they want action on pollution and climate change. Washingtonians also made clear they want to preserve the equity of our tax system with the capital gains tax on the super wealthy. When they or a loved one need long-term care, they want the WA Cares Act to be there for them." Yup!

Marie Gluesenkamp Pérez (a current Democrat in the House) is still leading in the Trumpy WA-3 district, which redistricting only made redder than it was before (when her victory was considered one of the biggest House upsets of the year). She's about three points ahead still.

This may sound like bragging about my state and isn't really meant that way. It feels like existing in a weird capsule because we're still very much in the USA and affected by national politics and we have our own right-wing assholes, of course, but so much about the country we live in is decided thousands of miles away from here, in large part by people who don't seem to share even the most basic sense of reality with most people here. It is a very strange experience to feel so estranged from what's happening in so much of the country.

[asgardian--angels]

I’m a biology student and fuck. Just fuck. Every post I see talks about the world ending and all life coming to an end. I know that’s not the case (I hope) but just…god. Kamala was gonna be shit with the environment but trump seems keen on speed running the time we have to put a dent in this. How do you stay hopeful? What do we have to hope for?

Hi there fellow biologist :)

First let me just say, Kamala Harris most certainly would not have been shit with the environment. She would have done quite a lot to work on climate change (she has not emphasized this at rallies because it was not a priority issue with voters, but her policies were there, and democrats consistently are progressive on environmental policy enough to make corporations angry), and Biden during his presidency has accomplished a heck of a lot to undo Trump's previous weakening of federal environmental protections and strengthen them further. My hope is that they together will continue to try and pass what they can in their remaining months. I hope in my previous posts I was not coming off as too cynical - I'm scared, as we all are, but I have great faith in the passionate and hardworking scientists in this field who have dedicated their entire lives to tirelessly protecting our planet, at all scales. We just need more of them, and that's where you come in.

How do I stay hopeful? Because of people like you, students in the biological sciences who feel strongly enough to take this career path. The next generation of environmental stewards, in a time where scientists are exponentially more knowledgeable about threats to the environment and solutions to them than ever before. Especially now, these fields are shifting from old white guys (no shade to [most of] them) to young women, people of color, and queer people in STEM, who are eager to bring new perspectives and approaches to the field that I think will bolster our resolve and increase our success.

Despite the doom and gloom, we also have made incredible strides forward to improve clean air and water, restore habitat (particularly wetlands, reversing decades-long trends of waterbird declines, as well as reversing raptor declines), ban DDT, track species declines through long-term monitoring by generations of dedicated scientists, train more effective science communicators to engage people of all ages, especially children, with the natural world to forge crucial emotional connections needed to recruit them to conservation causes, and so much more. Here's a big one - MOTUS, the system we now use to track migrating birds on their worldwide journeys, developed just in the past couple decades. Because of it, we now know in incredible detail where individual birds and populations overwinter, the routes they take, and the threats they face at different times of year - thereby being able to much more effectively target our conservation efforts. Shifting baselines work in both directions; it's easy to forget within a generation or two how much we've lost (atlantic cod used to be so abundant they jumped into fishermen's boats, passenger pigeon flocks darkened the skies for hours), but it's also easy for young people to not know how much we've gained - bald eagles used to be so rare it was a spectacle to see one, the rivers just half a century ago would literally catch on fire from the levels of pollutants, and acid rain - remember acid rain? we fixed that!) In my field specifically, we've been rediscovering once-thought-extinct bee species left and right in the past few years, because dedicated young bee researchers have put in renewed effort to search for them when no one else did. Now we know where they are and how to protect them, and some of them aren't even considered rare anymore!

You more likely than not have a professor for some class who's pushing 80. That's because in this field, we never quit. Protecting the environment is our passion, our lives, our heart and soul. It's our calling, and we couldn't think of doing anything more important with the time we have on this earth. Every stride forward we've made only happened because individual scientists, regular people, cared enough to fight for what they believed in. Often it's a slow process, and often we don't truly grasp the scope of what our own work will lead to in the grand scheme of making change. But every species out there that's still persisting is because someone loves it a whole lot. Maybe a lot of people love elephants or big cats, while just one single person loves terrestrial leeches. But heck, it only takes one person to completely change the trajectory of a species and bring widespread public attention to it! I love telling people about bee species they've never heard of, that exist right in their own state. They might go home, google it, and keep an eye out for it next time, or better, plant the flowers it specializes on. I put a call out on iNaturalist for users in my state to search wetlands for a rare wetland bee with only a couple of records in the state - within a couple months, half a dozen more sightings popped up. Just like that. The bee was considered rare, but no one was looking. They had no idea there was anything to look for. Now? Not so rare, maybe - a good sign!

I stay hopeful because I know that the planet needs us, and we need the planet. The people who love nature will never stop fighting to protect it, and every single action does make a difference, whether we know it or not. I could ask myself why I give talks at public libraries where my audience is 10 people at best, even when the drive is 6+ hours. Because one, just one, of those people might be inspired or moved by my words, and choose to take action. For all I know, I've started a domino effect that will cascade into something huge. I worked with and briefly mentored an undergraduate student in bee science a few years ago - he's since gone on to work on a huge project to digitize bee specimens locked away in dusty drawers for decades, bringing to light dozens of species for which we previously had little to no information or images, improving the resources available to other researchers to identify their specimens and thus be able to monitor these rare, specialized desert bees. You can't know the impact you'll have. You just have to do the work, and always give all you can, and love doing it.

Some might think it's too little too late - but that's relative. There's no such thing as the apocalypse. Nature continues on, in whatever form it needs to. In a way, we've decided what our benchmark is; prevent the loss of biodiversity, preserve ecosystem services. But the natural world has already changed, since the moment any human stepped foot onto a new continent or island and brought plants and animals with them. We put value on species, on ecosystems, because we love them. We think they are beautiful, that they have intrinsic or extrinsic value, and that they deserve a continued place in this world. We have lost species, and we will lose a lot more. But isn't preventing even one extinction worth it? We fight tirelessly to manage the spread of invasive species, to restore even little patches of urban habitat, when someone could look at those and say, 'what's that point? that won't make any difference.' But tell that to the species that live there. The planet keeps running because of small, local changes carried out by thousands of people, and a handful of big changes (like policy) undertaken by a few ballsy folks. Neither would work without the other. Every time I get my hands in the dirt and plant a new species in my pollinator garden, it gives me hope. I'm investing in the future. By being here, studying biology, you are too. It all gives me hope.

[vaesbst]

The Academy for Soulless Dolls|| #1

╰┈➤ Synopsis; Mencià, a lifelong drifter through boarding schools, is thrust into the mysterious Rosethorn Academy, a haven for the elite. Eager to stay under the radar, her plans unravel when the school's most powerful heir becomes dangerously obsessed with her. As she uncovers dark secrets within the academy's shadowy halls, Mencià must protect her own secrets or risk being consumed by the sinister forces at play.

╰┈➤ Paring: Hyunjin x OC

╰┈➤ Genre: elite academy au, dark secrets, slow burn, angst, smut,fluff

╰┈➤ Warnings: explicit language, implied violence

╰┈➤ Word count: 5.1k

notes: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written and english isn’t my first language so I apologise for any grammatical errors. The main protagonist is an OC I created, and she’s meant to be a darkskin black female but you’re more than welcome to picture her as yourself or anyone else you want. Please do leave me some feedback as I appreciate them all and they help me improve.

Mob mentality

-- also called herd or hive mentality -- is the inclination that some humans have to be part of a large group, often neglecting their individual feelings in the process, and adopting the behaviors and actions of the people around them.

                                                                                   ╔⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╗

New beginnings are always scary- well at least that's what the average person would say if you asked them . Not many people are fond of change, some will even do the unthinkable to avoid it because, understandably so, it does open a vast door to the unknown and when individuals are used to a set routine, suddenly having to face and tackle something foreign will arise a sense of fight of flight in them.

But I can't say the same for me.

I'm walking through the vast opaque corridors of what's going to be my new home for the next year with my head ducked down, hiding away from the public and taking count of every step I'm making, attempting as much as possible to avoid the curious stares that I'm already receiving from the other students. I know it's weird to refer to a school as a "home" but coming from where I came, anywhere would be better than my actual in-house situation. My old school used to be my safe heaven. A place where i felt accepted and secure. A place where I felt like I could truly be myself and walk around the hallways without feeling much angst. It was great, until it wasn't. They turned on me so I had to flee in search of a new place to call home.

My dad wasn't too happy about me having to change schools in the middle of the year, as it would raise too many questions that he'd have to bury since he can't risk having his reputation ruined by a "trouble making" daughter. At least not now that's he's running for senator. So he did what he's been doing for the past 14 years. Found the best academy he could lock me up in for good.

This time he chose Rosethorn Academy for Gifted Kids, which I've heard lots about. Mainly regarding how it's a elite school where extremely rich entitled parents send their spoiled bratty kids to, so that they can get on with their luxurious lives without having to worry about them for a good year. But also about how they have developed an intricate housing system that is substantially similar to Hogwarts from Harry Potter which I'm sorta excited to see.

"Make sure your clothes are straightened and your hair is patted down adequately Mencìa, your aim is to leave a good impression" says my mum walking alongside me with her back as straight and rigid as a sugar cane, nose pointed up to the sky, strolling along this unfamiliar corridor like she owns the place.

Despite initially being a mere "commoner", my mother has gained a sense of superiority over her peers when my dad chose to marry her. She is aware that most of them bad mouth her behind her back, but she could not care less because in her words "only miserable people have the time to look down on others since they aren't satisfied with what life has given them, successful people are too busy capitalising off of their success". In some ways I do admire her confidence, but sometimes I do wonder whether she's just putting up a front.

Me and her have been walking for what seemed like hours before we reached the door of the headmaster's office. "Look at me for a second" my mother says grabbing my chin and tilting my head towards her.

"Ow ma! You're hurting me" i loudly whisper , trying to not gain attention from the other passer-by's as she keeps tilting my head in every direction, closely analysing my face to detect any imperfections.

"Like I said, leaving a good impression is key" she reminds me, "Plus, you look great today, though I wish you wore something a little bit more...professional? concise?" She admits whilst simultaneously looking down at my outfit: an oversized grey hoodie with a black Metallica graphic tee underneath, a jean skirt, white slouch socks and a pair of black healed Mary Jane's.

"I think it's a pretty average outfit ma" I defensively say since I literally don't see what's wrong with it, this is literally how I dress everyday. "Exactly." she reaffirms leaving me dumbfounded as she proceeds to knock on the door.

"COME IN!" shouts a feminine voice inside the office. As we walk inside we are welcomed by a tall, slim blonde woman, standing right next to her desk. She seems to be in her mid 50's.

"You must be Mencìa Natalia Cypress" she says looking at me and holding her hand out smiling. I took it, shaking it lightly, slightly intimidated by how intensely she's gazing at me. Almost as if she was trying to uncover my deepest darkest secrets which made me wonder what she could already know about me.

"And you must be Amethyst VonDée, her guardian" she says while shaking hands with my mother

"Yes correct, it's nice to finally meet you Mrs Peregrine" she smiles, looking at her up and down whilst still maintaining a sense of elegance in her greet, which Mrs Peregrine seems to be slightly taken aback by, but she manages to quickly compose herself and greets her with the same intesity, "The pleasure is mine, why don't we all take a sit and chat for a bit" she says, guiding her hands towards the two cushioned chairs in front of her chestnut desk.

Me and my mother gladly take our sits and Mrs Peregrine joins us shortly after. "So Miss Cypress, what I have here in front of me is your curriculum from your other school" she informs us, "and by giving it a quick scan I would like to say that it's relatively impressive!" She adds, "You have an A in pretty much every subject- except for PE but we can work on that. Plus, we only look at academic subjects here and not really physical" she smiles at me reassuringly.

"Though a C isn't a bad grade so you don't have much to worry about, but..." she shifts her gaze from her computer screen to me, staring at me with so much intensity that it made me shake on my sit, anxiously waiting for the next words that were about to come out of her mouth.

"I just wanted to inform you that we do not tolerate any type misconduct here at Rosethorn" the tone of her voice changed, suddenly sounding a lot more stricter and colder, a juxtaposition of her initial sweet and reassuring voice.

My heart drops at the reminder of the past occurrences in my old school. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to move on so badly and get away from it all. I tried forgetting every instance that had happen for my own sake, but it seems like this situation will forever keep haunting me.

"My husband has already taken care of it Mrs Peregrine so it shouldn't be an issue" my mother intervenes, probably sensing my discomfort, "Plus I am aware that he has left a rather large donation to prevent this topic from coming up again, was it not large enough? Should i refer it to him?" she adds, smugly looking at the headmaster with her head high.

I witness firsthand the colour of her face completely draining as she started frantically coughing, "No *cough* no need to result to such drastic measures, I just wanted to..." she pauses and looks at me with a tight smile "..tell Mencìa about how the academy works. I was not referring to anything in particular" she awkwardly laughs and diverts her gaze back to her computer screen.

"Shall we move onto sorting out the house you will be part of?" she utters, clapping her hands together.

I swiftly look at my mother which seems rather pleased after witnessing the headmaster literally shiver from terror at the mention of my father. Me and her both know that my father is a scary individual. Not many people are willing to go against him because of his overarching strong personality, and the faint rumours about the end that many of his competitors have met. I don't know if the rumours are true since I was never too keen on knowing how my dad handles his business, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were. He's a terryfying man.

"Okay so after our system calculated the mean of your grades, looked into your old extracurricular activities and analysed the frequency in your contribution both in class and during these clubs as well as your socio-economic status, it has suggested that the best house for you would be.... Làpis Lazzuli!" she announces excitedly, looking at me seeking for a reaction.

I give her a slight awkward smile which she seems disappointed by, probably expecting a bigger reaction from me. I have no idea about what significance the houses here hold so being put in Làpis Lazzuli doesn't really make a difference to me, I would have been content any where to be honest.

"That's perfect! That is exactly what me and her dad were hoping for!" my mum proudly exclaims, looking at me like I've just won a Nobel prize for world peace. Confused is literally an understatement for what I'm feeling right now.

"I'm very glad you're happy with the choice madame" Mrs Peregrine smiles "Mencìa, heres your timetable" she says handing me my seemingly packed schedule "and your designated uniform should have been delivered to your room by now, so when you go check it out it should be placed on your bed. If it's not, do not hesitate to ring front desk and they'll sort it out for you"

I nod feeling slightly light headed. It's done. It's over. I've been enrolled and now i'm officially a Rosethorne student. I'd be lying if i said that my heart didn't feel like it was literally about to jump out my throat. I knew the process wasn't going to take long but a little part in me hoped that this meeting would have lasted longer, or at least long enough for me to familiarise myself with the idea of frequenting a school where hopefully no one knew me. And i was going to make that my priority. I have to keep myself anomymous no matter what.

I pick my bag up from the ground where it was slouched against one of the legs of the desk and make my way outside the office alongside my mother.

"That was a succesful meeting, i'll make sure to refer everything back to your father, he'll be very pleased to hear that you made it into Lapis house" she says, looking at me ecstatic. I scoff, knowing that if she was refering to my dad, as in THE Lucious Santana then he most likely wouldn't have cared. He doesn't tend to mingle with my affairs, all he cares about is his "empire".

"What the hell is the deal with this Lapus Lozzuli house?" i frown perplexed, "It's LÀPIS LAZZULI, not Lupas Luzzoli or whatever language you just spoke right now" she corrects me "Plus, only the best of the best get accepted into that house. Think about every politician or successful business owner you know that has attended Rosethorne. They were all sorted into Làpis house. They call it the house of the 0.1 percentile" she triumphaly says, making a grand gesture with her arms to emphasise the significance of her statement "Because being in that house will guarantee you a prime spot amongst the elites of the population the second you're out of here".

I nod as i sign of understanding to cut the conversation short. I tuned out whatever she was saying the second she started talking about politicians and all that rubbish, i have bigger things to worry about, like what the uniform is gonna look like on me and how fast i'll be able change and walk to third period english literature to be able to get there before everyone else. The last thing i want right now is to have an entire group of post pubescent teenagers wonder where the fuck i came from just because i chose to appear at a more appropriate time.

                                                                                   

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Oh wow..." my mother says dumfounded by the large building that was currently facing us. "Oh wow indeed madre..." i reply being equally as dumbfounded as she was. The female dormitory is rather magnificient to say the least.

It's a slate grey brick building with a charcoal clay & concrete tile roof. The massive burgundy entrance door was shadowed by a vast ashen staircase in the same opaque shade as the building. The walkway was drowned by white pebbles that composed an ironically smooth path of gravel that flawlessly complimented the walls' colour, and the dormitory was surrounded by a perfectly trimmed bush that fenced the structure. Directly infront of it, in the centre of the expansive walkway, a bronze fountain stood, with a statue of a supposedly faceless woman holding a withering rose against her chest.

I make my way up the stairs clutching the ends of my jean skirt  so tightly to avoid flashing anyone behind me and just to have something to hold because i genuenly don't know what to do with myself. The anxiety is eating me alive.

We make it through the entrance and are welcomed by a spacious hall, illuminated by an enormous crystal gold chandelier perfectly cascading above a large mahogany desk residing right in the centre.

A brunette tanned woman is sitting infront of a silver large screen behind the desk, loudly tapping away on her minuture iMac keyboard. She looked up once she heard us walking towards her and stood to greet us warmily "Hello! Nice to meet you both, i'm Faith" she said shaking both mine and my mother's hands. "You must be Mencìa" she looked at me with a bright smile "I was expecting you", she said whilst walking behind her desk and coming back round to where me and my mum are standing with a set of keys in her hands. She hands me the keys and i notice the large golden 77 engraved in the blue leather keychain attached to them.

"You will be residing in our solo suites on the third floor as requested by your father" i exhale, being glad that for once my dad cared enough to actually listen to me. I wouldn't have minded sharing a room with another student if it weren't for the special circumstances i'm currently in.

After all, i did have a roomate in my old school but unfortunately it didn't go as well as I planned...

I begged my father to request for a single room by myself, and i didn't think he was actually listening to me that day since he seemed to be a lot more captivated by contents on his work computer rather than his literal offspring standing in front of him begging for her life. I guess this time he actually acknowledged me.

"The elevators are this way" Faith points to her left towards the end the corridor where three silvery metallic doors were sitting against a brick wall next to each other. "Your suitcases should have been taken up to your room by now so don't you worry about them. Do call me if there's any concerns" she lastly says before returning back to her sit.

We made our way up to the third floor and found my room in no time, being that it was the only room at the very end of the corridor. There weren't many students around, as i recall noticing that the only people present in the bulding when i first walked in were Faith the receptionist and the tall security guard next to the entrance.

I figure that everyone must be in their respective classes right now hence the current sinister emptiness of the corridors.

"Okay brace yourself for disaster, we're here!!" my mother squeales excited. I grip onto the handle and open the door at a painfully slow pace with my breath hitched, expecting the worse even though it's probably just going to be an average sized empty room and I'm just overreacting.

The door opens all the way and we're met with a beautifully lighted spacious bedroom. The walls are pearly white with a pinkish undertone that I'm yet to determine whether it's due to the sunlight reflecting onto the majestic diamond chandelier in the dead centre of the ceiling, or if it's simply just the paint.

The floor is covered by a light grey carpet that I adore since I prefer walking around my room shoe less. A double bed rests upon a little round platform (also covered by the grey carpet) directly in front of the door. Its headboard is a silvery crushed velvet material. On the left side, two massive windows allow the sunlight outside to naturally light up the room, and a white couch with two fuchsia cushions sits underneath them.

A white mahogany desk resides on the right side of the room, between two doors. One leads to the en-suite bathroom and the other one leads to the walk-in closet. My suitcases were left in the middle of my room.

"I gotta admit this is much better than I expected" I say satisfied with what I was given. I'm not too sure whether it was my dad's doing or if these are just what the standard single rooms look like, but I'm happy nonetheless. I can't wait to decorate it.

"Your dad really outdid himself this time. That couch is fabulous! We need one in our bedroom" my mum says, pacing around the room inspecting the surroundings.

"What do you mean by 'dad outdid himself'? Did he remodel the room?!" I ask anxiously. I mean, I did request for a single room and it is indeed quite nice but I don't wanna receive any special treatments in case it brings too much attention. I would've been fine with anything.

"Not necessarily...but he did replace the original bed with the current one and he also got you the couch" she explains "plus the chandelier was my doing! Do you like it?" she looks at me hopeful, waiting for my response.

"It was a nice touch, I love it! Thanks mum" I say embracing her lovingly. A bit extra? Yes.

But what can I do. That's just how my mother shows her love for me every so often, especially since she doesn't get to do so in public anyway.

"You're welcome tesoro~" she replies hugging me back. I end our embrace and walk towards my bed where my uniform is sitting: An almost black navy blue blazer with 2 golden buttons, a blue and grey plaid bow tie with a big blue gem on the knot,  a plaid pleated skirt of the same colour of the bow tie, and a complementary black gilet sweater that I'm guessing is for when the weather is colder.

"Do you need any help unpacking Mencià? Because I can stay for longer if you need me to" my mother asks me with a look of worry on her face.

"No thanks mum. I'm gonna go off to my first lesson soon so I'm probably not gonna unpack right now. Plus it'll give me something to do this evening so I should be fine" I tell her, smiling reassuringly.

"If you say so then I'll be taking my leave. Don't forget to call me tonight once you're back from your classes and don't even think about shortening your skirt Mencià..." she beings rambling as I start pushing her towards the door. Once she starts she'll never end.

"... and wear tights! And I'm not talking about those fishnets you're hiding in your suitcase. You thought I didn't see them huh?!" she carries on, "yeah mum I won't don't worry" I respond exasperated trying to cease her blathering.

"Also..." we're at the door now and she's finally stopped her rambling session. She's looking at me now, worry back on her face "Don't forget that we're always here for you. Your dad may not show it often but he loves you very much" A saddened look replaces the look of worry as she begins stroking my left cheek with her thumb

"You've gone through a lot of hardships but this is your chance to start over. Don't think about the past anymore and focus on building a new future. A future that you desire" she says, smiling at me reassuringly.

"Thanks for the advice madre~" i force a smile in an attempt to hide the tears that are about to spill out my eyes. Goodbyes are  never easy, no matter how frequently they happen. I've gradually adapted to not being at home often being that I grew up going to various boarding schools, but this time it's different. It feels different.

"Please thank dad on my behalf for the bed and the couch" I say giving her one last hug. "I will~" she replies. We end our embrace and she gives me one last look before taking her leave.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Gosh~ spero di essermi portata tutto..."(I hope I brought everything I need) I mumble underneath my breath.

After mopping around my room for 30 minutes trying to figure out how to make my uniform look less dull, I finally left. I know I promised mum that I wouldn't wear the fishnets but I had no choice. I tried to add a little bit of me to my uniform by slightly shortening the skirt and wearing black fishnets with platform doc martens. Everything else is normal.

Third period starts in 45 minutes meaning that I still have time to get to my English classroom and settle in before the other students start swarming in.

Luckily I'm not experiencing much difficulty in finding the room thanks to the map of the school Faith gave on my way out, though I've noticed that the stares have increased and I'm starting to feel slightly anxious again.

Earlier today, I had thought that the reason why everyone was looking at me was because I was literally walking alongside my mother hence people figured that I was new and were just curious. But now I'm all by myself yet others are still staring at me, specifically at my neck, and whispering things underneath their breath to their friends if they're walking in duos or groups.

I'm trying to shake it off, but I'm finding it difficult to not think that they could know something. I feel like if I don't get out of here right now I'm going to start hyperventilating, which i absolutely need to avoid.

I begin rushing to find my classroom so I can seat down and stabilise my breath before everyone else gets there. After searching the hallway on the second floor for what seemed like an eternity, I finally find.

I go to open the door but I stop due to the unknown voices I'm hearing coming from inside. No one should be here yet, class literally starts in about 30 minutes then why am I hearing people inside?

"Have you not learnt your lesson yet? Must I remind you who you are again or are you gonna come to your senses?" says a male voice in a threatening but oddly calm voice followed by a loud bang and a weak mewl possibly coming from a second person in the room. I jolt as I take a step back thinking about whether I should just go back to my room and return at a more appropriate time.

"I-I-I-m s-s-s-orry. I won't do it a-a-gain. I must have lost my mind" pleaded someone with a shaky voice. Another loud bang occurs and this time a high pitched shriek of pain erupts from someone in that room. "You think sorry will cut it? How dare a parasite like you look at me" says the voice I heard at the beginning with a slightly more aggressive tone.

I can't stay here any longer. I'm not entirely sure about what's going on in there but what I'm sure about is that i don't want to be the next target. As I go to take my leave I suddenly come face to face with a girl who's seemingly been standing behind me for a while looking at me with what could only be deciphered as curiosity.

Since she hasn't uttered a word I choose to quietly keep moving. I'm not a fan of small talk as I fear awkwardness and I want to avoid it at all costs.

"Old money or new money?" the girl suddenly asks. I stop dead in my tracks, "I see you're Lapìs house so I'm assuming old money correct?" she insists after noticing my lack of response, "or...don't tell me you're social care!" she loudly whispers.

I look at her confused not entirely sure what to say. "How did you know I was Lapìs house?" I ask her the first question that popped into my mind.

She points at my neck and chuckles "Your bow tie. The gem in the middle is blue. Since you didn't know that then my assumptions were correct" she states proudly "You're new. That explains why I've never seen you around" she says, taking a step closer.

"My name is Aiura Yamaha but you can call me Yuri, nice to meet you" she triumphantly announces with a big bright smile revelling her perfectly curated white teeth. I nod and smile back introducing myself also but with a lot less energy "Nice to meet you, my name's Mencià".

She takes my hand and frantically shakes it, smile still wide and bright. Now that I'm taking a proper look at her I gotta admit that she's relatively beautiful. Her hair is dirty blonde styled in a pompous half up half down hairdo. Her skin is tanned and shiny emulating the reincarnation of what it means to be "baciata dal sole" (sun-kissed).

She's only wearing a white shirt with the first three buttons undone showing her prominent cleavage. Her bow tie is sitting lose around her neck, her skirt ends just below her bum and her thick white leg warmers rest on top of her black platform crocs decorated with a variety of random charms.

Her alternative way of dressing is a complete juxtaposition of her sweet innocent face. Her eyes are emphasised by the thick white eyeliner on her water line and the heavy nose contour gives her nose a more dainty and petite look.

"You didn't answer my question though" Aiura says, smile slightly faltering. I look at her clueless as I genuinely don't remember "Are you old money or new money?" she asks as I'm reminded of the set of questions she began her introduction with.  She stares at me with much more intensity waiting for my response

"I-I don't know, what does that mean?" I ask trying to sound as calm as possible but failing miserably. For some reason I feel like saying the wrong answer will only lead to the possible future trouble I'm so desperately trying to avoid. I should've just kept walking. I don't know why I stopped to interact with her.

"Wait...you don't know?!" she looks at me in disbelief with her mouth agape and her pupils about to pop out of their sockets. Was I supposed to?

I slowly shake my head wary of her next response. "When did you start?" she asks me incredulous, "today..." I whisper looking behind her in search of an escape from this situation. I'm still very unsure about where this conversation is heading.

"Ohhh! In that case, let me give you a brief rundown of how things work in this school. But not here, follow me!" she grabs my arm catching me by surprise and begins hurriedly pulling me away.

With a struggle, I'm able to snatch my arm away from her surprisingly tight grip. Her head snaps back to face me again, but something's different. Her face is flushed and she keeps glancing at the door of my English class. "You really can't be here Mencià. Or at least not now. You need to come with me" she says in a panicked tone.

"But where are we goi-"

"Just come!" Aiura snaps grabbing my arm once more and dragging me away again. My intuition is telling me that following her may be the best option for me right now. I don't ask any further questions and i let her guide me down the hallway.

Suddenly, I hear the door of my English class swing open as we're nearing the end of the hallway. I try to look behind me to catch a peek of the person (or people) that was causing all that ruckus. All I'm able to see is a tall, slightly slender silhouette with jet black wavy hair before Aiura takes a corner and my view get obstructed by the wall.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Ant colonies seem the perfect natural instance of a social system governed by division of labour. All known species of ants – now about 14,000 – live in colonies. An ant colony consists of one or more reproductive females, called ‘queens’, who lay the eggs. All the rest of the ants, the ones you see walking around, are sterile female ‘workers’, daughters of the queen and the males with whom she mated. In the 1970s, the biologist E O Wilson set the agenda for research on ants by extolling the virtues of division of labour. He freely used metaphors from human society to describe a colony as a ‘factory within a fortress’. In this metaphor, each ant is programmed to carry out its appointed task. Some ants feed the larvae; while others go out to get food. Using a term that refers to ascribed social positions in Hindu society, Wilson called an ant’s task its ‘caste’. The idea was that an ant’s task is fixed. The implication was that the workers in an ant colony, all sisters or half-sisters, are divided into naturally fixed groups, and genetically programmed to perform a particular task. This perspective is depicted in the movie Antz (1998): a harried bureaucrat stamps each larva as a soldier or forager. Thus each ant’s role is unalterable destiny, much like the handsome and intelligent Alphas and the semi-moronic Epsilons of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1931). We know now that ants do not perform as specialised factory workers. Instead ants switch tasks. An ant’s role changes as it grows older and as changing conditions shift the colony’s needs. An ant that feeds the larvae one week might go out to get food the next. Yet in an ant colony, no one is in charge or tells another what to do. So what determines which ant does which task, and when ants switch roles? The colony is not a monarchy. The queen merely lays the eggs. Like many natural systems without central control, ant societies are in fact organised not by division of labour but by a distributed process, in which an ant’s social role is a response to interactions with other ants. In brief encounters, ants use their antennae to smell one another, or to detect a chemical that another ant has recently deposited. Taken in the aggregate, these simple interactions between ants allow colonies to adjust the numbers performing each task and to respond to the changing world. This social coordination occurs without any individual ant making any assessment of what needs to be done.

[leverage-ot3]

silly episode idea but hear me out

okay well the first part isn’t silly! so the episode is based around a con they are doing where a polyam triad wants to get married and have been writing to senators and stuff for years but nothing has happened. maybe there is a time element that leeway has to happen soon (not sure what that would be yet, maybe someone is sick???)

(obviously polycules aren’t only and are often more than just a closed three-person system, but I’m saying triad right now bc I feel like that would be an easier and more ‘socially acceptable’ gateway into more accepting legislation for diverse relationship dynamics)

the leverage crew, of course, can’t outright change the public perception of poly marriage, but they can use the ‘enemy’s’ tactics against them and slip stuff into legislation without people noticing like they do. it’s slimy and it’s not a permanent fix, but it’s a start, and it gives people the opportunity to see poly marriage in action and that it isn’t as terrifying or pearl-clutching-inducing as they think it would be. there’s a long way to go, but the seeds of change have been sown and they will make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible

this is one of the cases that they will monitor on the back burner over time. some cons can finish within a few hours (the bottle job), and some things they will follow over time and make adjustments when needed- amplify voices and expose corrupt politicians etc

and then it’s just after 3/4 of the way through but the con has been finished? what is going on? this is where the silliness comes in

the camera turns to the ot3 and…

hardison, pulling out three individualized rings: I know it’s not legal yet, and we have the necklaces, but I think rings would be a nice touch

eliot, pulling out an intricately carved box that also has three self-handcrafted rings: dammit hardison (with feeling and tenderness, and damp eyes)

parker, pulling out three very stolen rings from her pocket: does this mean we’re getting triple married if we all have three rings???

harry pops into the conversation (practically vibrating) excitedly just casually mentioning that he’s a notary and would be honored to marry them to each other if they wanted to

(they do)

wait, did I say silly? I meant unwaveringly tender and heartwarming

[bucksboobs]

Re: racism in 9-1-1, I wish we would talk about things like how often the writers straight fumble Athena as a black cop because there’s soooo much to actually pick at there!! Like this show loves its diversity and i think generally handles it very well, but it’s also sooooo pro-status quo it literally cannot hold up in the areas those two things intersect and Athena’s character gets the shortest end of that. But no we get… Eddie cooking discourse??

Every time they give Harry a storyline they try to address it they really do but, like you say, they keep fumbling it by being too pro status quo. A white cop pulls a gun on Harry and Michael and the point of the episode ends up being “well it isn’t right but it is the reality” which, is an ok message on the surface but when you have a character that is a police officer you had the chance to show why she’s a police officer and how she tries and either fails or succeeds in changing the system from within. This also pairs really poorly when contrasted with Athena breaking into a black man’s home, holding him at gunpoint and accusing him of a crime he didn’t commit. It shows that they have no interest in addressing her role as a Black cop except in those certain isolated episodes