#ANYWAY. I hope those women all have the best possible support systems in their lives and

[shelleyduvallsfaerietaletheatre]

man if your response to the Gaiman thing is any variant on "It should have been/was obvious bc of that One Story he wrote" or "Well *I* never liked his stuff in the first place so :)" etc. I'd tell you to eat shit but you're already full of it. You do not truly care about survivors, quit pretending that you do + re-evaluate yourself morally, asap.

[ronsenburg]

tactility - chapter 1 preview for WIP Wednesday

Most kids grow up listening to fairy tales before bed. Knights and princesses, happily ever after—that kind of thing. There’s almost always some moral or deeper meaning worked into the story, boiled and mashed into easily digestible bites for young minds, but that’s not actually the important part. It’s the act, the sharing of the story from one person to another, that matters most. That’s where the connection happens.

Anyway, here’s the bedtime story Sylvain is told: in the early summer of 2367, an ion storm system of unprecedented ferocity rips through the atmosphere of the Valo system, lighting up the sky with huge streaks of electromagnetic radiation and disrupting any and all communications between the planets within. This is the day of Sylvain Jose Gautier’s birth.

“Oh, it gave us all a fright! A sign from the prophets, to be sure,” an old woman he’s never met will tell Sylvain when she stops him mid-stride on the station promenade, embracing him with the familiarity of a grandmother. Her grip on his arms is stronger than he would’ve imagined possible, her ancient hands nearly as wrinkled as the ridges of her nose. “If you’d seen the state of the sky, you would have thought the same. Angry—that’s what they seemed to most everyone else. But I knew better: they only wanted you to be born among your own kind.”

The problem with being the first recorded progeny between two divergent humanoid species is that there isn’t exactly a manual detailing what to expect when you’re expecting. At a gestational age of six months and eleven days, Sylvain is both early (for a human) and late (for a Bajoran); in either case, his arrival is the kind of surprise that would have been best left for another time.

Sylvain will learn, much later on, that his potential physiology had been a matter of intensive debate among Starfleet medical elite. Humans, in all their extraterrestrial philandering, tended to have the kind of malleable DNA that readily accepted the dominant traits of other species. But, despite the abundance of exterior similarities, Bajoran DNA differed far more significantly from Humans than, say, your typical Klingon. Would the little fetus Sylvain develop at all, they’d wondered, and, if so, would the resulting child be an amalgamation of its parents or something brand new? Prenatal scans were inconclusive, thanks to the sheer number of blood vessels surrounding his tiny form. Wait and hope, they’d advised, all the while scribbling notes for the case studies they were already anxious to publish. It’d been the only counsel they could actually give.

The refugee camp on Valo III was not the Federation medical center where Sylvain was meant to be born. There, antibiotics and sterile bandages were a precious commodity; the vast majority of the resources they did have had been just recently replenished with the arrival of his mother’s ship. The thought that they might have an intensive neonatal unit capable of supporting a (possible) preterm infant with a (possible) heart and spine malformation was laughable. And still, it was in one of those wind-ravaged tents, among a group of haggard Bajoran matriarchs, that a squalling Sylvain would enter the universe.

The fact that he managed to live long enough for a federation ship to make it through a gap in the storm should’ve been some pretty definitive evidence for the existence of the prophets. Sylvain’s not clear on the details himself—something about a more robust cardiovascular system temporarily making up the difference for his underdeveloped lungs. Any blankets that could be spared in camp were proffered without prompting to be wrapped around his tiny form, any loose kindling gathered up without question to feed the fire that would keep him warm. For eighteen hours, the Bajoran women of the camp stood vigil, in a constant rotation of attention and prayer. In the end, it didn’t matter whether it was the luck of genetics or the blessing of their gods; what really saved him was the sacrifice of those Bajoran refugees that saw Sylvain through the storm.

Later, far from Valos III, and farther still from Bajor, a different woman on a different starbase will reach for Sylvain’s hand. Her milky eyes hold so much softness within them that they will nearly make him flinch away.

“You were so very small, child,” she will murmur, reaching to pat gently at his cheek as she speaks. It’s all he can do to smile politely back. “None of us thought you’d make it through the night. And look at you now! The prophets truly have blessed you, as they have blessed us all.”

It’s a story he will hear dozens of times over the years, in dozens of different voices: the story of his birth, mythicized. He was, after all, the first federation citizen born of Bajoran descent. How could the federation continue to turn a blind eye to their suffering while one of their own admirals had married a bajoran woman, while he raised a bajoran-human child? With his birth, Sylvain became an instant symbol of unity for bajorans and sympathizers alike, of hope for an intercession to the five decade long occupation from Cardassia.

But this accomplishment, the one that had endeared him to so many? It was nothing more than a birthright passed down from his influential human father, a tactical choice made in conjunction with his Bajoran mother. It wasn’t something he’d asked or worked for. What was Sylvain, in the end, but a spark meant to ignite a flame in a volatile political standoff? One more weight on the mountain of pressure piling up on the federation’s back as the official conclusion of the Cardassian wars drew nearer.

So, no, Sylvain has never really deserved anyone’s respect; the only thing he’s ever done is survive.

—

STARDATE 73687.87 (2396)

The call comes just before sunset, as Sylvain is packing his notes and other various belongings haphazardly into a leather shoulder bag.

It’s timing is excruciatingly precise: ten minutes earlier and Sylvain would still be making his way across campus from his last lecture, ten minutes later and he would already be gone. Seems pretty impossible to assume this kind of intimate knowledge of his schedule is actually just a coincidence…. which means that the list of possible callers can be narrowed down to exactly two.

For a very long moment, Sylvain considers letting the phone ring out. It’s been a long day—a string of long days, really—and it’s a hell of a walk to the Academy transportation station from his office. There’s a bottle of something red and a stack of mediocre student papers to slog through back at his apartment (Machiavellianism in the Romulan Senate—prophets, what had he been thinking?). It would be better, really, to save this conversation for another time.

Yeah, right.

Sylvain summons up a smile just as the view screen flickers into life with a barely audible click.

“Ingrid told me I might be hearing from you,” he says. “Long time no talk, Captain.”

The image of Dimitri Blaiddyd flickers to life on the screen, looking every bit the Starfleet Academy poster child with his ramrod straight back and new, fourth pip fastened high on his collar. Shocking, really, that they haven’t put him on billboards yet. It’s been about eight months since the last time they’ve spoken—in that time Dimitri’s blond hair has gotten a bit longer, a bit less regulation. Sylvain’s always telling Dimitri he should lighten up a little; somehow, Sylvain doubts his look has anything to do with that suggestion. Probably, he hasn’t noticed it needs cutting, yet. There’s a reason it’s called tunnel vision: focusing so hard on long-term goals makes it kind of hard to see what’s going on around you, hair length included. Sylvain decides not to be the one to point it out.

It’s not that Sylvain doesn’t want to see Dimitri—they’ve been friends longer than Sylvain can really remember, after all. It’s actually impossible for a Sylvain to separate Dimitri from the memories of his childhood. The good ones, at least; the relief that went with watching the swirling white clouds of Earth’s atmosphere disappear out the window of a transport ship, intrinsically interlinked with the excitement of seeing a young Dimitri waiting with his father at the starbase docking platform. Very few good things have ever been handed down to Sylvain from his own father’s starfleet career; the friendships he’s inherited will always be one of them.

So, no, it’s not that Sylvain’s avoiding Dimitri. It’s only that there’s other memories mixed up in there with the good ones, memories that take enough effort to put aside that these calls become more like a minefield than the friendly chat they ought to be. Out on the table, there’s a whole host of topics to talk about—but watch out! It’s a little exhausting, to be honest. The fact that it seems to be one sided, something that Sylvain alone can’t get past, makes it all a little worse.

But, oblivious to Sylvain’s tumultuous inner monologue, Dimitri is smiling gently at him from the screen. “So you’ve heard, then. I was hoping to be the one to tell you myself.”

“Cat was out of the bag a long time ago,” Sylvain replies with a little laugh. “The whole academy’s been talking about it.”

Dimitri frowns softly. “Oh?”

“Another early promotion and your first command at twenty-six? C’mon, that’s almost a record.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose so,” Dimitri concedes, looking suddenly embarrassed. Sylvain gets it; it’s easy for people like them to be a little sensitive about success, or more accurately, the means by which that success is earned. For someone like Sylvain, who’s father is alive and still serving, it’s nothing special. Just one more burden that plenty of children in multigenerational military families bear. By now, he can almost always tell when someone is just trying to kiss up. For Dimitri, though? It’s something way worse. The funny part is that there’s no one in the galaxy that’s worked harder or with more single-mindedness to achieve their goals than Dimitri. It’s one of the reasons they haven’t spoken in so long—Dimitri’s relentless pursuit of duty never leaves much time for socializing. It’s that tunnel vision, again. If it weren’t for the fact that Ingrid has been stationed with him on nearly every vessel, Sylvain’s not sure he would hear from Dimitri at all. “And just how much did Ingrid tell you?”

Always straight to the point, too. Sylvain settles into the chair at his desk, resigned to the length of the conversation, before responding. “Only that you had a question to ask.” And, then, when Dimitri doesn’t immediately respond, “I think she was trying to spare you some of the awkwardness if I decided to say no.”

Dimitri hums, the tone mildly displeased. “And are you intending to say no?”

“Don’t think I would’ve answered if I knew that for sure.”

It isn’t the answer Dimitir is hoping for, Sylvain can tell by the soft frown that’s taken up residence across Dimitri’s face. It’s the truth, though—Sylvain owes Dimitri that much, at least. He’s been wrestling with the question that Dimitri hasn’t even asked yet for almost a week now, alternating between obsession and avoidance with such velocity that he feels a little like an overworked metronome. Ingrid had been purposefully vague with her information—all I know is that he wants you there with us—but wasn’t that enough? Being on that ship when it departs, regardless of the role, means returning to active duty. It means stepping back into the same set of circumstances that led him to a life of retirement in academia at the age of twenty-five. It wasn’t just that he was out of practice and no longer qualified to be placed in any sort of combat capacity. It’s the fact that, sometimes, when he thinks of Dimitri, it’s not the face of his friend that he sees waiting there in his mind. It’s the seemingly lifeless body on the floor of the bridge. It’s the phaser still gripped in Sylvain’s hands.

“Listen, Dimitri,” Sylvain starts, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “you have to know there are better choices out there.”

But Dimitri is shaking his head before Sylvain is finished speaking. “There aren’t.”

“There are. Guys who have full use of their right hand, for one thing. I haven’t passed phaser qualifications in years.”

He doesn’t say the word liability but it hangs there in the air between them, anyway. There’s a reason all Starfleet personnel are issued a personal phaser upon commission, despite the strict regulations that surround the acceptability of their use. Diplomatic relations between all people and planets is a great ideal to strive for, but it’s never going to be the reality. Every cadet at the academy knows they’ll have to raise that phaser and fire, one day. Forced into sudden left-handedness after two decades of training with his right, Sylvain’s always going to be a lousy shot.

“… May I speak frankly?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Wish you always would.”

It takes Dimitri a very long moment to find the words he wants. Sylvain watches him search in silence, an unwelcome feeling of anticipation rising up higher from the pit of his stomach with each additional second that passes. Dimitri’s always been thoughtful with the words he chooses, but not this careful. It means whatever he’s about to say is either painfully sincere (not an uncommon occurrence, actually) or broaching starfleet security clearance in some way or other.

“This mission is a matter of some delicacy, both diplomatically and… personally, as well,” he says, finally.

Both, then. It’s impossible for Sylvain to stop his eyebrows from raising at that. “Yeah?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details at present,” Dimitri continues, sounding apologetic. “Suffice to say, however, that my one condition in accepting this command was that I would have full control over any appointment made aboard my ship. While, ah, steps have been taken, there is a possibility that what occurred aboard the Aeron may happen again. I would prefer my crew be staffed by officers I know I can trust, should the need arise.”

That last part lands like a kick to the gut.

“Dimitri—“ Sylvain starts.

“And I can trust you, Sylvain, despite what you might believe. More than that, you are one of my oldest and closest friends. I’ve always relied on your insight in the past—and I hope to do so again, now. There is simply no one else who can fill that role.”

Sylvain blinks, left suddenly at a loss for words.

It’s… not a great feeling, really. For five years, he’s been carrying around the guilt that’s come with the choice he made that night on the Aeron. The specifics of Sylvain’s motivation, whether he was right or wrong in the end… that didn’t really matter, did it? He hadn’t picked Dimitri and he’d lived with the implications of that decision ever since. But, surprise! This whole time, not only did Dimitri not hold it against him, he’d seen Sylvain’s actions on that bridge as proof of the depth of their friendship. Actions he might count on Sylvain to carry out again, should the need arise.

The whole thing is a little bit fucked up, to be honest. Sylvain should say no right this very moment, put them both out of their misery and move on with the life he’s been building for the past five years. Starfleet had never been his dream, after all. Just an expectation from his dear old dad, and then later, an easy choice to follow his friends. On the whole, Sylvain was enjoying life as an academy instructor. He was good at it, probably better than he’d ever been as a soldier. But… Sylvain rubs a hand across his temple, exhaling a long breath in the process.

“…Yeah, sure,” he says at some length. “Okay.”

The way Dimitri brightens at his words isn’t enough to make Sylvain feel better about the way this conversation has turned out. “You’ll accept?”

Last chance, Gautier.

“If that’s what you need from me,” Sylvain says, with a smile he isn’t sure he can possibly mean. “What are friends for?”

… Boy, did they all need therapy or what?

“Excellent.” Dimitri is smiling now, a genuine expression that fills up the whole of his face. “I’ll have my first officer send over the paperwork for your reinstatement and the details of our deployment promptly.”

“Can’t wait,” Sylvain lies.

From there, the rest of the conversation runs on autopilot. Dimitri expressing his gratitude with a little too much sincerity, Sylvain trying his best to wave it aside while simultaneously steering their talk to safer, less heartfelt matters. It isn’t until they’ve said their goodbyes, until Dimitri is reaching out to press the button that will end their call, that Sylvain even thinks to ask.

The fact that it takes him so long to realize, that it hadn’t been the first question out of his mouth when Dimitri had mentioned his ‘oldest friends’, says a lot about how things have gone for Sylvain over the past five years. Shows how much he may have changed as a person in all that time, how much progress he’s actually made in moving on.

He’s going to ask it anyway, though. And that shows just how much he hasn’t changed at all.

“—Hey, Dimitri?”

Because that’s the thing about hope, you know? It’s hard to get rid of completely. No matter how much time has passed, it's still going to be there, biding its time just below the surface. Like a still-glowing ember, ready to flare back up with only the smallest bit of provocation. Sylvain’s always been easy—he doesn’t need much more than this to bring that old hope blazing back to life. So, for a fraction of a second, he allows himself to feel it. He thinks of dark hair falling in loose, haphazard strands across equally dark eyes and the way that sharp mouth looked when it actually turned up into a smile. Sylvain feels his chest tighten in response; for once, he doesn’t force himself to set the image immediately aside.

But Dimitri pauses, blue eyes flicking back up to meet his across the screen, and Sylvain knows two things at once. The first, that Dimitri already knows exactly what he’s about to ask. Has been waiting for it, maybe, through this whole conversation—and doesn’t that make Sylvain feel even more pathetic? The second, and by far the worst of the two, is that asking is pointless. Dimitri can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know, Sylvain can tell just by the regret that lingers on the edge of his expression. Stupid to think that Dimitri wouldn’t have told him already if he did.

“Forget it,” Sylvain says, forcing a tone that he can only hope comes across as light. He feels anything but, right now. “It’s not actually important.”

For a moment, Dimitri hesitates. The apology is already forming in his mouth—Sylvain can almost see it. They’ve had this conversation a dozen times over the past five years, each instance more excruciating than the last. It isn’t productive for either of them, just like it can’t change what’s already happened. That’s never stopped Dimitri from saying it, though. Sylvain braces himself for the fresh wave of sympathy… but, then, it passes.

“Take care, Sylvain,” is all Dimitri says before the screen goes suddenly dark.

And then it is just Sylvain, alone in his office, as the light continues to wane around him.

[black-rose-writings]

A few things:

The Tailor implies Genya to still be relatively young, and it can be assumed LB intended her to be a tween, possible in her early teens, when she lost the queen's favor and became a target for the King. The specific wording says that she her child's dresses were too short and too tight, before they were replaced with a kefta, so she was likely going through a growth spurt, which in 21st century would put her to around the age of 12 and probably closer to 15 or 16 in the 19th century (though since we don't exactly know what causes puberty to happen sooner, it could be anywhere in between, and I couldn't find more precise data because this data wasn't properly tracked until the 20th century).

So, let's settle on somewhere in the middle, putting Genya at maybe 14. If we go by historical data, it is possible, if not likely, that she hadn't had her first period yet (the average age in the 19th century was apparently between 16 and 17, compare to today's 12-13), which would have been considered the marker of adulthood for women. So, I'd say it's still fair to call the king a fucking pedophile (I know the term is something else, but that doesn't have that punch to it).

And then there's the matter of the choice.

Genya, at this point, has had a rough couple of months (understatement of the year) - she lost the queen's favor and went from "might as well be a princess" to "a piece of furniture" status as a result. Then, she was raped by the king (not good ever, especially not in an 19th century monarchy that still has serfs, in a universe with no hint of the Enlightenment or anything resembling it). And then, the only person who has the power to in any way openly help her tells her that she A) knows and B) at best doesn't care or straight up thinks it's what she deserves. So Genya runs to the only other adult she can trust at that moment - Aleksander, who, unfortunately, doesn't have the authority to help her publicly. So he gives her a choice - leave and be safe, or stay and have justice. I say justice, not revenge, because in this kind of situation, they're the same thing - there is no legal justice that can reach a monarch and him raping servants seems to be something of a public secret, at least to the people in and around the Palaces, so one more wouldn't really damage his reputation all that much. Genya's accusation in R&R only matters because at that point, it's not the opinion of nobles (who probably do the exact same shit, because that's just how rich and powerful men tend to be like) that matters - it's the soldiers, the common people, who are actively risking their lives by just being around the king.

Anyway, let's actually say what those choices are, in all of their reprecussions:

Leave - as you said, leaving would almost certainly mean faking her death and having to assume an entirely new identity. As a 14yo. Probably including hiding her talents and changing her own appearance, if she wanted to lead a normal Grisha life. It wouldn't erase the trauma that's already happened and it would also not lead to justice, ever. Oh, yeah, and the King would also definitelly just find another victim and it wouldn't save any of the other victims.

Stay - Repeatedly endure what she already has before (ie, she knows what she's getting herself into), but now for a "greater cause" - able to assist in his eventual downfall, with hope of justice and recognition of her suffering and ability to help other victims, too.

I also don't think Genya would truly be able to feel safe or heal if she got sent away - she has lived at the Palaces for essentially as long as she remembers. She'd be losing her entirely old life, whatever support system she may have had, even if she didn't have to fake her death to be free (which she almost certainly would have to do).

And, again, Genya has lives as a Grisha basically her entire life. She was raised to be a soldier, and her values would most certainly be altered by that. That's the entire point of the Tailor story - that she is a soldier, even if not in the typical way. And not just any soldier - the lynchpin in the Darkling's coup.

Genya wasn't choosing between safety and revenge. She was choosing between walking an uncertain, unknown path, alone and knowing others were still suffering, and the devil she knew and the chance to take him down for good.

And one more thing. Power.

Rape isn't about sex, it's about power and in the King's case, that's doubly true. He could have anyone - but he goes after barely-not-children servants. He doesn't want a mistress, he wants to take his inferiority complexes out on vulnerable girls. Genya's story up until the point she speaks to the Darkling about her abuse is about, bit by bit, losing any semblance of power or influence she thought she had. What the Darkling offers her isn't even necessarily revenge - it's power and control over her own destiny, over her own body and life, and the ability to take power away from the king and queen in return.

Oh, and let's not forget the countless narratives of women and girls maining and murdering the men who raped or abused them because no other justice was really possible.

What I'm trying to say is, I don't think Aleksander's opinion on the matter was that big of a factor in Genya's reasoning. What mattered was that he offered her support, a cause, hope that things would get better, hope that others wouldn't have to suffer like she did. To quote Ivan "Everyone is sorry. The Darkling is the only one doing anything about it."

I never understood why genya staying there was in any way necessary though. Surely extraordinarily beautiful Grisha would have no problem on catching the eye of this one drunken foolish king. He could have easily removed Genya from there (in his own words he could have sent her away) and then sent some other grisha to seduce him/act as a spy. Or sent multiple to see whoever manages to catch his eye. Of all the problems they had, a lack of beautiful women was not one. Yes he gave her a choice, but she was so young and she wanted to impress him, not to mention revenge is a tempting offer. Her suffering was entirely unnecessary.

The problem lies in the King's preferences.

If he only wanted "extraordinarily beautiful" woman, I'm certain there are some among the usual classes, from which monarchs pick their mistresses. The fact he didn't feel the need to make even Genya official also speaks for itself.

This king doesn't want a willing woman, but helpless servant, who cannot possibly say no without repercussions.

He didn't want a sexual partner, but a victim.

Genya's also surprising, because she was a part of the Queen's household. Alexander III/Pyotr obviously doesn't mind crossing his wife, Fjerdan princess. If their royal family still had strong ties to her, Tatiana could cause decent trouble for being humiliated in such a way. Unfortunately at that point she also managed to cuckold him pretty publicly, so he decided it's worth the risk.

Seduction would be too obvious even for an idiot like A3/P. Besides, he despises Grisha. Either Genya truly caught his eye so well, he didn't mind he's sticking it into "a witch", or he went after her intentionally in retaliation for Tatiana's affair. There should also be a very good reason for presence of your hypothetical Grisha spy. Genya's obvious, but since there are no other Tailors, I can't think of anything that wouldn't be painfully evident. This generation of royal family bears no love for Grisha.

Genya's extraction would never be easy. Once she became the King's new favourite toy, nothing short of her death (true or staged) could get her out. Hell, even as the Queen's property, only the King could simply send her away.

From your wording, I assume you mind Genya's continued presence. For that I'd say she was already raped. That cannot be undone. Her age isn't specified, but she was maturing before the King approached her, so she was no child, especially once the deed was done. She didn't only have a choice to impress/avenge, as you're writing, but to regain as much control over her fate as she could. Not to mention in S&B, she's aware there are others like her among the servants. Why does it never occur to anyone she might not want to let more girls go through what she already did?!

I know current society likes to babify teenagers, but this is pseudo-historical setting, when teen's more likely to be expected to assume a role of an adult, than stay a child until they're in their twenties. Hell, they're drafted at sixteen. If she can decide to get herself killed, she can decide to make the fucker suffer.

[reidyoulikeabook]

48 from touch prompt list and 75 from prompt list 5 🥺🥺🥺 im so proud of you love such an amazing achievement i love you

-efirstly i love you thank you so much 🥺 secondly the PERFECT two prompts together you have a galaxy brain and i can truly not thank you enough for this!!

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Some mentions of alcohol consumption & brief olden-time being married young talk.

Prompts: #48 - Dancing with each other & #75 Talking in an Elizabethan style to woo somebody

A/N: I listened to the ‘So Close’ song from the Enchanted soundtrack the entire time I was writing this so...put that on if you want!

A reminder I’m taking prompts for my 1k celebration until May 21st! :)

If Penelope Garcia loved two things in this world - Derek and science fiction aside - it was costumes and parties. So it made sense that for her birthday, she’d decreed she’d be throwing an Elizabethan-style ball. And that everybody had to dress up accordingly. Derek, always eager to put a smile on her face, had offered to throw it at one of his houses.

So it was there that you were headed, on this glorious Saturday night. In a not-so-glorious and infact, quite heavy, Elizabethan era gown. It was a good job you’d elected to take an Uber, because quite frankly the dress weighed a ton. It would have been impossible to drive in.

Good job they didn’t have cars back in the Elizabethan era.

Not that women would have been allowed to drive them anyway.

You’re only a little late when you arrive. Fashionably late, you’d go so far as to say.

“____!” Penelope greets with a squeal, rushing out to embrace you into a hug. You don’t even make it all the way through the door before she’s on you with a flurry.

If you thought your dress was a lot, you have to hand it to the birthday girl. She could never be upstaged. How her gown actually fit inside the house was a mystery, it was huge - puffy with a corset that cinched her in tightly at the waist. Her hair was coiffed into perfect curls. She looked stunning; like she’d stepped right out of a painting.

“You look amazing!” You tell her, squeezing her tightly.

“So do you! I’m so glad you took the theme seriously!”

“I take all themes seriously when it’s you threatening me about them.”

She laughs. “Well Derek did too. And Spencer, the others...” She frowns, “Well, I’d like to say they tried, but Rossi definitely didn’t. He did, however, pay for a gazebo and a live band so I’m willing to let it slide.”

You smile, allowing her to take you inside. She babbles some more on her way in about all the decorations, food, and how next time she’s going to make everybody send her pictures of their outfits beforehand.

She’s right about the gazebo though - it’s beautiful. It has elegant fairylights adorning it, illuminating the place in a candescent glow. The live band is an instrumental one - there’s even a fiddle.

Where the hell did Dave find a fiddle?

He’s rich.

That has to be the satisfactory answer for now. There are far more pressing matters at hand: like everybody’s costumes.

Horch is wearing some fancy suit, Emily has one that’s similar, Rossi clearly is just dressed in his normal attire. J.J appears to have picked one up from a fancy dress shop, but if anyone could make that look good, it’s her. Derek looks an absolute dream - clearly dressed by Penelope. It’s Spencer though, unsurprisingly, who has gone all out. He has a miniature version of one of those puffy collars on, his suit a gorgeous maroon colour. He even has white tights on, with the boots that matched. If there were prizes for best costume - which knowing Penelope, there might well be - she’d be up against some fierce competition.

“Spence!” You chime, opening your arms to greet him, “I love your costume!”

“I love yours too!” He beams, hugging you tightly, “The skirt of your dress is very fitting to the period.”

“Thank you!” You say, reluctantly letting go of him to greet everybody else in turn.

It’s hard to keep your eyes off him though, and everybody knows it. You and Spencer had been dancing around each other for months, the epitome of the will-they-won’t-they, and you can’t help but hope that tonight you might finally cross that threshold.

It’s Penelope’s birthday.

Who are you kidding? Penelope would be ecstatic to claim credit.

***

You’re giddy, not just with the glass of wine in your system. With happiness, the exuberant kind that comes from watching all your friends exist among one another. It doesn’t hurt that Spencer barely leaves your side the entire night. He’s a veritable treasure trove of Elizabethan era facts. You’ve learnt more than any history class could possibly teach you.

A slow song comes on, which is when you decide to seize your opportunity.

Now or never.

You bump your shoulder against his. When you have his attention, you nod towards the dance floor, “Come and dance with me.”

He furrows his brows, clearly weighing up his options in his head.

You affect an Elizabethan lilt, “Thou art going to leave me alone at the ball, fair Lord Reid?”

“I could hardly dream of it,” He says, imitating you, “Would thou care to dance with me?”

He offers out his hand. You take it, noting how he gets the barest blush on his cheeks.

“Thou had me practically petrified, I thought you may never ask,” You tease, accepting his hand, squeezing it once for reassurance.

He laughs, nose crinkling. He rests his hand on your hip hesitantly, only solidifying his grip when you rest yours on his bicep. His other comes to rest on the other side, just above where your dress puffs out. The song playing sounds vaguely familiar, although it’s harder to place with it being an instrumental version.

You lean into him, side-stepping in time with him. He’s not a dancer by nature, that much is clear, but he is surprisingly good at leading.

It’s easy to let him guide you around the dance floor. You stutter a bit, almost tripping. His grip on your hip tightens.

“Be careful fair maiden,” He reprimands teasingly, “Thou wouldn’t want to fall.”

“Thou wouldn’t want to be seen with a maiden who has made a royal fool of herself.”

He shakes his head, “I could hardly bare it.”

“I do not know how you can bare to be seen with me regardless. I’m practically a haggard spinster,” You say, with a dramatic sigh.

He twirls you around, voice slipping back into his normal tone, “Actually it was mainly women from wealthy families who would marry young, from age 12. With poorer or middle class families it was most common for women to be in their mid-twenties by the time they got married, the average age was about 24.”

“Still younger than me,” You retort, stepping in time with him. You’re pressed up against his chest now.

His breath fans over your cheek, from the way he’s bent, from the way you’re leaning in to him. His big hand spans over your back, holding you close to him as he steps to the right.

“Well,” He says, affecting the English accent, “Thou art a lady of the highest stature. A commoner could not possibly hope to marry one such as yourself.”

You giggle, “Oh fair Lord Reid. Whenst will I possibly find a husband?”

With surprising ease, he dips you, allowing you to fall gracefully into his arms. He’s study, supportive. Before you know it, you’re back on your feet.

“Thou might be looking in the wrong places.”

“Pray tell, wherest would one suggest a lady like me ought to look?”

“Perhaps closer to ones home,” He says, English accent - if you could call it that - slipping a little, favouring sincerity.

“How much closer?”

His hands return to your waist, and yours to his chest. There’s only an inch between your bodies. He looks down at you with sincerity brimming in his eyes, “Perhaps a little closer.”

Your hand trails up to his chin. It dips at the mere weight of your thumb resting on it, “Gallant Lord Reid, perhaps this close?”

“Perhaps,” He swallows, voice morphing into the accent again, as if he’s afraid to be vulnerable, “Thou art a maiden, thou art to be courted before marriage.”

“And where would one court a fair maiden like me?”

“Where would the fair maiden like to go?”

“Wherever, as long as you’re the one taking her.”

He swallows. His eyes scan your face, watching how you deliberately look to his plump lips. He hesitates for only a moment longer, before leaning in and planting the most delicate kiss upon them.

If it wasn’t for the elated drunken giggles of everyone else around you, you’d have been lost in the bubble of a moment forever. It’s okay though, because at your wedding, Penelope is sure to tell the tale of the Elizabethan ball where you - the fair maiden - finally got together with your perfect Lord. You have to admit, it’s a good one.

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[whatanybodygets]

may i... ask you some of the ask game questions..? pls pretty pls?

i love adagio more, i think, but i'm very curious about the ~process~ behind roomy. would you, 5, 9 and 11, pls? for me? <3

Ooooh, go on then! (btw thank you for kind words about Adagio - I also love it more, I have such a lot of fun with it and I'm really excited for where it's going to go!) 5. What part was the hardest to write? This is a tough one to answer because, generally speaking, it's all been hard. I suppose from a technical standpoint the biggest challenge has been trying to maintain Kaz as a sympathetic character, particularly in the early part of the story. Because this is 100% Inej's POV (due in no small part to the fact that her head is where I am most comfortable as a writer) we obviously lose any insight into the inner workings of Kaz's mind and the thoughts he has on the situation - and as we know from canon, what Kaz thinks/feels and what Kaz says/does are often extremely different.

The other element of this is that Inej is hurting, and hurting makes you selfish and self-absorbed, and because of this her view of Kaz is VERY biased and, at times, quite unfair. So the challenge was to try and portray this while also doing enough to make it clear that Kaz, while he behaved badly, is not a complete monster and is also deserving of sympathy in this situation. I suppose it's up to you to decide how successful that was!

Thinking about specific scenes, then any of Kaz and Inej's "serious conversations" would qualify. I find dialogue particularly challenging anyway, but again it was finding the balance of trying to portray them as two people who were very angry with each other while never wanting to make it seem like they didn't love each other anymore. So, their conversation after Genna is born, at the end of chapter two, and after the incident with the creek I would say were hardest scenes to write

9. Were there any alternative versions of this fic? There was never an alternative version of this fic, exactly, but I did seriously consider making it a one shot at one stage, where it would have been the first chapter and nothing else. That might have been the better choice but I wanted to continue onto how they would deal with the fallout of that chapter.

Also, although it wasn't an alternative version, this fic was built out of a scene that appears in another fic I wrote 20k words of but will likely never post in its current form. Essentially, Kaz and Inej have a conversation (which is actually referenced in roomy itself) about a possible future and what they would do instead if they decided to leave their lives behind. It's slightly different to what roomy ended up becoming, but it's the basis for all of it. I'll post the scene if anyone is interested.

11. What do you like best about this fic? What I really, really like about roomy is the theme of women helping women that runs through it. I've harped on about this in the comments ad nauseum, but give 👏 Inej 👏 Ghafa 👏 a 👏 female 👏 support 👏 system 👏. Aside from Nina, Inej's most significant relationship - her only relationship - with another woman in soc/ck is with Tante Heleen, the woman who kept her in sexual slavery (I don't count her mother because we never see Mama Ghafa and Inej interact in the present timeline of the story), and I find it hard to believe that she found nourishing friendships with the other girls in the Menagerie. I love Inej's relationship with Kaz, and her friendships with Jesper, Wylan etc but it also felt important to give her those positive female connections, especially when it comes to pregnancy and giving birth and motherhood. This is a story about Inej and Kaz catastrophically fucking up (and being fucked up by) new parenthood but it's also a story about women lifting each other up, and about hope.

[earthly--truth]

What I believe in

These are my beliefs as someone who aligns with democratic socialism and progressivism. Feel free to critique it, challenge it, even just a few sections, whatever, but this is what I believe will make the world a better place, because people (and animals) deserve to live the best possible lives they can live with the only chance at life they got. This is going to be super general and long, and not get into nearly everything, but I hope it sheds a positive light on leftism.

Strong unions so that workers (the majority of people in society) have the ability have better footing to negotiate better wages, work hours, vacation days, benefits, etc. I also believe that in instances where it’s pragmatically viable that there should be a push for more worker co-op’s, in which every employee has a stake in the company they work at, and the ability to give their input (all companies should strive for more democracy). Both of these contribute to healthier, happier, and, and better payed people.

Raising the minimum wage in the U.S to $15 an hour. The current wage of  $7.25 is way too low. It’s just not a livable wage. There’s a reason why McDonald’s and Walmart are called corporate welfare queens, and it’s because they’re employees require welfare to survive, despite being the biggest corporations on the planet with multi-billionaire CEO’s. The richest in society should also pay more in taxes.

Stop investing so much in the American military, cut it by a third if you can. (Firstly this frees up a lot of money for other things) Get the military out of the middle east, and create other more peaceful avenues to ensure it doesn’t crumble like every single time the military pulls out and doesn’t try to actually fix the mess they created. The people in the middle east deserve to be able to rebuild and they’ll need help to do that (just not the type of help where america installs their own leaders).

Healthcare should be universal, paid for by taxes. Every developed nation is capable of doing it. Many developing countries are doing it. Americans pay more in taxes for healthcare than so many other countries, yet a trip to the hospital still can put you in debt for the rest of your life. That is inhumane, and people shouldn’t have to choose between crippling debt and their health.

There’s also an argument to be made for free/way cheaper university, since countries like Canada or America force people to get a degree if they want to live a decent life, yet in order to do that you have to pay $15,000 a year for university. A system like that either forces people to skip out on uni, or again go into major debt. If Europe can figure it out, I think the U.S and Canada can figure it out too.

Black Lives Matter. To be more specific, I want police/criminal justice/prison reform. I want police de-militarized and to stop acting so abusive towards to civilians and real justice for the police that do, I want an end on the war on drugs (this helps drug addicts get help and delivers a blow to gangs and the cartel). I want an end to mass incarceration and laws that make it easier to throw people in jail for years for basically nothing. I want an end to for profit prisons. I want an end to the policy of retribution rather than rehabilitation for inmates (countries who rehabilitate are way more successful at non-returning inmates). I want an end to treating prisoners like slaves so corporations can get cheap labour. I also want the government to actually start caring about the poorest communities, many of which are predominantly black and latino (in cities anyways). (Also the indigenous in Canada). Better infrastructure, better public works programs. These all contribute to the proliferation of these communities and helps lessen the potential for criminality by making their lives better.

The dismantling of gender norms and roles, and de-stigmatization of LGBTQ+ people. I want people to be whoever they want to be. For far too long we have expected men and women to act a certain way. Women have come a long way, but there are still remnants of the old way of looking at things. We still have a lot of social stigma about how women should look, and that they are not worth even paying attention to if they aren’t conventionally attractive. We still have social stigma about sexuality and sex work. We hyper sexualize women in the media, yet shame women as sluts if they have a lot of sex. We shame women who choose abortion as murderers, yet don’t offer any support for the mother once the child has arrived. On top of that, the positions of power are still predominantly very old men. I also believe in helping men. Men are lonelier, men are increasingly staying sexless (not by choice), men are getting more suicidal. I want to address this two ways. One, by tackling toxic masculinity (not masculinity itself, just the bad parts). TM is telling men to man up and not to cry, TM is telling men not to act feminine or gay. TM is telling men to bottle up their emotions and resolve their problems through violence. The second way to address this is through my beliefs about workers. Men are the most suicidal in countries where there is a heavy work culture, like Japan and South Korea. Where they can’t have lives, and live to make money for the company they work at. That isn’t good.

When it comes to LGBTQ+ people, we need more positive representation in the media. We need people to see gay, trans, and non-binary people as normal people. When it comes to trans people specifically, we need to end the constant wars against them. Whether you’re talking about bathrooms, or sports, or children/teens receiving trans affirming healthcare. Let trans people be the gender that they say there are in the places they want to be, and allow them to receive the healthcare they need which is just the overwhelming medical consensus. This, combined with more supportive parents. all goes a long way to reducing the suicide rate amonst trans people.

The proliferation of the developing world. I want developing countries to be more autonomous, and to stop being under the boot of western corporations. I want an end to sweatshop labour or borderline sweatshop labour. I want the west to stop treating these actual people like their robots for pennies to produce our ungodly amounts of junk, and to actually pay these people decent wages. I want the world bank to stop giving money in an exploitative way to poor nations so that they cave to western business interests. These are people, human beings, and they deserve to develop and live good lives just like us. I also want them to fight for democracy in their countries.

Environmentalism. To go off the last section, 100 Corporations are contributing 71% of greenhouse gases. That needs to change. Corporations are participating ungodly amounts of devastations to eco-systems and the atmosphere. Ecosystems destroyed, and the exacerbation of the climate crises. I want a green and blue earth, and that can start by a) changing to green energy as much as humanly possible; solar, wind, and even nuclear (and whatever we come up with in the future) are far better than the fossil fuels we use now, which we’ll run out of anyways. And second we need to hold corporations accountable for destroying the planet. If we don’t do this, we risk the climate crises getting really bad. Oceans rising which will flood coastlines, creating millions of refugees, more periods of extreme dry (no water/bush fires) and extreme cold (look at what happened to texas). Something needs to be done about it.

Finally, veganism, for many reasons. One, the switch to veganism will be a big contributor to saving the planet. Whether you’re talking about the devastation we do to places like the Amazon Rain forest and other ecosystems to clear the way for animal farming, or whether you’re talking about reducing emissions. Most emissions and waste from agriculture are from the production phase of animal farming. So much food, water, and energy is wasted by giving it to billions of animals that we purposefully breed into existence, then slaughter, rinse and repeat, every single year, when we could just grow food and give water to people and skip out the middle man (think about how many people are hungry and without water in the world).

Philosophically, it is also wrong to kill a living creature that desires to live, that is able to connect with other living things and it surrounding, to form bonds. A cow, pig, chicken, lamb, sheep, are no different than a dog, cat, or rabbit, and they should not be killed, exploited, and tortured (confinement, abusive conditions in industrial farms) for pleasure. I know it’s pleasure for most people, because vegans are living proof that you can live happy and healthy lives without animal products. Vegans are statistically healthier than non-vegans, and we can get all the nutrients we need, even on an inexpensive diet. There are exceptions of course. A very small portion of people literally cannot eat plants and can only eat meat, and the developing world doesn’t have the same access to vegan products as the developed world does. Those people are valid, but many many people can make the switch and they should, especially in the developed world

All I see from this is making the world better. Hopefully you can too.

[chidoroki]

TPN - Isabella one-shot

Okay, so.. I have so many emotions right now it's not even funny. I don't care how many times I've said this since ch169, but I'm gonna say it again: Isabella is a goddamn QUEEN! I thought the side chapter was going to reflect the light novel like Krone's was last week (it was based on that, correct?), so being able to witness Isabella be that dangerous “iron woman” mastermind again was simply fantastic.

As Krone's extra chapter reminded us, every woman in this mother/sister academy is fighting to survive by any means necessary, so seeing these ladies put on a pretty face one moment to praise Isabella on her promotion only to talk shit behind her back the next minute was of no surprise to me. What did make me a little stunned was that these women are unmistakably the same women who stood so proud and confidently behind Isabella once she revealed her wonderful revenge plan to the rest of the facility back in ch170.

So, what changed? Oh, it's quite simple and a complete joy for me to talk about, so allow me. Isabella had a reputation of never making mistakes, as she always received perfect scores on both written and physical tests, so upon learning that she allowed 15 children to escape is a bit jarring, especially to the other ladies. The quality of her loss was such a huge hit to the farm's profit that they couldn't fathom why she of all people would be chosen to become the next Grandma. They believed it to be unfair, that Isabella must have had some sort advantage after working under Grandma Sarah that could've been kept under wraps. They both got rid of Krone with little to no explanation at all, so some rules must have been tweaked. It's no doubt the ladies saw Isabella as a major threat to their own survival, so they kept a close eye on her and waited for the perfect opportunity.. to create a fake lead to raise suspicion on this flawless woman.

Too bad dearest Grandma was already ten steps ahead of them! HAA! Did they honestly think they could take her down? And Jessica, sweetheart, you even spoke about Isabella's training days a couple of pages ago and how “she calmly got revenge on all the girls when they tried to sabotage her.” That literally just happened again so y'all can't really be surprised by this outcome! She knows that Jessica, Sienna, Scarlet & Matilda, are the current top four choices to become mothers, so it was quite easy for Isabella to determine who would go after her and her new position, if anyone were foolish enough to think about such a thing.

Luckily for them, Isabella has no intentions of killing them off. Since they're all quite intelligent and skilled, she decides to recruit them as allies in her pursuit to destroy Grace Field. Their reaction is similar to the other women we see from ch170. Everyone is apprehensive at first, as going against the farm is nothing but a crazy idea, and yet Isabella assures them that there is no bright future if they remain stuck in the system and obey their rules.

They betray each other to give themselves the best chance at surviving, but it'll be an endless hell if you live out your entire life in fear. So if not for each other, what do these ladies have to live for? Oh, just their children they all chose so hard to forget about.

By now it's no secret that Ray is Isabella's son, but ever since ch170 I couldn't help but wonder if any of those women were the biological moms of any of the other kids we know. You can't tell me the lady with that distinguished nose isn't Nat's mother. I also thought the others could be mothers of Rossi, Yvette, Anna and perhaps Don? Sienna might be Emma's, Matilda to Norman's, Scarlet to Phil's, and Jessica.. I'm not sure honestly? I know it could be any of the kids at GF plant #3, not just the 15 that escaped, but it is fun to think about though and I wasn't expecting to learn that their kids were all at the same house.

It's quite convenient that Isabella had the chance to raise their children actually, because after a few more words of encouragement and the knowledge that their children are indeed still alive, the four ladies agree to support Isabella's plan. Well, once she guarantees to not double-cross them, which is reasonable. It's best for them to have some trust in each other in order to work together. Isabella gives them her word and some much better evidence of her mistake in the form of… aaaaahhh Ray's note.

Bro, believe me when I was completely shooketh upon reading this. It's been a question we all had for so long that I was fairly certain we weren't going to get an answer for it after the series ended. Of course the knowledge of Ray being Isabella's true son was the weakness many of us thought the note contained, but I could've sworn I read somewhere, in some interview or whatever it was, that Shirai said it was something else Ray baited Krone with (right? or am I completely going crazy about this trivia). Anyways, I guess a farewell note is different enough but damn.. what a punch to my heart. Not only did he address it as “dear mother,” but the fact that Isabella kept it this entire time. Like wow.. I'm kinda speechless here. No doubt she still loves her son, just look at how fondly she holds it! If anything, I must know the full contents of said note! Shirai, please! I'm begging!

And if that wasn't enough to make me emotional, Isabella's wish certainly had me tearing up. I hope she knows that her precious children are all happy together in a free world living the best life they possibly can. Honestly, if I had any power to change just one thing in this series, it would to let Isabella live. Having Emma keep her memories is a close second, but I've come to accept that inconvenience after seeing how happy she and all the other kids are post-series. Look at this precious family! I love them! (also I wanna see that full photo on top with her and ayshe darn it!)

Seriously though, her death is still something I'm not over. I literally have not listened to her lullaby since ch177 dropped because I'm scared I'll become a tearful mess. Yes, sacrificing herself to protect Emma and that other girl from the demon was very admirable of her and helped with her redemption, but she didn't have to die from it! (hell, if emma could survive being stabbed then so could isabella, right?? damn plot armor! ) To me, I just feel like it wasn't necessary, especially now after learning what we just did from this extra chapter. Not only did she agree to become Grandma to help the children when they eventually returned to GF in two years, but Isabella also decreased the number of shipments in order to produce higher quality goods to make up for those that escaped, which is exactly what Emma believed would happen once she decided to leave the kids four and under behind. I love how Isabella adopted Emma's ideals and spirit in order to go against the system and rally everyone else up to accomplish the impossible. Personally, I forgave this woman the moment she retrieved the ropes in ch37 so the farm wouldn't know exactly where the children escaped from. She didn't have to die to prove she was a good mother who cared and love her children, because she showed that several times over and over again. She literally did everything in her power to help these kids secure a brighter future while remaining in the shadows.

Yeah, it makes me happy that they did at least take her body to to the human world so they all can continue to pay their respects to her, but aaahhh.. how I wish she were still alive. She suffered so much, she deserves to live in peace with her children and love them all normally. Ray especially!! You can't just formally introduce these four brilliant women to me and then be like “oh yeah, they have GF kids too and now they're free in the human world with them” and not have Isabella with Ray! I'm sure their relationship would've been rocky at first, but I still would've love to see them at least give each other a chance to be a real family. Hmmmm.. this chapter, man.. so not good for my heart, but I loved every bit of it. Once again, rest in peace to the iron woman. What a queen.

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 51.03 - London Business School vs Hertford, Oxford

Since it was introduced at the 1988 Olympics, every single Gold Medal in the Women’s Team event in the Archery has gone to South Korea. Including yesterday’s win that’s nine straight victories, and their period of unparalleled dominance continues. The men’s team have also won six of the nine they have contested, and a mixed team won the first staging of that event in Tokyo too. Adding their success in the individual events, South Korea have won 26 gold medals, and 42 in total, in the 43 archery events which have been thus far staged at the Olympic Games. 

As Twitter’s own @tarequelaskar pointed out in the brilliant article which alerted me to this story, this is a perfect example of specialisation, an economic concept whereby countries or companies focus intensely on one particular aspect of a given industry and come to serve that niche in such a specialised fashion that they become the ultimate experts and nigh-on irreplaceable. This is done in government and business by providing companies with incentives to specialise, and supporting those who succeed at it. 

With respect to Korean archery, similar forces are at play. There are a bunch of professional teams and leagues in the country, giving archers financial stability while they focus on their training, something not as common across the world. Said training involves such things as practicing in live baseball stadiums and replicas of the Olympic venues, to mimic first the atmosphere and then the conditions that will be present on the day of the actual tournament. 

This philosophy of marginal gains - the same system used by Team Sky and Chris Froome to win multiple Tour De Frances on the trot - puts their preparation miles ahead of the competition, which goes some way to explaining their dominance. It is not the only reason. Before the fine-tuning of the elite shooters comes the discovery of the promising young ones, and the inspiring nature of past success (along with a historic national love of the sport) helps to create a virtuous cycle which give Korea a far larger number of archers to choose from than any other country. This greater choice means that there is a greater chance of finding the next Gold medallists.

Making the argument that professional footballers are at a higher level than other elite sportspeople, Michael Cox used this same argument in a recent article for The Athletic. To summarise, he stated that because there are a far higher number of people who wish to become professional footballers, that must mean that the ones who do make it are at a higher standard than those who make it in other sports. Initially, I was drawn in by the pure maths of this point, but having thought about it some more I’m no longer sure to what extent I agree. 

Now, the fact that hundreds of millions more people play football than rugby, or basketball, will certainly confer some level of “eliteness”, but only up to a certain point. Because football has been so popular for so long, the general standard of the play, relative to what it used to be, has had longer to improve. In the same way that if you transplanted a 100m runner from the Olympic final in the early 20th century to now they probably wouldn’t even qualify for the games, a footballer from the 80s would stand less of a chance of making it were they playing today. Many other sports don’t have that level of natural progression, afforded by decades of technical and tactical advancement - at least not globally. 

But the numbers argument only goes so far, as can be demonstrated by the Korean archers. Yes, there are more archers in Korea than anywhere else, relatively, giving them a higher chance of uncovering those with a natural aptitude, but the reason behind their bow and arrow dynasty is the specialisation. The hyper-detailed level of training and focus which allows them to be the best they can possible be. 

Now, archery is unique in that there is a theoretical maximum score (I understand that this is to some extent arbitrary, and related to the rules of the game as defined by some human being, semi-randomly, but it works in terms of this argument, because it gives a percentage score of how good the archers are based on the agreed-upon parameters of the sport), which, at the Olympics, is 720. The Olympic record is 700 (held by Korean Kim Woo-jin, giving an implied “eliteness level” of 97.2%. 

The best player in the history of football (don’t @ me) is Lionel Messi, and few would doubt that he operates at or above that level of perfection in his sport. But I also don’t think you could doubt that Novak Djokovic, or Serena Williams in her pomp, were similarly magnificent at tennis. Cyclists on the Tour De France put their bodies through more in three weeks than most people endure in a decade, and have every aspect of their training and diet strictly controlled so as to bring them as close to perfection as possible. There will certainly be a higher number of these elite performers in football, because there are a higher number of paying jobs for said elite performers, and because more people attempt to become elite performers, but I don’t think that it follows on from that that they are better at their sport than other elite athletes, all of whom have undergone years and years of specialised training to get them where they are.

Does any of this matter, in terms of how each sport should be enjoyed? Probably not, but its interesting to think about, and kind of awe-inspiring to try and appreciate just how good those at the top of their respective games are. And if there is some discrepancy in the level of eliteness between the different sports it doesn’t detract from the fact that they would handily dispatch any civilian challengers without breaking a sweat. The joy comes from watching people who are good at stuff doing that stuff - and, as evidenced by the crowds which gather for non-league football, it doesn’t matter whether or not they are at the absolute pinnacle of said stuff. They’re still going to be much better than the rest of us. 

Competitive quizzing is different from the activities previously mentioned in that any normal person can have a guess at pretty much any question, with a chance that they’ll get it right. What sets the contestants apart on shows like University Challenge is the speed of their recall under pressure - the quickness of their knowledge as well as the knowledge itself. But there are plenty of armchair quizzers who think they could wipe the floor on the show, so just how good are the actual contestants? (Compared to an elite footballer or archer on an imaginary scale that accounts for relative skill in all disciplines?). I don’t know (and in case you hadn’t noticed by now I’m just fascinated by people who are really good at anything, and wanted to share some of that fascination with you all), but I’ll try and have a go at answering it anyway. 

So, the World Quizzing Championships have been dominated by British and Irish quizzers since its inception in 2003, with 16 of the 18 winners coming from either Britain or the Republic of Ireland (who have four wins courtesy of The Egghead Pat Gibson). This, in my mind, makes this neck of the woods comparable to South Korean archery. It is a hotbed of talent, and the infrastructure is in place to encourage and aid talent maximalisation. Indeed, if you scroll down the list of highest ranking players at the WQC in any given year you can see a significant cohort of UC alums, so clearly there are a number of elite quizzers who have passed through the show. 

This specialisation can be seen in microcosm with the preponderance of top-level quizzers produced by Oxford and Cambridge, who both have a long-standing culture of competitive quizzing far beyond other Universities. The debate is there to be had on the fairness of each institution having so many teams, but clearly they produce enough elite players to compete with far bigger Unis when entering as (sometimes tiny) colleges. 

In conclusion, I think it is pretty obvious that UC is a breeding ground for world-class quizzers, and though no one has won a World title straight off the bat after appearing on the show, there are top-50 and top 100 finishes abound, which is still greatly impressive, and helps to give an idea of just how good these students really are. 

Hoping to justify the 1000 words I’ve just written about their exceptional talents are two teams from the London Business School and Hertford College, Oxford. The Oxford side have never made it beyond the second round, but LBS reached the semi-finals in 2006, their only previous appearance on the show. Anyway, there is quite literally no time for me to recite the rules; here’s your first starter for ten... 

Paxman mentions that LBS were in the show in 2006, but doesn’t mention that they reached the semi final, which is lazy imo. A bunch of them are studying for MBAs, which makes sense. He doesn’t mention Hertford’s previous appearances either, but that’s more understandable.

Hertford’s Hitchens takes the first starter with Kennedy, and the Oxonians added a full set of bonuses on words made up by authors - including a couple of educated guesses. LBS hit back with the next question, but can only manage one bonus on famous scientists. One of the two they miss is Rosalind Franklin, and Paxman teases them for not spotting an apparently obvious clue within the question.

The first picture round is on national emblems, and LBS are first to recognise that of Vietnam for the starter. They don’t know Laos or Belarus, but do know that Mozambique has a machine gun on its one. Butterworth then jumps the gun with argon on the next starter, giving his answer just as Paxman says it in the question. Butterworth makes up for it with the music starter, recognising Fat Boy Slim before anyone else, and LBS know Primal Scream and Wu Tang Clan too. They’re still fifty points behind though, and will need a big second half to turn things around.

This task gets more difficult for them, as Hitchens takes another starter. Lloyd adds a second in a row for Oxford and they are nearly one hundred points clear. LBS really need to get some points on the board, and Ruess duly obliges, knowing that there is a massive sculpture of a spider called Maman, which sounds needlessly scary, to the extent that I’m not even going to google it.

The comeback is ended before its even begun as Oswald takes a starter for Hertford, which gives them the picture bonuses - the starter having been dropped by both teams. Lloyd produces another excellent guess of Reuben, demonstrating how useful it is to have vague knowledge as well as specific knowledge. This is one of probably five questions he has answered in a throwaway manner, but which turned out to be correct. 

By this point LBS seem to have accepted defeat. Ruess takes another starter, but there is little to no urgency on the bonus questions. They’re right, granted, to have none, they have no chance of winning, but if they gave it a go they might scrape a high scoring loser spot. Ruess is the only one who seems bothered, and bags himself ten more points. They have an amusing discussion about methods of poisoning in Agatha Christie novels (’it was used as a curry ingredient?’, Ruess wondered aloud, trying to figure out which spices could be poisonous, before Butterworth pointed out that it wasn’t something commonly used as a curry ingredient, prompting respectful mirth from the audience) on the bonuses, but still languish miles behind. 

Lloyd grabs the last starter of the night for Hertford, who win by eighty at the gong.

Final Score: London Business School 100 - 180 Hertford, Oxford

At the end, Paxman mentions Hertford’s stellar guesswork, which means I wasn’t chatting nonsense (at least on that front, the jury is out on the rest of it), and says that they’ve done a really good job. Incredibly effusive praise for a score of 180. He really is going soft in his old age.

Phew, that was a long one. If you made it through the intro you deserve a prize. And that prize is that you get to come back next week for the next episode of this blog!! Woop woop! 

And if this wasn’t quite enough UC content for you then you can subscribe for extra blogs on my Patreon, which features Retro Reviews from the 2015/16 series of the show. Ta x

[agiar2000]

Resistance to Violence

I just saw this video, and I found it very intriguing and impactful, intellectually. It actually did get me thinking differently about the main issue therein. https://youtu.be/YJSehRlU34w

When this video was published, I was probably already quite convinced of the virtue of non-violent resistance.

In recent years, however, I have seen more and more of how non-violent protesters have not only been subjected to oppressive violence in retaliation, but have also been publicly blamed for the violence being done to and around them, so that the corrupt media has successfully managed to redirect the sympathy that ought to be conferred on those who are bravely and peacefully standing in the face of violence and oppression, and twist it into even more support for the oppressive system. I have seen how violent regimes are perfectly willing to brutalize peaceful people just to assert and demonstrate their dominance, and then I see them getting praise from large swaths of the population who support that oppression.

On the other hand, I have also been thinking more about situations where violence was the catalyst to finally make progress for equality and justice. The Confederate States of America, the Nazis of Germany, and the various unconscionable horrors they wrought were not stopped by people protesting peacefully, by seeking common ground, by seeking to understand them better and make them comfortable. They were stopped by a sufficient opposing army slaughtering them until they ceased to be willing and able to pose a continuing threat to humanity.

It's also helpful, I think to contrast the end of the Confederacy with the end of the Nazis. Starting with the Confederacy: While slavery and white supremacy were certainly overtly stated goals of the Confederacy's rebellion, the Union was (and still is) hardly an anti-racist country, and it has been noted that their goal in fighting the Confederacy was more about retaining the Union than about ending slavery. In the end, when the Confederacy surrendered, there was an attempt by the victors to ease the feelings of the erstwhile rebels, to allow them to retain a great deal of "Southern pride". For that, we get the Daughters of the Confederacy whitewashing and rewriting history, the Ku Klux Klan continuing to wage terror across the country, and many of the various monuments and other dedications to honor Confederate leaders. The meaning of these symbols is clearly white supremacy, and not merely "Southern pride", as evidenced by how they're used. Many of these monuments were erected in the former Confederacy as part of the backlash against the civil rights movement in the 20th century, and some people even outside of America proudly wave the Confederacy's navy jack flag. Why would non-Americans wave that flag? Because they want to wave a flag for white supremacy, and they can't legally wave the flag of the Nazis.

The Nazis, by contrast, were obliterated. They were not allowed to retain "Nazi pride" after the fall of their heinous regime. The symbols of their monstrosity were banned. A standard of basic human decency was granted greater priority than the "freedom" of terrible people to do horrible things. Nazism was destroyed, not simply because it opposed other powers that wanted to control them, but because they were evil, and they needed to be stopped for the good of the world. The result is that now, less than 8 decades after the fall of the Nazis, Germany is a far more decent, pro-social democracy than the former Confederate states, which continue to stand for right-wing oppression, even over 15 decades after the surrender of the Confederacy.

Another example, though less of a dramatic one, is that of the Stonewall riot. The LGBTQ community did not start gaining rights and freedom from a horrifically oppressive regime because they were kind, nice, and peaceful, gently appealing to the better angels of their murderers and oppressors, making the effort to try to understand them and to meet them in the middle. What kicked off their victories at this time was Black trans women of color throwing bricks at police.

Considering all that, I found Chenoweth's presentation difficult to reconcile. When the oppressive regime has control over the media, when they make every peaceful protester look like a violent, dangerous terrorist, and they convince large portions of the population to be willing to fight for fascism, convincing them that it is actually "freedom", and that efforts for justice are actually an attack on their very identity, how can one possibly proceed? When those in power do murder peaceful protesters, do you keep showing up to protest peacefully? If you see someone going around shooting people left and right, do you stand there and demand verbally that the shooter stop?

So, what to do? We live in a violent society that has normalized routine violence against the poor, minorities, people of color, and all of the most marginalized and vulnerable in society. We only need 3.5% of the population to actively resist? Already 5.8% of the American population is in deep poverty, with 9.2% in poverty, generally. Globally, these numbers are even more horrifying, with 9.2% in deep poverty and nearly 17% in a state of being "multidimensionally poor", and nearly half living on less than the equivalent of US$5.50 per day. Couldn't we count on those people, at the very least, to oppose their own oppression? No, we cannot, partly because part of being so oppressed is being kept so weak and powerless that you don't have the energy to resist and being provided just enough that you're terrified to lose what little you have by daring to stand up, but also because so many of them have been brainwashed and corrupted into voting against their own interests and being willing to fight against the people who are trying to help them, and blame the even more marginalized among them or phantoms of foreign powers for all of their problems. Maybe if they knew what was really going on, we would have won long before now.

Now, regarding the topic of the video, the success of non-violent resistance, I very much appreciate that Chenoweth's presentation relied on statistical data from studies of hundreds of events rather than the mere anecdotes that were foremost in my mind when I started watching, and I also appreciate that she started by talking about the mindset from which she started, which closely resembled my own, including good examples of violent revolutions that ended corrupt regimes. I don't know exactly how the data she used to reach her conclusion were gathered and classified, and I retain some skepticism, but I would very much like to believe that her data are, in fact, representative, accurate, and actionable. I would very much like to believe that we can, in fact, win freedom and justice through peaceful means, though I have a hard time really being confident in it. I want to believe that she's right because otherwise, I see very little hope at all. We are very close to a point at which total environmental collapse is inevitable, with the majority of global power still putting the pedal to the metal to drive us off that cliff as fast as possible. The most aggressive policy proposals to save the planet involve easing up on the gas slightly, far too little far too late, and even those are being defeated by the regressive death cult of neoliberals, conservatives, and fascists. At this point, it is hard to see how any future can exist that does not involve tremendous destruction. Either the forces of evil win outright and destroy everything, or the forces that oppose them are forced to wreak so much destruction in order to stop them that they might as well have lost anyway. It's hard to imagine sometimes that we have not already completely lost, that the world is not already completely doomed, and all that is left is to watch as the monsters responsible for it just keep making things worse until the very end.

I guess the answer is just to have faith and to do whatever we can to give humanity the best possible chance, and that means two main strategic goals: 1. Motivate and influence enough people to reach that 3.5% threshold to actually resist for the change that we all need. 2. Determine an actual action plan for those people to carry out that will have the desired effect with a minimum of collateral damage and harmful side effects.

Sadly, I have no idea how to do either of those things, and anything I can think of still feels either depressingly small and insufficient or worrying for its potential to cause unintended harm.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My life, The Doctor; 10th Doctor x Nurse!reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys I know it’s been awhile but I finally decided to work on another story outside the Queen/BoRhap fandom. Now this request came from @originalposter96 idk if this is your user name anymore but I hope you’ll be able to see it.

NOW WARNING HERE I AM NOT A DOCTOR OR A NURSE!!! So I know absolutely NOTHING about surgeries or anything like that, so this may seem as lazy writing (sorry) but I hope you all still enjoy this fic. So since this does involve the reader being a Nurse there is a hospital involved, surgeries, blood, removing bullets, gunshots, and a slight trigger warning for Domestic violence (not between the Doctor and reader just some side characters).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@dancingcoolcat​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@ixchel-9275​

__________________________________________________________

There have been many wonderous places I’ve been to, many wonderful people and creatures I’ve met.  They all come and go in my life, whether through my adventures or by time itself all beings enter my life one way or another.  But throughout all my previous lives, every single being in the Universe that I had ever known, one person was above and beyond special.

Her name was (Y/n) (L/n).  And she—is and will always be the love of my life.

For a human she was extremely clever, sharp as a whip, but she was also kind, loyal, and the one thing about her is that she never gives up on anyone.  As a Head nurse—oh did I forget to mention that? Yes my (y/n) is one of the best Nurses in all of England.  

Anyone in her time or even in the future when she finally becomes an M.D. will tell you that she is one of the best.  In fact she finds out future cures for worldwide pandemics (of course sometimes her board would deny her research and billions of people perish. Rotten bastards).  Anyways, my (y/n) truly is one of a kind amongst the humans and I am glad to have met her.

And won’t she be surprised when she sees me.  It had been awhile since I had last seen her (maybe since the day she graduated medical school just a year ago her time) and now with the Cybermen and Daleks taken care of, now’s a good a time to go see her.

I set the coordinates for her time period and flipped the switch allowing the TARDIS to activate and soon going through time and space.

*My POV*

April 14th, 2015, 10:05pm.  It had been a long day.  5 surgeries, 3 MRI scans, a cancer treatment report, and 2 women in labor later, I was just about to drop right there on the floor.  I was thankful that in like 20min. my shift was gonna be over.

“You look like you’re about to drop dead right on the spot.” I snapped out of my sleepy stage to see my good friend Chrissie Lang.  She and I had graduated from the same Med school together, and had most of the same classes together.  She and I are each other’s support system cause in this line or work—it can take a toll on you.

I remember this one time this woman came in at 6 months pregnant bleeding profusely from her legs.  We both knew that she was suffering a miscarriage so we told to do what her Doctor told us to do, but by the end of it Chrissie was completely destroyed. She always wanted to be a mum and seeing something like that happen made her fearful for even trying to go for a baby with her and her boyfriend.

So for the next ten minutes after helping the woman out, Chrissie and I just held onto each other and shed our tears before we had to brush it off and move onto the next case we had.  For those that say being a Doctor or a Nurse is the easiest job to do, they’re liars. The job can hit you not just physically, but mentally as well.

“After 2 days of not sleeping, I just might. Put on my tombstone (Y/n) (l/n). Died with a heart of gold and a stomach of caffeine.”

“That’s true cause I swear girl, you’re probably the most caffeine addicted person I’ve ever met.”

“I can stop whenever I want, these are just choices.” We both chuckled softly.

“Excuse me ladies, but would you mind helping me with something?” a familiar voice said to me.  We both turned to our right and standing there with a bouquet of my favorite color of carnations was the Doctor.

“Of course, what can we do for you sir?” asked Chrissie.

“Hey Chris, why don’t you let me handle this?” I suggested.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, besides you’re about to clock out sooner than me, you go on and head home. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay, see you later (n/n).” she bid the Doctor good evening and he did the same. Once Chrissie left the lobby, I turned towards the Doctor smiling widely as he did the same.

I immediately embraced him and he picked me up and twirled me around, the two of us laughing together.

“Oh I swear every time I come back, you get more beautiful.” He said as he set me down.

“I’m just happy you got to come back at all.” I said as I cupped his face in my hands. His eyes grew soft as he placed his hands over mine.

“I know what I do is dangerous, but you know why I do what I do.” I nodded in understandment.

“I mean hell it wouldn’t be any different if you were human and worked as a police officer or a fireman. Hell we humans live in a dangerous world, anything could kill us.”

“Which is what makes me the Doctor.”

“It does indeed.” I stroked his cheek with my thumb and that’s when he reached for the bouquet he had set down on the front desk and he presented it to me. “You always know just how to cheer me up.”

“Figured you might’ve had a long, rough day. Thought a little color could be used to brighten up your day.”

“It sure did, thank you my love.”

“Anything for you my life.”

That was a thing between us.  When we first started dating each other, we had a little code/nickname for each other. I call the Doctor ‘my love’ because ever since he literally dropped from the sky onto my doorstep, he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

He’s quirky, bit of a goofball, can sometimes blow his top but that’s only when something really dangerous happens and he’s under stress (yeah I’ve traveled with him a couple of times during my time at Med school), but he’s also loyal, brave, beyond clever, and he always puts everyone else, especially the human race above himself.  For the last of his species, he’s an incredibly selfless person.

He calls me ‘his life’ because whenever things get too hard for him, since he and I have been through some rough stuff due to our day to day life, I always try my best to comfort him.  I know that he’s lost people, just like I have on a job, and it’s not an easy thing to get pass.

So we both try to be each other’s support system.  We know there is always loss in the world, but the thing is to not let that be the driving point that always controls your life.  You can use it to make you stronger, not let it drag you down any further.

“So how has my brave Dr. (L/n) been since I last saw her?”

“You know I’m not a Doctor yet, I still gotta go through the nursing program and then rise up in the ranks before I finally get it.”

“Oh rubbish, you should’ve been a Doctor right as you graduated.”

“Yeah well not according to the chief here.” I muttered annoyedly.

“Honestly though, that old fool wouldn’t know a good doctor if it turned around and bit him in the arse.” I shushed him but couldn’t help myself from giggling softly.

“You can be so cruel sometimes you know that?” he playfully shrugged.

“Only when it comes to people who hurt you.” he wrapped his arms around me and pecked my cheek. “How much longer till your shift ends?” I turned to the clock and responded.

“10 minutes. But…..I could clock out a little early since there hasn’t been a call.”

“Playing hooky ehh? You cheeky little minx.” He grinned like the Cheshire cat. As we leaned closer to each other about to kiss, the doors suddenly burst open and a frantic voice called out.

“HELP! HELP! MY BROTHER NEEDS HELP! HELP!” a blonde woman around her mid 30’s came in holding her brother who looked to be around the same age as her.  Quite possible they might’ve been twins cause I could see some similarities on the both of them.  Her brother was completely covered in blood and his lips were blue from blood loss.

“Okay Miss calm down. I NEED A STRECHER STAT!!” soon enough the nurses who were still here for the nightshift ran off as I walked towards the two siblings. “What happened?”

“My ex-boyfriend jumped us. He thought—he thought my brother was a new boyfriend of mine and he—he—oh god this is my f-fault!”

“No, no, no Miss this is not your fault.” As I tried to calm her down, the stretcher bed soon came in and a group of nurses helped the man on his back and began cutting away his shirt.

“I’m seeing 3 bullet wounds to the chest and one on his abdomen. Let’s move him!” I get onto the top right of him as we wheel him into the OR to save his life while another nurse stayed behind with the sister to calm her down.

I washed my hands and arms frantically and thoroughly before getting my shrubs and mask on.  Already the destine nurses, assistants and now our head Doctor, Dr. Murphy came in and he said.

“What have we got?”

“Four shots in the upper body, two in the lower. He might’ve lost a pint of blood at least.” Answered Nurse Yasmin.

“Maybe 2-3. His BP is dropping fast.” Added one of the male Nurses, Derek.

“Okay, any of those bullets rupture an organ?” asked Dr. Murphy.

“The one in his lower abdomen is just a centimeter before hitting his small intestine. If we don’t get that bullet out first he could bleed out internally.”

“Okay keep an eye on his BP. I need fluids, scalpels, suction tubs, retractors……”

“Lucy….”the man groaned out.

“(L/n), do your thing.” Said Dr. Murphy.  I nodded and came up to the man and said.

“Sir? Sir can you hear me?”

“Yes. Where—where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital. Your sister brought you in. Don’t worry she’s okay and told us what happened.”

“Good….good……She’s safe. I—I’d never forgive myself if—” he started fading out.

“Hey, hey, hey sir, sir stay with me now. What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?”

“Barry.”

“Okay Barry, I’m (Y/n) (l/n). My team and I are gonna help you but you need to stay with me for just a bit. Don’t give up on me.”

“It hurts….it hurts so badly.”

“I know, I know.”

“Give him a shot of morphine to numb the pain.” Dr. Murphy ordered.  Suzie got the morphine bag and needle ready and slowly stuck the needle into his left arm.  Barry hissed and I said to him.

“This’ll help lessen the pain. You won’t feel the pain as we try to get the bullets out of you Barry. But you gotta stay with me, okay?”

“I’ll—try……” he mumbled tiredly.  I placed my hand on his cheek and looked up at his vitals and saw his BP was continuing to drop and his heartbeat was going down.

As I looked around me, frantically Dr. Murphy and all the nurses were working together trying to get all the bullets out of him one by one, less we risk him bleeding out as two teams tried to work out a single bullet.  With the main one near his intestines cleared, Dr. Murphy and Nurse Helen worked on getting the few out of his upper chest.

All the while Barry kept groaning every now and then and his eyes were fading fast.

“Barry. Barry hey look at me boy. If you can’t do this for yourself, do it for your sister. From what she said about who had done this to you, you need to stay alive for her. What you did was heroic, but don’t let her see that that selfish son of a bitch won. She needs you, your family needs you.”

“I got the blood transfusion he now needs. Thankfully, we had our last bag of B+ in the storage bin.” A young male nurse who had only worked here for a year, Cody exclaimed as he came through the doors.

“Alright, start the transfusion now! We just got the last bullet out and his BP is dropping faster and faster!”

“You hear me Barry? We’re getting you your life back. But it’s gonna be up to you now. Don’t let him be the victor, not tonight! You hear me?” he groaned and looked right up at me and he whispered groggily to me.

“Why do you care so much?” I took a deep breath in and said as I stroked the hair from his face.

“Because so many people everywhere are already dying every day. Some because time has run out on them, others for serving their country, but there are the odds of people dying for now reason whatsoever. Or for stupid reasons that shouldn’t be a reason why someone should have to die, especially if it’s protecting their family member from some arsehole who can’t tell the meaning of the word No. Now your sister is out there waiting for you, if she loses you, she’ll have lost her Ace. Her only friend that has stuck by her through whatever it was that her ex-boyfriend did to her.”

“He…..always was a……selfish prick!” he coughed out.

“I’ll bet he was. But she survived him, and now you’ve got to survive too. Don’t give him that satisfaction that he took a life tonight. Can you do that for me?” he nodded softly and whispered out again.

“You’d make a great motivational speaker.”

“I was on the debate team back in secondary school. If you wanna hear more, you’ll just have to stick around Earth for a little while longer.” After his final stitches were in place, the blood transfusion began and it was then Dr. Murphy had Cody, Darren, and Helen wheel him into ICU.  From there, Barry would be monitored 24/7 till he woke up from his post-surgery coma.

Dr. Murphy took off his mask and gloves before turning to me and he said to me.

“Nice job keeping him talking.”

“Just doing my job sir.”

*Doctor’s POV*

Unaware to anyone else, I had snuck into the upper levels to witness the surgery in progress.  I watched as (y/n) stayed right by the young man’s side and kept giving him encouragement to stay alive.  But not for himself, for his sister.

This. Is why she would one day go down in the medical books as the world’s greatest Female doctor’s.  She always put the lives of the people her patient’s love over their own, then psychologically, the patient’s bodies would continue to fight on until finally they would find the strength to recover.

Of course she will have her failures cause that’s life.  You can’t save everyone but you can work harder at saving the ones you can save in the future.  She doesn’t let one failure get her down, that’s sometimes the curse of being a Doctor. When you lose people, it can really affect you. Even when those closest to you are the ones you lose.  Believe me I’ve been there millions of times throughout my 10 life cycles (she’s lucky she’ll only deal with one).

By morning, the lad Barry managed to make a full recovery.  His sister, Lucy repeatedly thanked all the doctors and nurses who helped out with saving her brother before giving her statement to the police.

I waited outside by the TARDIS for my beloved Doctor to clock out, and when she finally came out the poor dear looked exhausted.  I extended my arms out for her and she gave me a tired smile before collapsing into my arms.

“Just when I thought I could get at least one early night in.” her voice muffled against my trench coat but I still managed to hear her.  I softly laughed and rocked her gently as I assured her.

“I know, but hey if you hadn’t been here, that young man would’ve died.”

“Oh you know it was Dr. Murphy as well as a few other nurses that actually did the real operation to save him.”

“True, but you were just as important if not more. You kept him awake and talking.” I shrugged tiredly agree-to-disagreeing. “Now then, I think after a night like that, and from lack of sleep these past couple of days you deserve to be pampered and see the wonders of the galaxy.”

“How did you—”

“Besides the bags under your eyes, I’ve seen the amount of Starbucks cups at your apartment.” She groaned embarrassingly.  God this girl and her coffee addiction, truthfully I never understood why humans choose that as their beverage of choice.  I myself prefer a good Earl grey or even sometimes Jasmine tea but ugh that horrible bland stuff they call coffee?! Never. Again. Will that drink touch my taste buds.

“Care to show me the wonders of time and space?”

“Need a pick me up boost?” she nodded.  I kicked open the doors of the TARDIS and hopped inside before extending my hand out to her saying, “First question is though; do you trust me?”

“Always my love.” She replied with that loving soft smile of hers as she took my hand.

“Then brace yourself my life, because I’m going to show you the sound of the Universe.”

“You mean…..”

“Indeed I do my love, the Music of the Spheres.” Her smile grew wider and I pulled her into the TARDIS before shutting the doors behind her and together the two of us ran towards the consoles of the TARDIS and I punched in the coordinates and soon we took off for the Music of the Spheres.

And who knows where our next adventure would lead after that? So long as I got my love, my life, my Doctor with me by my side.

[severelynerdysheep]

gaytheiestbandkid

My last response below, because while I respect that you blocked me (though I have no clue why) the fact that you did you after making your own response that I then cant respond to via reblog is a tad iffy. And I at least feel that I should be able to post my own response anywhoo even if I cant do so directly. If not only cause I spent a heck of a time writing this “^^

“ done yet? if you have the idea that there’s a “carnist bias” in my post then you’ve got me all wrong. i wholeheartedly support taking down the animal agriculture industry.”

Well it certainly looks like you don't support the abolishment of the animal ag industry since you pay for it when its possible and practicable to avoid doing so. You literally called the social justice movement dedicated to taking down this industry along with every other form of animal exploitation a “cult” and you make a post filled with lies and misrepresentation about animal agriculture and plant based diets. As well as promoting as supporting the needless consumption of animal flesh/secretions as a “personal choice tho”. If that isn't bias then water isn't wet.

“ by means that actually work rather than putting a band-aid on a gushing arterial wound, by means that people can get on board with rather than moral absolutism.”

Any solution which doesn't include the avoidance of all forms of animal exploitation as far as possible an practicable as the very least that people with moral agency have a moral obligation to do. Any solution which spreads lies an misinformation about the form of injustice attempting to be abolished, any solution which places sole blame on capitalism, which absolutely doesn't work with animal exploitation since is would exists in any system. Is not a solution in any sense of the word.

By your logic its fine to support/inflict violence against women because having the basic requirement that people shouldn't inflict  violence/exploitation absent others as individuals is just a “band aid” for a gushing would in any social justice movement. Instead of holding said people who claim to oppose said injustice while inflicting it accountable as adult in control of their own actions. And yes being opposed to people needlessly exploiting, abusing/torturing and murdering other sentient beings of another species for their own personal pleasure is intrinsically an issue of rights and wrongs. Just like its an issue of rights and wrongs when victims are humans because all victims are sentient. If saying needless violence, exploitation and murder is wrong is moral absolutism. Then I would hope that the vast majority of people would happily sign up to stand on that hill.  

“ and your response to the “buying local” point is clearly emotion-based and disingenuous. the point was clearly about environmental impact, yet you made it about the poow suffewing animaws”

Fist of all, you simply said “the only way to truly have a low-impact diet “ So you could have been talking about either the ethical or environmental impact. Secondly, you seemed to have missed the whole of the part before I talked about the ethics (which is the most important issue, and its simply disgusting that you would joke around about that. Yes they are suffering and people like yourself are responsible) And I will link to the section where I explained why your “buy local” for the environment argument is wrong.

So locality means very little when it comes the the environmental impact of a food, with transport costs being just one small fraction of the overall footprint of a food item as It has been demonstrated that an average of 83% of a food product’s carbon footprint is caused during production. And transportation accounts for only 11% of the product’s greenhouse gas emissions. This means that choosing a plant-based option will always have a far lower impact than even the flesh of locally raised, exploited, abused/tortured and murdered animals, even when it is imported from abroad. Simply put, the idea that “buying local” in in any way comparable to (let alone better than) doing your best to avoid supporting the injustice that is animal agriculture as a consumer when it comes to either envionemtat impact is simply not based on facts.

“i don’t remember saying people should go out of their way to buy meat locally? only that they should buy locally in general if they claim to be making near-zero impact”

I mean in a post dedicated to spreading falsehoods about animal agriculture, I think its pretty safe to assume that you were trying to claim that a diet than including animal flesh/secretions that is entirely locally brought has a lower impact on the environment than a plant based diet which isn't fully local. Which isn't true. I’m happy to be corrected though, if you weren't saying that, and you recognise that even a fully local diet that includes animal flesh/secretions has a much bigger impact than a non local plant based diet.

“ by holding those in power rather than the everyday civilian accountable for massive-scale ecological destruction (telling me the 71% statistic is about fossil fuels in no way undermines the broader point of bringing it up.”

Your specific claim was “100 companies are responsible for over 70% of human-linked carbon emissions; as an everyday civilian, your carbon footprint is very nearly zero compared to that of big corporations, which are the real problem to begin with” This is a complete misunderstanding of the study and absolutely undermines the broader argument that you were trying to make. Since it in no way supports that argument. The study shows that 100 companies produced 71% of the fossil fuels which are then used by other industries and by consumers via their individual actions. 100 companies aren’t causing 71% of emissions, they’re producing 71% of fossil fuels. Those are completely different things. Completely different. Heck, the animal flesh industry (the industry exploded in this study) is responsible for as many GHG emissions as 70 of these companies combined. An industry which is exists entirely due to supply and demand. Individuals carbon footprints are included to make up both those 71% of fossil fuels as well as the GHG emissions from the animal flesh industry, let alone other animal ag/animal exploitation industries.

“ your pound-for-pound examination of food costs is yet another poorly-thought-out point without any nuance. 1) the low pound-for-pound costs of plant based foods are typically attributed to bulk prices and 2) you can’t ignore calorie density. someone unemployed or living paycheck to paycheck can feed themselves for longer on a $5 bag of chicken nuggets than on a bulk purchase of plant-based foods, many of which will go bad within the same time frame anyways.“

Again, this isn't true. I wasn't talking about pound just as in weight, I was talking about pound as in money. So say an average daily intake of 2500 calories is generally the cheapest when it comes to pounds (as in £) worldwide compared to the same amount of calories on a diet that included animal flesh and secretions. Which is one reason why the poorest population subsist on primarily plant based diets. This is because the cheapest items are the staple items such as the rice, pasta, potatoes, beans and lentils, tinned veg/fruit, oats, etc. All of which are staple items which are included in the diet of those who consume animal flesh anyway. For example, people can feed themselves for longer on pasta and tomato sauce, or rice and beans, than a bag of breaded chicken flesh. And the bag of breaded chicken flesh will go of sooner than the former foods. with the former being full meals as opposed to breaded chicken flesh which you would eat with something else.

Sure, bulk buying is a great way to shop if you can, but even if you aren't talking about bulk buying, a plant based diet is still the cheapest worldwide. As I explained in my original response. Not surprising then that double the percent of vegans are in the lowest come bracket compared to middle and higher incomes.

And your original claim was that many people cannot go plant based (or vegan) because vegan products are more expensive than their non vegan counterparts. Never mind that fact that you don't have to eat plant based meats, cheeses, ice cream etc.. of a plant based diet.

But lets use these plant based alternatives to compare to their non vegan counterparts for a sec:

~  At Asda you can buy 8 plant based burgers from their own brand frozen range much cheaper than Asda’s own brand frozen animal flesh burgers. 1.75p for 8 plant based burgers vs 2.00p for only 4 animal flesh burgers. And this is the same for pretty much every UK Food store brand.

~ Let’s look at cheese and look at its costs at Tesco, another popular supermarket. A 200g block of own brand Tesco cheese is exactly the same price as 200g of vegan cheese being sold.

Of course if you include these plant based products it will be more expensive than sticking to the staples, your diet will probably be closer to that of someone who doesn't eat a plant based diet. But if you stick to the staples then yes, its absolutely cheaper. And I did link to lot of sources of more information which it looks like you didn't check out unfortunately.  

!i’m hesitant to bring up this point because it really does get misused by non-vegans a lot, but the industries for plant-based foods aren’t the pinnacle of morality. many plant food industries– including those that vegans partake in far more than non-vegans, subject workers in developing areas to literal slave labor in downright horrible conditions.”

Can you tell me which specific industries vegans take part in more than non vegans which are ethically worse than the non vegan equivalent? Keeping in mind both that no vegan claims to be 100% cruelty free as a consumer, and that the diet of a non vegan includes far more plant crops (and therefore more crop labour/worker exploitation) than a vegans does. Nobody is saying that being vegan is the most you can do, its literally the least you can and should do. Its the baseline, the starting line, the very basic requirements for anyone who claims to have consideration for others. And really, I don't see what this has to do with any of the falsehoods made in the OP? It’s is a pretty big deflection it seems from any of the claims made in the OP.

“ there is no ethical consumption under capitalism. getting hung up on the specifics of what kinds of consumption are/aren’t ethical implies that absolutely everything we eat or use or otherwise consume is a product of exploitation, misses the point, and designates the public as the public enemy rather than the ones running the system.”

Are you trying to use the statement “there's no ethical consumption under capitalism” to justify the individual actions of consumers place all of the blame on capitalism? Because that is completely bananas.

There is no ethical consumption under capitalism.

This fab article by WorkingClass Vegan

A great post on this very site by @mickibuddy here

Quick edit: @mohs-hardness-scale I saw you reblogged my response with a  response of you own, though I can only see the first part of your reply that says “its not my job to provide you with sources. Google exists” since your friend blocked me and deleted almost all notes on their post. I wonder why. But please feel free to repeat your response via reblog of this post So I can have the common curtesy of being able to respond. Or if you don't want a public dialogue my ask box is always open. 

[unicornbitchface]

Raat ki Rani

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Summary: The plot moves ahead. 

No warnings yet.

Beta’d by the lovely @madbaddic7ed​ !

.............................................................................................

Chapter 2

That’s it. 

She was so over it. 

How was it even allowed? 

There had to be some decorum, some sanctity to the institution. Someone had to make it right, and it will have to be her. Enough was enough. 

Bursting through the carved door of the zenana mahal, her eyes searched for the culprit. Today she would make it clear what goes where, and she is not to be trifled with. 

She kept her head low in front of her father, but Damini deserved to be hit for how she talked to their father! What was so wrong about what he said? Rajputana women are to serve their janmabhoomi (motherland) and later her husband’s jaagir (feudal estate). 

And everyone knows, with that tongue no Kunwar would take that disgrace. 

The only use for her is to make sure Father keeps his gold. How is that so bad? 

Worse than wearing men’s clothes to Meena Bazaar? 

Kite flying with locals like an imbecile? 

Running around like a bloody camel in the palace?

Pranks on the Generals, priests and the guests without a care for her stature?

Surely not.

There she was, giggling with the kids, up to no good as always!

“Damu!” Revati roared. 

The mischief in those almond eyes could not be hidden, not that Damini would ever try to. Their eyes met, and she walked to her elder sister with a poise that would put peacocks to shame. 

“Khamba Ghani bai sa! How can I help you?” 

Smack.

Head to the side, Damini’s insides fumed at the atrocious insult. Fire consumed her when she looked back at her sister. But before she could say anything, Revati had her hands on her ear as she dragged her to the chambers.

“Bai sa! It hurts, ow, stop!”

Revati was silent until they reached her room and spun Damini around making her fall near the bed.

“What is wrong with you, Damu? Why are you so hell-bent on soiling your father's name and reputation all the time? Are you not his ward? Do you not love him? If not any of that, please tell me you at least hold remorse!”

“Remorse for what, Bai sa? Of course, I love him but he clearly doesn’t love me” A lone tear escaped the lioness, her heart squeezing in waste, for a relationship that won’t exist beyond a mention in history books. 

“What was so wrong about what he said? You get to save the maan of our ancestors! You get to maintain your old life while helping Father! You should consider this an honour and-”

Damini stood up and walked to her sister, “I spit on such honour. If it’s so glorious, why don’t you warm his bed? I am sure you don’t miss your husband anyway!”

Revati stood there, speechless. She had no words for the indecency her sister had unfolded without hesitation. 

“Do you know what you are saying? I cannot. I am bound to my husband. I have taken vows, and I shall not bring shame to his name. Never.”

Smirking and raising an eyebrow, Damini shot another crude arrow towards Revati, “Cannot? Shall not? So you mean to say you would if you could?” 

The silence and red cheeks gave her what she needed to know. 

“You haven’t seen him. You are lucky to have a specimen like that in your bed. He has blue eyes, Damu and looks like a foreign God, here to ravish and ravage. He is a Lord you know? That means he is almost in our ranks. He must have lands, and his pockets must be overflowing with gold!” Hands to her chest, Revati’s breaths were close to being shallow and her eyes were dazed/had a faraway look to them.

Damini never understood this weird fawning that women did over certain men. She has seen women literally drool over their choli and panting like parched animals. 

Weird. 

“Brown hair, those curls! When he looks at you, oh those ice cold eyes! Time freezes and you feel a strange fire consume you, pooling in your gut, giving you these ideas that would put apsaras to shame. I haven’t seen him smile yet, but it will be brighter than the sunrise on the highest hills of our kingdom! I’m sure of it! And those muscles Damu! His angrezi trousers barely fit him and oh how the mighty muscles might rip it to shreds. Hmm, and you have to see his shoulders ! Broader than my husband’s best swords, imagine-”

Damini cleared her throat loudly, and said, “Look, I have no interest in that buffoon even if he had 3 eyes, 4 limbs and walked on bloody water! Just leave me alone, and you can continue with your weird fantasy in private, thank you!”

As Damini was leaving,  Revati grabbed her. 

“You will have to bend over for the bright future of Junagarh, little sister. Save the fire and use it in his bed because Father is not going to let this go. You know his penchant for gold Damu. We need that to keep the God at our doorstep satisfied. Think of yourself as a sacrifice! Don’t we sacrifice goats in Dussera? This is not much different. Appease him Damu, and he will shower blessings on our kingdom. You know we need it! 

 Do it by your own will, or you shall be delivered, hands and legs bound. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you know what is the better option, hm?”

Smart girl?

Smarter than you think sister. 

**************************************

Meanwhile, Lord Cavill was ready to rip his hair out. How has this country survived for so long? You call these jokers ministers? Oh, dear God.

After the first meeting, the Maharaja had insisted that the British envoy must meet and greet with the ministers to get a better understanding of their system. The Lord had reluctantly agreed, after all, he was sent here to keep an eye on the state and its keeper.

While a few tried to speak in English, most of the meeting was held via translation services offered by Mount General, Kulwant Singh. Honestly, Cavill would never get the measure of this odd human. He surely was not intimidated, but this man left him uncomfortable.

Cavill was busy analysing this giant’s diet and lifestyle, wondering how he became what he is. It was a result of mere boredom and not due to any frivolous intrigue. Just as Cavill hid a yawn about to escape, a voice grabbed his attention.

“Long live Cavill Saab, I, Bikram Rajawat, minister of the esteemed court, have a few proposals to put forth. May I?”

Cavill waved him to continue.

“As My Lord must be aware, our lands are arid causing water shortages. The lands beyond the capital need wells, sir. It is hard to-”

Cavill, leaned forward on the cushioned chair, eyes darting to the familiar voice of the Maharaja as he spoke.

“Rajawat! That is enough. I am sure Cavill Saab does not need to be bothered with trivial issues. He must focus on the bigger picture, am I right, sir?” Ganga asked meekly.

“And by bigger, do you mean the palace you want the money for, Mr Singh?”

Chuckling awkwardly, the Maharaja replied, “I am a representative of the subjects my lord! My standard of living reflects on their prosperity. The palace would function as an object of pride for every citizen of my raj.”

“Not your raj, The British Raj.”

Everyone stood up faster than the lightning, swords drawn, ready to get bloody.

“EXCUSE ME?”

Cavill looked around the room and took a breath. These ignorant fools have no idea what they signed up for.

He chuckled at the thought of their possible reactions to his heavy-handed revelations.

“Have you read the treaty, Maharaja Ganga Singh? Have you truly read it?”

Furious by his tone, Bikram yelled, “You are talking to a King, Lord Cavill. I suggest you watch your tone. An insult to him is an insult to the entire court!”

“Respectfully minister, he might be your king and you are allowed to feel so, but I am not talking to a King. When I stand here as an officer from the company, I talk to the WARD of Britain. Not a King, not a Maharaja.”

There was pin-drop silence as Cavill rose from his seat. It was time to show them how things are going to work from now on.

“I suggest you take your seats, honourable ministers and you too Mr Singh. I must clarify that I do not intend to hurl any sort of an insult at anybody. I am merely stating the facts.” Looking at Kulwant, he could only hope for a fair translation. The language was another thing he had to master if he was going to stay here.

His face contorted in distaste as he thought of learning this primitive language, an utter waste of his time.

He pushed those thoughts aside and continued once the ministers had sat back down.

“The British are paying for all of this to be maintained as it were. We are supportive of your lifestyle and would like to see you flourish. However, this is not a charity. The use of our resources need to be monitored, and we are here to provide advice and guidance you all will only benefit further from.” 

The Maharaja nodded and agreed with the envoy. However, he still felt discomfort at his earlier tone. He somehow needed this buffoon under his control, and his only ticket seemed to be Damini. 

That wretched fool. He had a lot of work to do. 

Ganga looked at the Lord and wondered if stoking lust would fetch him anything. There was certainly no harm in trying. 

“Ahem, I would like to extend an invitation to you, good sir. I would like to hold a feast in your honour in the evening. It would be an honour to have you present! This way you get to meet my family and my successor Maan Singh as well.”

A native party? Really? Lord Cavill groaned internally at the thought of fake pleasantries yet responded, “I don’t engage in a lot of social commitments Mr Singh, but I suppose I cannot say no to a feast organised in my honour. I shall be there.”

“So, now that we know what our roles are, I would like to see your proposal for the wells Bikram Singh. I think it will benefit the people and help our taxes in return. There are a few other proposals I would like to work on, so I am requesting you to be prepared with your plans. Include expenditure, time, labour and other needs in detail. Take notes from your Maharaja, as his notes were flawless for the palace plan.”

The court missed his cheekiness and was genuinely impressed by the king’s efforts.

Ganga Singh puffed his chest in pride and got lost in the praise.

Interesting. The king was not hard to read, and Cavill knew what had to be done now.

Ha! A piece of cake.

Previous chapter

.......................................................................................

Hindi terms:

Khamba Ghani: Rajasthani salutation and a way to say hello. 

Apsara: celestial nymphs 

Angrezi: English, used commonly to describe any kind of foreign objects, beliefs etc, but mostly rooted in British connotation. 

Maharaja: King 

Dussera: A festival celebrated in India, to honor the various forms of Hindu goddesses. It goes on for 10 days, each day for a particular goddess, and on the 8th day, Goddess Kali is worshiped. Some followers believe in sacrificing animals as a tribute to please her. 

Tags:

@madbaddic7ed @henrythickcavill @toomanyfandomsshreya @inana999 @maximumninjavoid @mistress-of-ward

[firstumcschenectady]

“God's Table Extended” based on Jeremiah 31:31-34 and 1 Corinthians 11:17-34

Rabbi Rafi Spitzer of congregation Agudat Achim in Niskayuna, led an amazing workshop this week entitled “People of the Library: An Introduction to Talmudic Literature and the Mythic Transmission of Jewish Tradition for Clergy of Other Faiths.”  Schenectady Clergy Against Hate is a VERY cool organization, and I learned a lot.  

Rabbi Spitzer talked about the roots of modern Rabbinic Judaism as emerging in the period after the destruction of the 2nd Temple (70-200 CE).  This is the same period as the formation of most of the Christian texts.  Jesus lived earlier, of course, but most scholars date the earliest Gospel, the Gospel of Mark, to 70 CE because it mentions the destruction of the Temple.

That is, both Modern Judaism and Christianity-As-We-Know-It (as a separate faith tradition) emerged after, and in the response to Rome's destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple.  It was in making sense of this horrific disaster that new expressions of God's ways in the world emerged.

This is particularly interesting to me because the Hebrew Bible was written down in the aftermath of the destruction of Jerusalem and the First Temple in 587-586 BCE, when the Jewish leaders and scholars were sent into exile.  The stories, of course, were much older, but they were written down then, and that means that they were written down with the question “why did this happen to us?” at the forefront.

That is, the Hebrew Bible gets written down and tries to make sense of death, destruction, and disaster.  The majority of the “New Testament” gets written down and tries to make sense of death, destruction, and disaster, AND concurrently the Jewish Mishnah gets written down and tries to make sense of death, destruction, and disaster.  

It seems to indicate our faith traditions are deeply rooted in trying to make sense of death, destruction, and disaster, or that God is up to new things when prior systems are destroyed, or that in trying to preserve what used to be we end up making new things possible, or that God can bring good even out of bad, or maybe all of the above.

In any case, I think it is interesting, and worth continuing to ponder. Especially now, when we have experienced death, destruction, and disaster, and are wondering what we and God will be up to next.

Our Hebrew Bible Lesson today from Jeremiah speaks lovingly of the “new covenant” between God and the people.  This is such a foundational idea in Christianity that we may not know that this passage is the ONLY time such an idea emerges in the Hebrew Bible.  

“Foundational,” you say, “why?”  Think of the words “old testament” and “new testament” and remember that testament is a synonymous with covenant here.  This is how some people made sense of the whole Christian tradition.  That said, there are far too many who take these words to mean that the Hebrew Bible is old, or outdated, or replaced, and that is problematic.  We intentionally use the words “Hebrew Bible” to recognize our shared biblical tradition.

Anyway, back to Jeremiah.  Jeremiah is a prophet of the exile, and  for much of the book Jeremiah warns of the dangers of the impending exile. However, once the exile happens, Jeremiah's tone changes, and he turns to comfort and hope.  This passage is part of that, promising a return to God's promises and relationships.  The promise is particularly full, as it speaks to both the northern and southern kingdoms, the wholeness of Ancient Israel.  It is also full in that the new covenant will not be dependent on the people's faithfulness. God will take care of it.

“I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.  No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, "Know the LORD," for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the LORD; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.” (Jeremiah 31:33b-34, NRSV)

It is a lovely vision, in some ways the ultimate comfort: a relationship with God one can't mess up.

The Christian church has claimed this covenant as their own.  Take these words from our communion liturgy, “By the baptism of his suffering, death, and resurrection you gave birth to your church, delivered us from slavery to sin and death, and made with us a new covenant by water and the Spirit.” (UM Hymnal, page 9).  

I have some deeply mixed feelings about this claim.  On the one hand, it fits with my assumption that our status as beloveds of God is based on the nature of God (grace) and not on our performance.  On the other hand, it seems rather profoundly to miss out on the idea that God wants us to take care of each other, and that our actions matter in the building of the kindom.

Or maybe I'm exaggerating.  After all, Jeremiah's idea isn't that the people ignore God's wishes.  Rather it is that they know God and God's grace so well that it is inherent in them and they live it out naturally.  (I have mixed feelings about this too – in that it is lovely, but simply not true of Christians I know.)

In 1 Corinthians we read the first historical record of communion.  Paul had planted the church in Corinth but had been away for a few years. In the first century CE the communion meal was a full common meal (think potluck) during which the last supper was remembered. Apparently in the time after Paul left things had gone off kilter a bit.  According to Marcus Borg:

the wealthy (who didn't have to work) would gather early for the meal. By the time the people who worked (most of the community) got to the meal, the wealthy had already eaten and some were tipsy.  They may also have served the best food and the best wine to themselves before the others arrived.  Such was common among the wealthy of the world. For Paul this violated the 'one body' understanding of the body of Christ.  It meant bringing hierarchical distinctions of 'this world' into the body of Christ.1

Borg goes on to explain the later threat to those who eat and drink and an “unworthy manner”.  “In this context, eating and drinking the bread and wine 'in an unworthy manner' refers to the behavior of the wealthy in perpetuating the divisions of 'this world.' In Christian communities, these divisions were abolished.”2

How quickly the early church struggled with the equality and equity of God's kindom!  How hard it is to let go of hierarchy and let love for all be the way decisions are made.  How familiar that is.  Those of us who are white have been trained in mostly subconscious ways that we are at the top of a hierarchy, and when left to our own devices we will re-create systems that put our needs at the top while telling ourselves it is OK.  Like the wealthy Corinthians might have said, “We told them it started at 4, but they don't make it until 5:20. Why should we have to wait when we TOLD THEM what time it started?” Or when a white person takes their own shame, guilt, anger, or aggression as a reason to violate, harm, or kill  people of color. Or even in the tiny little micro-aggressions of every day, related to who gets heard, who gets believed, who is expected to be soothing, who is expected to sooth, and whose pain matters.

It took Paul saying, “don't violate God's table like that” for it to be heard.  But I'm guessing that the reason he knew it was happening was because the impoverished members of the community had been saying so for quite some time, and finally tried a new way of getting their needs heard.  I am hearing from Asian and Asian American friends and colleagues that violence against Asians and Asian Americans has been a regular part of their lives in the United States all along, and has been FAR worse for the past year +.  I am also hearing exhaustion and horror that a white man used his own shame as motivation for mass murder, mostly of Asian women.  

And let me say, because it MUST BE SAID, that a person doing sex work does not IN ANY WAY change their human value, nor make it permissible to harm that person.  Indeed, most people who support themselves with sex work are people who exist in the most vulnerable positions of our society, and as such are worthy of the most care and support to counterbalance the harm they've lived.

The Children and Youth of the Church have been working this Lent to support a Lenten project to respond to hunger. They have invited us to collect one canned good or  nonperishables a week to donate to the SICM food pantry.  We are invited to bring those gifts this coming Saturday (March 27 for those watching this NOT on Sunday) at the flower sale.  Those tangible gifts serve as a reminder of other people's tangible needs.  It is also possible to make a donation to SICM through our website or by check, knowing that SICM can buy food at the Regional Food Bank at a very discounted rate.

That is to say, that as we prepare God's Communion Table for ourselves today, given Paul's admonitions, it might be a good time to be sure that as we receive God's gifts of grace, life, and hope, we extend the table as we are able.  Or, perhaps this is  time for gifts to Patty's place.  Patty's Place is an outreach-based service for women at-risk, exploited, or involved in sex work. They provide immediate resources and long-term referrals.

I'm less than sure we're embodying Jeremiah's new covenant, but I am entirely sure that the part that says that God is with us, in our hearts, and claiming us as beloveds is true.  And I'm sure that we have wonderful ways to respond to God's love – with love, even, ESPECIALLY in the midst of disaster.  Let's do it!  Amen

1Marcus J Borg,  59 Evolution of the Word: The New Testament in the Order the Books Were Written (United States of America: HarperOne, 2012), 59.

2Ibid.

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

March 21, 20201

[laundryandtaxes]

Asking in good faith but do you have any ideas on what would prevent mass shootings? You don't seem to support gun control (and I totally support you having/using guns) but what are the other viable alternatives?

The primary problem I have is that when "gun control" means banning scary rifles and normal capacity magazines, it's not a viable alternative because it does literally nothing for several reasons. 1, nobody including me is giving up shit if certain rifles or mags get banned. 2, ARs are not magical super powerful rifles. 3, Normal capacity magazines are not extra dangerous when I can shoot a round from a handgun, load a new mag, and shoot another round in 2 seconds with minimal effort and training. AR-15s were not always popular- the best chance the country had to limit their availability was when they were banned from 94 to 2004, and during that period mass shooters just switched to handguns and still managed to rack up large numbers of dead people. There were a few of them in the country then but probably a gopd 7 million now, and they aren't going anywhere. Anyway, banning scary guns just means hoping people get shot with less scary guns. That means just a bunch more people getting shot with handguns, like in the case of that Texas school shooter who killed a bunch of people with a revolver and a shotgun. That's the safe stuff! The hunting and self defense stuff! The human body does not do well with holes in it that it didn't come with- there are no guns that are magically not lethal. So my opposition to gun control is not about what I like or dislike. If I thought banning ARs would prevent mass shootings I would very likely support banning them. The problem is that banning certain kinds of rifles does absolutely nothing. A bunch of people getting shot with deer hunting rifles or shotgun slugs is not better.

Somewhere I have a gun control tag you could check out, but for a short version: the only thing mass shooters largely have in common is a history of a desire to commit violence against women. The way you handle that is

1) You mandate that all states share a definition of domestic violence, since contrary to what liberals think convicted domestic abusers are ALREADY not allowed firearms and have not been allowed to in my entire lifetime, but states use different definitions

2) You broaden that definition from the federal definition of spousal violence to include any violence in a relationship

3) You strengthen protections for women as a protected class, against whom hate speech is taken seriously. "I wanna go kill a bunch of women" should be taken as seriously as "I wanna go kill a bunch of x racial group" and it straight up is not

4) You create a system whereby SOMEBODY is actually accountable for forcibly removing firearms from the homes of "prohibited persons." Say Johnny is a dude who owns 10 guns. Then one day he gets a domestic violence conviction. Every time he walks into a gun store he will be turned down for a sale. Cool right? Except 1) private sales are a thing- not sure how you actually enforce universal background checks but sure in theory they are a good idea, and 2) he already owns 10 guns. Currently there is no real system in place for what happens when the ATF realizes a person is a prohibited person. They're an enforcement agency and they have their own guns. Frankly I think this is something that should be their responsibility. But if they'd like to delegate that to local PDs then fine but. Somebody's gotta put bodies on the line. A case in Illinois just happened where a dude's firearm owner's card was revoked, but nobody went to remove his firearms, and the dude went and shot up his workplace and killed more than 10 people with guns he bought beforehand. Big hole there. You could close it and probably not even have that many cops die.

5) I am anti pornography anyway but I think there needs to be a very seripus consideration even among pro porn people of at least placing limits on what can legally be done to real live women for porn purposes because, while I think blaming incels on porn is stupid as shit, so is acting like it isn't a major factor.

6) This one you can't legislate but we need large scale mobilization of women in defense of our own personhood in the face of increasingly violent male supremacy. Men aren't going to do that for us. We need more women's shelters, women's communes, womens consciousness raising groups. There is just so little real and radical and intense women's activism on any issues other than abortion access and that's with good reason right now but it's not enough. And, in my opinion, we need arms to guard those spaces against those who see them as easy targets. Let's be real- women have been getting killed for years and it has been background noise. Now that misogynists aren't just killing individual women it's become a public concern. But the people most at risk from these men are the women close to them, not random people on the stret.

7) We need to stop acting like it is possible to legislate safety in a country with a good 350 MILLION guns in civilian hands. Anyone who owns one gun has the means to kill several people in their hands. Most people choose not to. Most people have chosen not to for many many years. But someone who decides to do so cannot be stopped from doing so once they are already armed, whether with a handgun or an AK. For this reason I generally oppose so called "gun free zones," places in which people are prevented from legally carrying firearms. I understand property rights and that private places can ask you not to bring anything they like (guns, or red shirts, or blue jeans) into their establishment, but public spaces should be almost entirely fair game for concealed carriers. Many concealed carriers carry in places we aren't supposed to anyway because we'd rather not die. I carry a gun every day because, in the event that somebody decides to hurt me or someone I love or innocent people, I plan to so my best to pump a lot of lead in that person and leave them with a lot of holes in them. I don't think increased concealed carry rates means fewer of these shootings but it is a fact that lots of people try to follow the law and not carry where they shouldn't and that these people don't generally shoot up gun ranges for a reason. This is obviously more personal opinion than policy suggestion.

Basically the goal should be to spot these men and prevent them from getting armed or staying armed using mechanisms we already have in place, because no gun is a good or safe gun to be shot with. There may be typos but generally trying to get mass shooters to switch to different guns is the unstated goal of just banning certain guns and accessories and it's a useless goal.

[ultsoobins]

Lovely - CYJ

part one of my “playlist of the apocalypse” series

requested:

no

notes:

(please don’t let this flop) this is just part 1! yes it’s kind of angsty but it won’t always be. mentions of murder, drinking. definitely swearing involved. reader and yeonjun live and lose in a post governmental overthrow, i think this is about 2.4k words, it’s basically an introduction!

summary:

yeonjun finds hope and despair in equal portions in an abandoned ticketing booth

track 1 : lovely - billie eilish, khalid

it’s been years since The Rebuilding began, and yeonjun hasn’t had a moment of reprieve since.

every breath he takes is through lungs charred with smoke, by circumstance or by choice, it’s no matter to him anymore. every step he takes is one step closer to or one step farther from his damnation, and the fact that he doesn’t know soothes him in a way that isn’t tangible to anyone else. scars litter the backs of his hands, knuckles bruised from punching walls and punching people alike.

when he sleeps he remembers the agonized screams of his family. he sees with more clarity than he had even in the moment the mangled messes his parents’ bodies had been once the Officials had been done with them, feels with the shock of a thousand lightning bolts the triumphant, repulsive smirk one of the murderers had given while staring down at the bodies before leaving, with yeonjun’s front door torn off its hinges and his heart torn out of his chest.

yeonjun tries his best not to sleep.

he can’t remember a life before the government fell from the inside to officials who wanted complete power. yeonjun’s thankful for his ability to compartmentalize so, so well that he can blank on memories completely - just recalling how light he had felt before the takeover is enough to send him spiralling. God forbid if he began missing those murdered.

his life had been a far cry from the anger, the pain he only registers now.

happiness has become a wronged lover, one that doesn’t want him no matter how much he chases after her.

yeonjun drops the bottle of soju, hears it shatter against the grimy ground. he licks whatever is left off of his bottom lip, savoring the first sip of alcohol he’s had in weeks. the bottle had barely been a quarter full when he’d found it, and the trail of stale blood that had started at it, ending somewhere beyond the wall that separated the dumpster and the building that once was a school, told him that the previous drinker could be found maimed - likely dead - if he took twelve steps behind him.

he’s seen enough dead people in this lifetime. he’s killed enough in this lifetime. he doesn’t bother finding the body - he’d looted one earlier for money, worthless as it is, a barely filled water bottle, and a razor, anyways. instead he mentally thanks them for never finishing their soju and pushes off of the wall, taking note of the darkening sky.

it’s time for him to find a place to stay for the night. Officials prowl the streets like anything once everything is completely dark, and God forbid if one finds him.

as he walks in the shadows, slower than he ever would in the daylight, yeonjun can’t help but wonder why he keeps living, keeps fighting. there’s no reason to live on - his family is gone. his friends are likely gone. with the New Government’s Rebuilding agenda, he knows that they’ll stop at nothing to kill everyone until only those truly, truly loyal to their Cause remain - it’s all part of their plan to rebuild the nation with only families that support the Cause. considering that the only people who would be left - who, by the New Government, are the only ones supposed to be left - are truly just Officials and their families, it’s only a matter of time before yeonjun becomes a statistic - just another rebelling non-supporter.

so why does he fight so hard against the inevitable?

revenge, he supposes as he rounds another corner. for all the lives he’s seen taken from him. he pushes that thread of thoughts out of his mind, leaving it for tomorrow as he always does, knowing that he’ll reach the same conclusion as he always has.

he reaches what used to be a train station and pulls his hood over his head to conceal more of himself. the world, as always, is silent - it’s been months since yeonjun’s heard, let alone seen, another non-Official.

months since he’s seen someone whose throat he hasn’t had to slit.

he prefers it that way - seeing another unloyal person would make him the unluckiest bastard in the world because he’s sure to get attached. after all, yeonjun’s always been a people person - a part of him that hasn’t died, no matter how much he wants it to. even now, even when he knows that attachment is a synonym for heartbreak and that even meeting other new people would set himself up for more pain than he’s already felt, he craves conversation some days.

he decides that it’s still light out enough that he doesn’t have to look for immediate cover, opting instead to find the nearest bathroom. it’s a women’s, but he doesn’t give a damn. he prays that he’ll find some kind of running water, though he isn’t sure if he’s lucky enough for that.

five sinks, five faucets. it’s the fourth one from the entrance that even budges, and yeonjun watches with bated breath as it begins drip, drip, dripping until, suddenly, a single stream of water shoots out.

yeonjun stares for a moment, too shocked to move. then, as if a switch flips, he pulls out the bottle he’d found earlier and fills it up to the brim before taking a sip, two sips, and refilling what he’s just drank. he plugs the drain and lets the sink fill before turning the faucet off, though not before he prays that it’ll turn back on later. as quickly as possible, yeonjun strips down entirely and begins scooping up handfuls of water. he watches in the dirt-specked mirror as the rivulets run down his body, down his ribs that are easily countable and his thighs that are covered in dust.

he almost cries when he realizes that the hand soap dispenser by the fifth sink still has some left in it. yeonjun takes care not to use too much, leaving some for if he ever comes back here - though he knows that isn’t likely. he lathers the soap over himself and washes that off too before scraping out the dirt from underneath his nails into the remaining water in the sink. he pulls his pants and shoes back on before rummaging around in his backpack for the shirt he’d taken from an abandoned clothing store a few days back.

it’s a soft wine color, and he knows that if he had the luxury of caring about his clothes, he’d love this shirt. he pulls it on without giving it a thought, ignoring that it’s a size too large. he pulls out the razor, shaves with some hand soap into the sink. he’s gotten good at shaving nearly dry and not cutting himself. after all, it would be a shame to waste band-aids on something as silly as a shaving nick. the water is dirty now, but yeonjun still watches as he unplugs the drain and it swirls down, down, down into pipes that lead God-knows-where.

he doesn’t turn the faucet back on.

once back in the main station, yeonjun finds a ticketing booth fairly quickly, wondering why this particular town hadn’t switched over to electronic systems. he has no idea of where he is, and he’s resigned to the fact that he likely never will. the door to the booth is locked, but that means nothing to yeonjun.

lock-picking is just one of many, many skills he’s picked up in the past few years. he pulls out his makeshift picking set, choosing three pins and placing two of them between his teeth while going to work with the thinnest of the bunch. it doesn’t work, and he switches it out for a second one, ignoring the taste of metal against his tongue.

yeonjun allows himself to feel a moment of satisfaction at the click he hears once he figures it out. he pulls the door open, expecting dust and years’ old train schedules.

instead, he gets a knife under his chin.

he’s staring directly into another person’s eyes rather than into an empty room like he’d figured he would find. dressed in dark colors just as he is, the person has a black mask on their face that they pull off hastily with the hand that isn’t gripping the knife.

on the flip side, you’re just as floored as he is. when you’d heard the gears of the lock turning from the outside, you’d expected the worst - a New Government Official (or Roamers, as you’ve nicknamed them) out for your breath and blood. instead, you’re staring up at a boy who can’t be more than a couple years older than you.

“what the fuck,” you whisper, taking a microscopic step closer to the darkness of the booth. “you aren’t a Roamer.”

yeonjun’s throat has gone dry, and he blinks rapidly as you draw your knife away, staring at him with just as much shock in your eyes as he has in his. the tang of the metal pins against his tongue brings him back to the moment, and he spits them both out into his hand. Roamer? do you mean Official?

“what -”

“whatever,” you respond even though he has barely made a sound, moving further back into the booth. “come in now if you’re planning to, otherwise i’m leaving you out for them to find.”

he doesn’t say anything, instead brushing past you as he walks into the cramped space. he hurriedly puts his pins back into their set, shoving it haphazardly into his backpack before zipping it shut. you close the door quickly, locking it as you do so.

“how’d you get the key?” he asks, wincing at how hoarse his voice is after ages of non-use. you ignore how gravelly he sounds, instead turning to rummage through the items on top of the booth’s desk. there might be something of importance, something usable to you on it.

searching for something, anything, is a hard feat in the dark, but neither of you dare to bring out a light source.

“found the ticketer’s body by a school,” you eventually respond. “reeked of alcohol, but he had this and a deck of cards.”

yeonjun realizes that you must’ve run across soju-man. he sends two mental prayers for the ticketer’s soul - one for the alcohol he’d found earlier, and one for the key. he realizes, also, that he doesn’t want the conversation to end before it starts.

“you took a deck of cards when you had nobody to play with?”

“who said i had nobody to play with?”

“did you?”

you look up from the desk, meeting his eyes in the dark. your gaze has adjusted to the lack of light, and you’re sure his has as well. “you ask too many questions,” you say easily before turning back, no true bite behind your words. he almost laughs in response as he moves closer to look at what you’re searching through.

“maybe i ask just the right amount.” his voice is closer, now, coming from somewhere above you and to your right, and you realize suddenly that he’s tall - quite tall. and he’s so, so close. without meaning to, you tense at the proximity. he feels it, taking a step back in response.

you immediately feel bad, even though you have no reason to.

“i’m (name),” you start, just as you find a map of the city you’re in. for a moment you’re too focused on the piece of paper to continue your introduction, though the boy behind you waits for you to keep speaking. once you do, the first thing that falls from your lips is “lewisville,”.

“that’s an… interesting last name to have,” is the response you get, and you shake your head quickly.

“no, i mean i’m- we’re - in lewisville,” you tell him. he moves close to you again, tentatively this time. your muscles don’t contract on instinct like they had before.

“i’m yeonjun,” he mutters before gently taking the map from your grasp. you don’t ask for his last name - it isn’t important. finding out your location has shocked you dumb, and fear permeates your numbed being as it hasn’t in years. as your eyes trace over his concentrated figure, you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to ask a question that you’d sworn yourself to never ask again.

and yet you can’t keep yourself from voicing it aloud.

“can i trust you, yeonjun?” your voice is suddenly small, and seems to shrink even more as you trail off once you get to his name. he turns, stares down at you for what feels like eons, fighting a mental battle that you’ll never know the extent of.

he realizes one thing as he mulls your question over.

you’re a scared kid, just like him. it’s why he pushes his fear of trust, his fear of loss, his fear of attachment down, down, down, locking them up as best he can in this moment.

it’s why, against his better judgment, against the deafening screams in his head to deny you and to run, run as far as he can, he nods his head. it’s slow, and would be imperceptible if you weren’t suddenly hyperfocused on his face, but you are and you see it.

“only if i can trust you, (name),” he eventually whispers, and you nod, too. he hands you back the map before sitting down - slowly, so as to not make a noise - on the ground. you follow him, trying to ignore how your fingers, curled harshly around the fragile piece of paper, are trembling.

“i’m from (hometown),” you whisper, and yeonjun’s eyes widen slightly at how far you’ve travelled before he tells you his hometown. you almost gasp at the extent of his journey, as well. your eyes both travel down to the map in your hands, eyes zeroing in on the town’s name and state written across the top in loud red letters.

“how the fuck,” yeonjun starts, pausing as he makes eye contact with you. you shake your head at the question you know he’s going to ask, just as lost on the answer as he is. your hands shake harder, and he leans in, grabbing your wrists between his two hands to stop you, grounding you even though, minutes before, he hadn’t known of your existence and you hadn’t been aware of his. he continues speaking.

“how the fuck did we accidentally end up in the suburbs of the New Government’s capital?”

[afteriwake]

(Banner by @strangelock221b)

…And All The Men And Women Merely Players - Mycroft Holmes is not-so-subtly trying to make sure there’s a reconciliation between his youngest sibling Sherlock and his ex-wife, Molly Hooper, by forcing them to work together on a theatre project. But it isn’t all smooth sailing when his and Sherlock’s sister comes back from the States with a boyfriend who is the devil incarnate…and all hell is about to break loose.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 10 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

By the end of the day, Sherlock felt he would be rightfully justified in denying Moriarty a part in the play. He wasn’t suited for the nuance of the material, going loud and boisterous when he should be quiet and contemplative. But that was just him being himself, Sherlock supposed. Still, he looked at the faces of those whose judgment he trusted and saw none of them were impressed.

With Russell in the care of his “uncles,” and no doubt soon his “grandmother,” Sherlock invited both Mary and John to his home to talk about all the actors they had seen that day. Neither John or Mary made any qualms about Moriarty being not right for any of the parts, though two other actors, Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson, had caught their attention for roles. Unfortunately, John and Mary thought the suitable for different roles, so he hoped Molly could be a sort of tiebreaker.

“I think Phillip would do well as the morgue assistant,” Molly said once the food they had ordered arrived and they sat in the sitting room, eating out of the cartons. “It’s slightly comedic, even if it’s a smaller role, and he seems more suited to that.”

“And Sally?” Mary asked.

“Perhaps the morgue attendant, if she’ll wear men’s dress,” Molly said, tilting her head for a moment before eating some lo mein. “She seems to have a bossy look when she’s talking in the clipped tones a woman impersonating a man would have. And I don’t think it will be a stretch that a black woman would use a disguise to infiltrate the medical system. At least, disbelief should be suspended during the duration of the play because she’s a charismatic actress. I just loved her during the reveal to the detective.”

“Which reminds me,” Sherlock said. “I’d like to have them both come back and play off of you, John, as I haven’t seen anyone else so far I’d consider for the role of the detective.”

“I’d be honored, Sherlock,” John said with a grin.

“And do I get a sneak peek at any role I might get?” Mary asked with a wry grin.

“Of course, Miss Ricoletti.” Sherlock gave her a wink and Mary grinned widely.

“I know there are other women who would be portraying the ghost if we were keeping this closer to the true story,” Molly said, “but I think I can tweak the script so Mary can do a bit more in the ghostly sense.”

“So this is all really based on a true story?” John asked.

Molly nodded. “I was visiting a friend in London while I was living in New York, and we went on a ghost tour, and her grave was one of the spots. The more I looked into the story the more fascinating it became. It’s still hotly debated whether she committed suicide or whether she was killed by the group of women to put her out of her misery with her illness, but her likeness was seen along the streets of London and at the deaths of London’s finest for weeks to come after the murder of her husband and her suicide.”

“Is there going to be information on the case in the playbill?” Mary asked.

“I think it would be interesting to include,” Sherlock said. “But in the end, that’s a discussion between my brother and Molly.”

“I think we’ll include information, maybe with a picture of the woman herself and the bare-bones facts as their known with a link to find out more,” Molly said. “At least, that’s what I’d like.”

Speaking of your brother,” John said, “I was surprised he brought Greg today. Was that because they knew the bastard would be making an appearance?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, his mood souring slightly. “I don’t know if they had known I’d be bringing Russell to the auditions, but the idea was to keep Moriarty from auditioning. Unfortunately, as they say, the best-laid plans of mice and men, etcetera, etcetera.” He poked at his beef a little harder than intended. “He made a comment that makes me feel like it’s stuck in my craw. He said Russell looked like he did as a child.”

John and Molly’s eyes widened. But it was surprisingly Mary who spoke first. “Well, I didn’t know his name was James Moriarty until today. I thought he was Jonathan Martin.”

“What?” Sherlock said, nearly dropping his food.

“I’d seen a play he was in...oh, three years ago? And I swear his name on the marquee was Jonathan Martin.”

“The bastard,” Sherlock said, shutting his eyes. He quickly set his food on the side table and stood up, reaching for his mobile in his pocket.

“What is it, Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“John Martin was the name Janine told me the bastard gave her,” he said, “Moriarty is Russell’s father.”

“Bloody hell,” John said, slumping back in his seat. “So that malignant tumor on your family is his sperm donor?”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock said as he finished pressing the speed dial for Janine. He hoped she wasn’t celebrating a recent betrothal yet. Or perhaps hopefully she was and this would make matters simpler.

“Hello?” Janine asked.

“Have you ever met my sister’s boyfriend?” he asked.

“No. Sherlock, I haven’t even met your sister, remember?”

“I believe you have,” he said.

“Met Eurus? No, I’d remember that.”

“No. I believe you’ve met Moriarty. Also known as Jonathan Martin.”

There was an audible gasp on the other side of the connection. “What?”

“Janine, whatever you do, stay away from London for the time being. If you want Russell, I’ll have Mycroft and Gregory take him to you. But I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to be here while he’s in town, at least until Russell’s paternity has been put to rest for good.”

“Daniel proposed last night, and I said yes. He knows the truth and he loves us both anyway.”

Sherlock felt some of the tightness leave his chest. “Good. I’ll send you both a bottle of expensive champagne to celebrate once Moriarty has left.”

“You don’t think he’ll try and take Russell, do you?” Janine asked.

“No. But I think if he sees you and puts two and two together, he’ll try and extract something from myself or my family or you, and none of us need that.”

“Well, I have work that will take up my time here for a few weeks. Perhaps Daniel and I can go abroad for a bit, if you’ll keep Russell that long?”

“That might be best,” he said. “But I promise, as soon as we can, I’ll give him back to you.” He paused. “You do know my brother, his husband and John are aware of the truth, aren’t you?”

“I am now,” she said. “It’s not a well-kept secret, but as long as my family doesn’t know...”

“Understood,” Sherlock said with a nod, even though he couldn’t see her do so. “It will be alright, Janine. I promise. We’ll do what we can to get my sister and the bastard away from England until after your marriage if necessary, even if it means calling in favours in the States.”

“Thank you,” Janine said. “I’ll call to say goodnight to Russell in a few hours.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear from his mum,” he said. “Good-bye for now.”

“Bye,” she said, hanging up.

Sherlock lowered his mobile and pinched the bridge of his nose. He realized by having the conversation in front of her, Mary knew the truth now as well, but that was a small problem if it would be a problem at all. He sat on the sofa next to Molly, who put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Of all the potential sperm donors in the world, this had to be the worst one,” he said.

“Does it really matter if it comes out?” Mary asked. “I mean, you’re on the birth certificate, you’ve claimed him.”

“But Moriarty could have some claim as well, I’m not sure. Mycroft can have his solicitor look into specifics discreetly.” He sighed and then lowered his head. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Moriarty out of Russell’s life. Legally, monetarily, perhaps even utilizing illegal means.”

“Wait to see what the solicitor says,” John said. “That’s why your brother has one on retainer for family matters.”

“I know,” Sherlock said, looking up and turning to Molly. “I’m sorry you’ve come back into my life in the middle of this.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. She dropped her hand from his shoulder to take his hand in hers and he squeezed it gently, not letting go when he was done. At least he knew he had the support of family in friends in doing what was best for Russell, and that was keeping his biological father as far away as possible.