#Other than the strictest legal one I mean

[flaskoflethe]

The company I work for has a PAC - not too uncommon, what with citizens united. They sent out an email to all employees today soliciting contributions from employees. This isn't the first message they've sent out about it, there's usually 1-2 messages about this a year. But today was the first time it came and I actually had the attention available to pull down some csv's from open secrets and start looking at names and contributions.

It's really uncomfortable to see the company you work for donating to politicians who voted for the national trans sports ban. That was all I had energy to go through, the votes for one bill. Sure 60ish percent of the money went to candidates that opposed it - but the 40% that went to yea votes went to fairly vocal people. People who signed on as cosponsors in the first 20 days after the bill was inteoduced. Ones who when you Google their name + transphobia you get hits from 2016, in one case even earlier.

And that's 2 days before pride. I know complaining won't do anything. They didn't violate any ethics rules. I'm not in a role that has any policy impact. But the fact that if I say something I'm the problem, that funding people who call themselves fascists and advocate genocide isn't an issue "because that's not why we funded them?" "Funding isn't the same as endorsing."

Fuck. This is why you never work harder than you have to for the minimum, kids. Because companies do not care. No amount of rainbow-washing during pride changes that.

[mariacallous]

KATHMANDU, Nepal—When Kumar Paudel turned on the TV in August 2016 and saw former Prime Minister Kirti Nidhi Bista giving an interview from his home, it wasn’t the content of the conversation that caught his attention. It was the massive tiger pelt hanging on Bista’s wall.

At the time, Paudel, a conservationist based in Kathmandu, was traveling around Nepal’s prisons to conduct interviews with incarcerated individuals as part of his research into why people commit wildlife crime. Although there are few official statistics on wildlife crime in Nepal, researchers believe that the country is a key hub in the region for wildlife trafficking, one that serves as an important transit route between India and China.

Nepal has some of the strictest wildlife crime laws in the world, but they are unevenly enforced: While the country’s poor languish in prison for their involvement in the trade, the rich and powerful illegally flaunt exotic skins as showpieces.

Paudel is deeply aware of this disparity. Between 2016 and 2017, he interviewed 116 prisoners convicted for wildlife crime, mostly in the rhinoceros trade. Some had been part of international wildlife trafficking syndicates; many others were driven by economic desperation or were not sure why they had been arrested. More than half of them lived below the poverty line, and 75 percent came from Indigenous communities.

“Prosecution is mainly targeted at poor and vulnerable communities in the global south who are not often at the helm of driving international illegal wildlife trade,” Paudel said when I met him in December at a small forested patch amid Kathmandu’s urban sprawl. The 33-year-old conservationist had a scientist’s curiosity, his attention ensnared by every insect and plant, and his wardrobe was unselfconscious outdoor nerd: trekking shoes, baggy pants, safari jacket.

After Bista’s interview aired, Paudel decided to take matters into his own hands. Bista hadn’t been prime minister since 1979, but he was emblematic of Nepal’s elite. Paudel sought legal action to rectify Nepal’s double standard in enforcing wildlife crime. Finally, in May 2023, Nepal’s Supreme Court ruled that the government must enforce its conservation laws and seize illegal wildlife parts. The verdict marks a significant victory for conservation, but Nepal’s entrenched power structures and deep-seated inequality mean that this is only a first step in supporting both vulnerable communities and conservation efforts in the country.

Trophy hunting in Nepal dates back at least to the reign of Jung Bahadur Rana in the 19th century. British visitors embarked on trips to the region to hunt and collect exotic wildlife, including rhinos, tigers, and elephants. These expeditions weren’t mere hunting outings or camping adventures; they were elaborate demonstrations of wealth, authority, and diplomacy.

Nepali monarchs orchestrated extensive hunting expeditions to curry favor with the British. These encounters provided fertile ground for negotiating political interests and strengthening cultural ties, all while showcasing the monarchy’s authority over its natural riches.

These “hunting diplomacy” expeditions were enormous. Photographic records of the hunts are perhaps the best evidence we have that they drove megafauna across the subcontinent to endangered status and near extinction, from the Bengal tiger to the one-horned rhinoceros and the Indian elephant.

Nepal has come a long way since then. The country completely banned hunting in 1972. The following year, it enacted the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act, which provides a comprehensive legal framework for the management of Nepal’s natural resources and biodiversity. The act authorizes the government to designate national parks, wildlife reserves, and conservation areas, as well as zones where hunting is allowed under strict regulation. (Today, hunting is only allowed in the Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve. All other hunting, even for bushmeat, is illegal, though subsistence hunting is still relatively common.)

The act also makes it illegal to use, sell, or distribute wildlife without permission, and it states that any individual in possession of wildlife parts must get a permit after acquiring them by disclosing their source. (This also applies to parts acquired before 1973.)

Despite these efforts, the country’s hunting legacy left its mark, and threats to wildlife continue to grow—including climate change, rapidly expanding human populations, the illegal wildlife trade, and a resurgence in poaching. In addition, the 1973 act isn’t always enforced; for instance, according to the director general of Nepal’s Department of National Park and Wildlife Conservation, no one has ever sought to obtain a permit for any wildlife parts.

The illegal wildlife trade is rampant in Southeast Asia, where the gap between rich and poor creates both poachers and markets. In Nepal, the illegal wildlife trade largely operates covertly, and some of the product is used for manufacturing traditional medicines. But a portion of the trade meets the demand for extravagant decor. Some pelts have been exhibited in public spaces such as banks, markets, and even government offices.

Many Nepalis have been imprisoned for their involvement in the trade. (Despite poor data, researchers have found that from 2011 to 2015, there were 830 wildlife-related arrest cases reported in the country.) They fall into the trap of trafficking to support their families and spend decades paying the price.

“We are expendable and poor and desperate for money,” said Bir Bahadur Tamang, who served 15 years in prison for smuggling wildlife parts. “There are many like us.”

Tamang was born and raised in the village of Kalika on the rim of Chitwan, Nepal’s first national park. Tigers, rhinos, leopards, spotted deer, and wild buffalo roam there, along with elephants that come to graze when the plains are dry. Several Indigenous communities have been living beside these dense forests for centuries.

I first met Tamang last December outside his home in Kalika. With a hint of guilt, Tamang recalled supplying bags to masked ringleaders—whom he called “big people”—in the trade network that were full of rhino horns and pangolin scales (both of which are classic ingredients in traditional Chinese medicine), as well as tiger skin.

One morning, Tamang and six of his friends were arrested for conspiring to smuggle wildlife parts. None of them could afford to post bail, he said, and there was never a trial. Some died in prison due to physical ailments and inadequate medical treatment.

Tamang was released from prison in 2016, but as a former felon, he faces a world of poverty, hazards, and guilt. He struggles to make a living, often existing hand-to-mouth without a stable income or basic necessities. Tamang said that finding work has been challenging due to his criminal record and a spinal injury from poor confinement conditions. He is often psychologically distressed, haunted by nightmares of his time in prison, and fearful of entering the jungles that surround his home. “I’m taking it one day at a time,” he said.

As Paudel put it, when a poor person illegally kills a tiger, the full weight of the law is applied. But when a prime minister illegally owns a dead tiger, it is permitted.

Yet showcasing wildlife is harmful, too: It normalizes the trade and adds to its appeal as a status symbol. This is why, starting in 2016, Paudel lobbied for government action. First, he reported instances of illegal wildlife parts displayed in Kathmandu to different government bodies. But authorities warned him to keep quiet, and he said that some even threatened to end his career by withholding approval for his conservation and research permits.

After running in vain from one department to another for two years, Paudel made little progress. So in May 2018, Paudel filed a petition to Nepal’s Supreme Court with the help of environmental lawyer Padam Bahadur Shrestha. The petition demanded that the government urgently conduct investigations into the private possession of wildlife parts, seize illegal parts and prosecute those who own them, and maintain records on legally held wildlife parts. This includes parts used in medicines, trophies, and displays.

After five years of deferrals, the Supreme Court ruled in Paudel’s favor. It also mandated that the government implement additional measures to combat wildlife crime, including better educating the public on the wildlife possession laws and confiscating wildlife parts for educational and research purposes.

The verdict means anyone displaying trophies without the right permits is in trouble. Penalties  can include fines of roughly $7,400 and up to 15 years in prison. Courts may confiscate wildlife parts for evidence, research, or destruction, and offenders can also face penalties such as asset forfeiture and bans on further wildlife-related activities. This applies to all offenders, regardless of their socioeconomic status. “Ensuring justice isn’t about favoring one group over another,” Paudel said. “It’s about equitable treatment and holding everyone accountable under the law.”

Bista, who died in 2017, did not live to see the ruling in the case, which was spurred in part by his own decor.

For now, it’s unclear whether the government will have the desire—or ability—to enforce the law. Part of this comes down to Nepal’s history. For most of the 20th century, Nepal was ruled by a monarch who held all executive power and enjoyed absolute immunity. After the 1973 act, all wildlife trophies seized by the authorities were handed over to the Royal Palace and were often displayed in public as a symbol of royal splendor, according to Sindhu Prasad Dhungana, director general of the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation. The monarchy was abolished in 2008, but wildlife parts are still displayed and used in some private households of Nepal’s elite, often without any consequences.

“The lingering effects of royal impunity still resonate in the present,” Dhungana said.

According to Shrestha, the attorney who helped Paudel with his petition, powerful Nepalis often manipulate the investigation process to evade punishment. “The inconsistent application of laws within Nepal points to a glaring deficiency in our legal system: It fails to dissuade criminals, resulting in rampant impunity,” he explained.

The new rules are expected to go into effect later this year, but it will take time for officials to establish a process for investigating and certifying wildlife trophies. Although the Ministry of Forests and Environment will be responsible for this initiative, the specific details will only be determined after the full text of the verdict is released in the coming months.

Dhungana believes it will be challenging to implement the new law. “Many possessions are displayed flouting the law, but it is nearly impossible to enter every house and investigate,” he said. “One cannot presume people who have wildlife on their walls are criminals and the same ones participating in the current wildlife trade.”

Paudel, for his part, has found relief in the ruling, which marks the end of a long journey for him. He believes the decision will go far in safeguarding Nepal’s biodiversity by addressing the problem at its source: “True justice will prevail only when governments and their law enforcement agencies hold accountable those who drive the demand for illegal wildlife trade.”

Still, Paudel knows that many challenges lie ahead. “Dealing with the past is complex,” he said. “But we must find ways to make the law equitable in the future and adhere to the court’s order.”

[ysbrydthespoop]

Gorillaz Headcanons.

2D owns an extensive collection of band T-shirts and when Noodle was still small enough, she would "borrow" them and wear them as dresses. She still borrows them to this day. They just don't come down to her knees anymore.

Sometimes 2D still gets asked to show his ID, even though he's nearly 45.

Russel refused to let Murdoc or 2D teach Noodle how to drive. In fact after a certain incident that ended with a car on its back,he would only drive let 2D drive if he couldn't, if Noodle was in the car, and he wouldn't let Murdoc drive at all.

After Noodle joined the band, Murdoc forged every document she would need to live with them legally. This was a direct response to 2D asking him, "What we are going to do if social services come round?" He'd later find out that 2D quote. "Wasn't even thinking about any of that legal stuff. I was thinking about the state of this place. I mean, who'd let a kid live here? Especially with you?"

2D considers how they were able to keep Noodle in Kong Studios and even more so in their care to be one the greatest mysteries of the universe.

According to these fake documents, Murdoc is her adoptive father. Noodle has tried to burn these documents multiple times.

Creating these documents also promted the boys to give her a "real name" and this came from them realising they couldn't just put "Noodle" on these documents. They at least needed something they could put under "Last name". So, with five minutes, a couple of Google searches, and a session on Google Translate, a name was chosen. Etsuko Amainara. According to their research, Etsuko meant joy, joyful and child of delight, and no one stopped Russel when he wordlessly put it down on all the forms. Her last name was basically made up by 2D with the help of Google Translate is a probably badly translated version of sweetheart.

If you asked Noodle what she thought their choices, she'd say conflicted. She can't help but feel annoyed they didn't at least consult her before they chose a name that was going to be stuck to her on every document she carreid for the rest of her life. But it's not a bad name by any means. Though she does find her last name to be sweet and cringy at the same time

They hardly ever call her Estuko and she rarely uses it herself. Noodle is Noodle. No other other name suits her better. But they still use it sometimes, and they did so much more frequently when she was younger. 2D and Russel would say it with a stern tone. Their way of letting her know when they were serious. And Murdoc used it like a parent using their child's middle name. Growing up, she knew she was in trouble if she heard him yelling, ETSUKO!

One may assume (fairly because it's Murdoc) that he barely contributed to Noodle's upbringing. But in actuality, he was by far the strictest out of all her bandmates. At least in Noodle's opinion. He had a ton rules for her (and very few were rational) but the thing he was the thing he was the most controlling over was the internet. She wasn't allowed to use social media at all and chat rooms were absolutely forbidden. He wouldn't even let her use a computer unsupervised, even when she was fifteen going on sixteen. And he was hellbent on making sure Noodle didn't have a computer of her own. In fact, she once heard him saying to 2D and Russel that "if either of you get her a computer, I'm smashing it over your heads."He never gave an explanation as to why other than, "she's too young." But the truth was he was scared shitless of the internet and who could be lurking on there.

Rise of the Ogre is a tad inaccurate as well as outdeated. Russel has broken Murdoc's nose countless times before that book was written, druring, and after. Offences have included but are not limited to.

Letting Noodle get drunk.

Baking a batch of weed brownies and leaving them out for a then eleven-year-old Noodle to mistake for normal brownies and eat them.

Causing several car crashes that could have killed them all.

Hosting raves in Kong Studios and letting people trash the place.

Flirting with the bride at Russel's Uncle's wedding.

Hurting 2D (too many incidents to list)

Replacing Noodle with a robot.

Replacing him with a drum machine. But then he broke his nose an extra time for creating cyborg Noodle, for good measure.

Not telling him or 2D that Noodle was alive after the El maniana incident. This also caused 2D to snap, grab a random bit of driftwood, and beat the crap out of him with it.

Their reunion on Plastic Beach after spending years apart was UGLY. It started off wonderful. Tears and hugs and indescribable joy. Especially from 2D, when he finally knew his baby sister was alive. But then more revaluations came. Of the brusies all over 2D's body and that Murdoc had kept Noodle's survival a secret, and things went to absolute hell. For Murdoc. He ended up having to flee because everyone else wanted to kill him.

Their only regret about plastic beach being destroyed is that they didn't get to do it themselves.

After the band got separated and runited yet again and Noodle only agreed to rejoin the band on the condition they all go to therapy. Because, "Holy fuck! Every single one of you needs it."

She nearly had Russel placed on a phych ward when he started doing nothing but stare blankly at static. The only reason she didn't was because she started to see truth in the things he was seeing.

2D keeps quiet about his relationships and never tells the group if he's in one (for some reason. Not naming any names here) But if he goes quiet. Noodle imedietly notices and tries to find out why. If she finds he is seeing someone, she'll basically stalk them. Collecting information on them until she's satisfied 2D wont get hurt. She calls this "vibe checking".

Russel taught Noodle and 2D how to meditate. He learned it himself as a way to calm his mind from the things he was seeing.

After the Forever Cult incident. Noodle decided it would be best to put a tracker on 2D's phone so she'll always know where he is.

After, she also decided it would probably be best to put a tracker on all of her bandmates phones. None of them can be trusted unsupervised for very long. She hasn't told any of them about it. What they don't know can't hurt them.

A while ago, Murdoc managed to invent an elixir that keeps people from ageing and has been slipping into his bandmates' food and drink for years. He started doing this to 2D and Russel sometime around the Phase 2 era but decided to wait before starting it with Noodle, so she wouldn't be stuck living as a kid/teenager forever. And obviously, because even 2D would notice if she still looked thirteen ten years later. The whole reason for this, of course, was to keep his bandmates with him, and young and marketable forever. He hasn't gotten around to telling any of them just yet.

[bllsbailey]

CA Gov. Newsom Signs Ban Against Political Deepfakes; Elon Musk Mercilessly Trolls Him With… Deepfakes

Elon Musk

California Gov. (Pretty Boy) Gavin Newsom

signed a strict new censorship law Tuesday that will make it illegal to produce or distribute AI political videos around election season. Tell me that this doesn't sound like it infringes on the First Amendment:

The new law, the strictest in the country, takes effect immediately and aims to crack down on deceptive content which uses artificial intelligence to create false images or videos. The law makes it illegal to create and publish deepfakes ahead of Election Day and 60 days thereafter. It also allows courts to stop distribution of the materials and impose civil penalties, per The Associated Press.

The blowback was immediate. Former Republican State Senator Melissa Melendez (R) predicted this law will have a short shelf life:

A free speech group called The Fire argued that this is not the way to attack the problems posed by AI:

In targeting “deceptive” political content, California’s new law threatens satire, parody, and other First Amendment-protected speech. A.B. 2839 bans sharing “deceptive” digitally modified content about candidates for office for any purpose. That means sharing such content even to criticize it or point out it’s fake could violate the law. The law also requires satire and parody to be labeled, like requiring a comedian to preface every joke with an announcement he’s making a joke. That’s not funny — it’s scary. Whatever concerns exist about AI-generated expression, violating the First Amendment isn’t the way to address them.

Newsom was triggered by a (hysterical) Kamala Harris campaign ad that Musk retweeted without telling everyone a fact that was completely obvious to any sentient being—it was a fake. I wrote about the “commercial” when it came out in July:

Friday Funnies: Hilarious Parody Campaign Ad Beautifully Exposes Kamala's Monumental Flaws

But Gavin grew cranky and failed to appreciate the humor. In fact, he said that the measure was in direct response to Musk's post:

But what perhaps the elegantly coiffed governor failed to take into consideration was that Musk is kind of like a hornet's nest: poke him, and he'll come back at you like a swarm. He masterfully mocked the failed guv with several tweets, including one Tuesday where he retweeted the original fake Kamala ad (which currently has 55 million views) that so upset Gov. Grumpy: 

He wasn't done, though; remember that I said that it was like poking a hornet's nest; you'll probably get bitten more than once. On Wednesday, the X owner fired off another fake video, this one produced by the parody site The Babylon Bee. (Note to Mr. Newsom: the Bee openly says they are a parody site. I'm sure if they run afoul of this ridiculous new law, their lawyers will make that very clear.)

It is absolutely brutal—and brilliant:

I am not a lawyer, nor do I play one on TV, and I am not qualified to deliver a detailed legal analysis of the law. However, I can nevertheless confidently tell you that there will be plenty of court action surrounding it, and that it could ultimately be struck down. 

The incredible power of AI is a serious issue, and sensible laws will have to be considered as it gets better and better. That being said, I'm sure not comfortable letting folks like Gavin Newsom decide what we can and cannot say. If there's one thing the Democrats have proven without a doubt over these last three and a half years, it's that they're committed cheerleaders to censorship and shutting down opposing views.

[thoughtlessarse]

A migration opt-out would mean the loss of a useful scapegoat and that is the last thing some members of the new government want, says Gareth Davies, professor of EU law at VU University in Amsterdam. So the new Dutch government says in its plans that it is going to “hand in an opt-out clause for EU migration and asylum policy”. That will enable the country to take control of the area itself and begin the strictest migration and asylum regime ever. It’s not going to happen of course, any more than I am going to hand in an opt-out for paying taxes, seductive though the idea is. For EU law in this area is law, agreed by the member states and European parliament, and agreements can only be changed with the consent of both sides. There are no opt-outs once you’ve agreed. They can ask for one, certainly. They can put it on the agenda in Brussels, and negotiate and push as hard as they can. But they are unlikely to get it, and, even worse, if they did it would not help them at all, because if you actually, genuinely, want to reduce migration then the only possible way is in co-operation with other states. An opt-out would be more of an open door policy, a licence for all the other member states to let their migrants wander towards the Netherlands, just as the UK is discovering that more people are crossing the channel now it has stopped co-operating with France. One thing at a time. There will be lots of sympathy for the Dutch position, because most member states are hostile to migration at the moment. However, fewer for the Netherlands means more for the others, so they are unlikely to translate their sympathy into agreement for an opt-out. They have no incentive. Which is lucky for the cabinet, because if they got their opt-out it would be a disaster for their policy. They want fewer migrants, but migration is not something you can stop on your own. What could a Dutch government free of legal constraints do? Be extremely nasty to incoming migrants? Unless they were nastier than whatever warlord ruled the country of origin, it might have somewhat limited effect. It’s hard to be scarier than Assad.

continue reading

[writingwithcolor]

Orthodox Jewish woman with secular Jewish trans nonbinary husband

Anonymous asked:

After going through the blog some, I wanted to ask about writing the interaction of religion and queerness from the outside. I am writing a woman I know is Jewish, and would like to make her orthodox (specifically because her personality goes against the stereotypes I've researched without breaking religious rules, she's affectionate prone to mom-humor).

However, her husband would be a secular Jewish transmasc. Ignoring possible issues with secular/orthodox marriage, which I can research more on my own, is it okay to dismiss queerphobia in the religious characters I write, especially in the case of orthodox Judaism, knowing that groups aren't homogenous? Does the fact that I'm writing futuristic sci-fi affect the awnser?

To be clear in my previous ask, when I said the secular Jewish man is transmasc I mean that he can be described as a man but is nonbinary. So it's no so much a question. Of transphobia as it is homophobia but i understand the topic is very gray here

You’re off to a good start with “groups aren’t homogeneous,” possibly more so than you realize. Orthodox Judaism is a huge umbrella category that ranges from the strictest of Jewish observance traditions to people who live an otherwise completely indistinguishable lifestyle from their non-Jewish counterparts aside from preferring to belong to an Orthodox synagogue community for shabbat and holidays. People often use the word “Orthodox” to mean “maintains a lifestyle of strict observance,” but people do observe strictly who don’t belong to Orthodox communities, and people belong to Orthodox communities who don’t observe strictly. We say a person “Is Orthodox” if they belong to an Orthodox community. A person who maintains an observant lifestyle personally but attends a synagogue in a different denomination is referred to not as “Orthodox” but “observant.” A way to characterize whether a community is orthodox is by the sequence of recited liturgy, or how much emphasis is placed on textual precedent when deciding what to do in an unscripted situation. There also isn’t an expectation, until you reach the absolute strictest of fundamentalist groups, about what community members are supposed to think or feel about any issue. The question isn’t how should a person feel, it’s what does the legal precedent allow. 

There are mainstream Orthodox feminist groups, Orthodox queer groups, and Orthodox rabbis who are happy to officiate at LGBT ceremonies that they might not quite consider weddings according to the legal definitions they adhere to, but are nearly identical in content. Midrashim* exist that ascribe queer or nonbinary identities to biblical characters, and those midrashim may not be universally uplifted but they’re often quoted in Jewish queer contexts, especially in Orthodox queer circles, since as I mentioned, textual precedent is even more important in Orthodox discussion than it is in other movements. These midrashim and other textual sources aren’t just quoted as defence but with pride, so there’s absolutely no reason why your Orthodox wife of a nonbinary transmasc should feel or express any queerphobia of her own.

*Midrashim (singular midrash) are sacred fanfic, essentially: a story written about scripture to fill in gaps or even to fix-it a text. These range from ancient to brand-new and many of the oldest are regarded as nearly as important as the scriptural text they refer to.

That you describe the husband as “secular” raises some related questions. If Orthodox Judaism is diverse, so is what one might refer to as “secular” Jewishness. Outside of Israel, Judaism is not viewed as a binary between “Orthodox” and “Secular,” so you’re going to have to define what “secular” actually means for your transmasc husband. Judaism is a culture and a tribe as well as a system of faith and actions, so make your decisions carefully about what “secular” means on a practical level. What does he do on Rosh Hashanah or Shavuot: does he go to services with his wife (plenty of Jewish people who don’t have any personal faith or day-to-day practice attend services occasionally or even regularly), does he stay home and make a fancy holiday dinner, or does he go to work? If he attends her synagogue, which as an Orthodox synagogue presumably has seating separated by binary gender, where does he sit? Or is that part of what keeps him from attending? If he doesn’t even take the day off from work because the Christian “secular” society that shuts down for the week surrounding Christmas doesn’t offer a day off for our major holidays, how does your Orthodox wife handle that? If he’s home cooking a kosher meal for his wife and her guests for the holiday, what’s “secular” about it? Did you make the decision that he was “secular” on the assumption that his queerness was incompatible with any observance of mitzvot, or religiosity of any kind, or is it for other in-story reasons? If the first, it might be time to give his character another look. 

Meir

[zorilleerrant]

look teen dad Bruce Wayne is great but like. why would that mean adopting a baby?? it’s much better if:

Dick is eleven. Bruce is nineteen. Bruce, being nineteen, for sure thinks of himself as an adult (basically, Alfred, I mean, right?). Dick, being only eleven, just thinks of Bruce as A Real Grown Up and does not realize how much Bruce is fucking up as Alfred basically raises Dick. sometime into adulthood he’s like. oh holy shit actually

Dick is sixteen or seventeen. Bruce is eighteen. Dick is just Not Having Any Of It. but also thinks it’s hilarious to fuck with the Justice League, and so agrees to pretend to be Bruce’s son while in costume. Bruce abuses this agreement to tell Dick to do stupid shit just to make it look like he’s in charge. he does, but they fight about it later. Alfred has to spend all his time keeping both of them out of the liquor

Bruce is eighteen or nineteen. Dick is actually older than him. like - he watched his parents die and that’s tragic and all but he’s not in the strictest sense an orphan. Bruce claims he’s in his late twenties, and Dick, being not quite 21, is still pretty credulous. it takes many years and many more Robins for him to figure it out, and because he never questioned it, Bruce has managed to gaslight the rest of the family. Alfred is long suffering and Dick is basically the kids’ other parent.

the same as the last one, only instead of working really hard to be responsible and mature and on top of things, Bruce is just a regular teenager, and Dick has been spending the whole time assuming he was an emotionally stunted manbaby on account of being rich and having very little oversight during his childhood

Dick is eight. Bruce is nineteen and makes a responsible decision to take legal responsibility for him while pretty much listening to Alfred’s rules and advice. but then Selena dies/goes to prison/disappears and now he’s saddled with Helena too, and that was not something he planned for. (look it’s canon in one continuity fuck you) Dick is happy being a big brother but Bruce is losing his mind. Alfred did not plan to deal with diapers again and is also not best pleased.

Bonus:

Bruce adopted Dick as a teenager and is like ‘in retrospect that went pretty poorly. I should not have done that’; meanwhile, Dick is convinced it went great, and now Dick, eighteen, has adopted his own twelve year old, and Bruce is tearing his hair out.

[barbaramoorersm]

October 3, 2021

October 3, 2921

Twenty-seven Sunday in Ordinary Time

Genesis 2: 18-24

This is the second account of the creation story.

Psalm 128

The Psalmist recounts the handwork of God.

Letter to the Hebrews 2: 9-11

The author speaks of Jesus taking on human flesh.

Mark 10: 2-16

The Gospel presents Jesus sharing two important teachings. One deals with marriage and the other with children.

 The section on children in Mark’s Gospel is one that delights the reader.  It speaks of the innocence and awareness of children.  The marriage section of this Gospel is what we might call a “difficult text”.  I am always very careful when preaching about marriage, a life style I was not called to embrace.  But through the years I have walked with folks in happy marriages, the sorrow at the death of a spouse, and those who were rejected or who for any variety of reasons, found themselves in a difficult commitment.   My reflections around this Gospel are from a purely pastoral perspective.

The first two creation stories in Genesis are dramatically different.  The first account is a beautiful poem of a six-day process.  The first three days God creates the context for the creatures that were created the last three days. Humankind holds a place of honor by being created in God’s image. The fact that there are two accounts of creation tells us that the editors of this book combined two well accepted ancient creation stories.  It is important to note that many different creation stories were very prevalent among ancient peoples, and often parts of them are borrowed and appear in other stories.  In today’s Genesis story, man is created very early and to give him company, God took one of his ribs and created a woman.  I remember as a child I was sure we could locate the missing rib in men!  The first creation account describes humankind as “made in God’s image” and in the second account the author speaks of the relationship between a man and his wife.  And it is this second creation account that Jesus speaks about today.  Then he expands his teaching by discussing different dimensions of divorce.

Today, a question was presented to Jesus in order to trap him.  The answer could have raised problems for him because the ruler, Herod married his brother’s wife.  Certainly, John the Baptist had problems around this issue and they led to his death. One might ask why in the Gospel do religious leaders try to ensnare Jesus or embarrass him?   Why did he threaten them?  It is a question we perhaps all need to think about when we find ourselves being hurt, cornered or embarrassed by a person with whom we disagree. Or if we sense we are doing it to another person.

There were different views about divorce within Jewish religious leadership. Some would not allow a man to remarry after a divorce if his former wife was alive.  Mark has Jesus presenting the strictest interpretation of the divorce law. But we see that in time, Matthew’s Gospel and Paul’s letters offer some alternatives.  This awareness indicates that as time moves on and understandings change about human nature, so too different legal and religious interpretations often follow.

All, of us have experienced the pain and suffering divorce presents as well as the attempts to maintain a relationship that no longer exists.  We are aware of the impact divorce has on children and extended families.  We also know and have seen the abuse some partners endure to maintain a commitment. In addition, we are aware of the pain some communities and individual Christians have imposed on divorced persons who remain in their midst.  

Jesus, as he reached back into the time of Moses, indicates that Moses made decisions about marriage because of the  “hardness of (the people’s) hearts”. Moses was responding to the attitudes and views of his day.  It is also interesting to note that the decision of Moses only effected men who sought a divorce.  But Jesus in his instructions, broadened the issue and included women seeking a divorce.

There is power in Jesus’ additional instruction. “What God has joined together; no human being must separate”.  This is a warning not only to the married couple, but to all of us who are in relationship with them.  I do think that it is a legitimate question to ask, “Did God join these two people together”?  I say that because their union is much more than a church blessing as important as it is. We all know situations that have made it difficult for a couple to hold on, and maintain their relationship.  

Our role it seems to me in such cases, is one of compassionate listening, prayer, and wise but non-judgmental advice.  And for those of us who are committed to pastoral care, it might be wise from time to time to reflect on the marriages that are obviously “joined together by God” as examples of the depth and meaning Jesus is suggesting as well as those who struggle.  There is so much we can learn from all their experiences both positive and negative.  

[kenma-loves-pie]

Here’s the thing. I don’t get the whole canon Kuroo is a weed loving stoner and party loving jock who gets stoned all the time and drunk at parties every weed and who would disrespect Kenma.

The biggest problem I have with it is the weed. Kuroo doing weed just doesn’t seem likely at all. If he was in America, maybe. But he’s not.

Statistically, drug use in Japan is much lower than America, but we know what’s reported doesn’t match the truth. Even still, the numbers are very different so it’s probably still a bit lower. But that’s not the biggest reason Kuroo being a pothead doesn’t make sense.

Possibly the biggest reason starts with the fact that weed isn’t that big in Japan. In America, weed is the most popular illegal drug. Everyone knows or knows of someone who has done weed or does it. You may even know where to buy it. In fact, that’s true of a lot of countries. But in Japan? Not the case.

In Japan, stimulants make up more than 80% of the drug use. Methamphetamine is considered the big drug, but stimulants in general are popular. Ecstasy and LSD are fairly popular in nightclubs and some other circles too. But weed only makes up a small percentage and, while I’m not sure how true it is, I’ve heard it’s not that easy to find.

This is thought to be due to the culture. Japanese culture is big on long work/study hours, community service, family obligations, and being thin. People literally die from overwork so often there is a word for it and being fat in Japan is worse than in America. Stimulants can help get through the hours or lose weight to be socially accepted much better than weed. Weed is for relaxing, but, unless it’s the weekend, there isn’t a lot of time for that. You’re talking 12 or more hours of obligations for many students and workers. So it’s not surprising that the top drugs are something that would help people focus and work longer. Weed doesn’t do that.

On top of that, Japan has some of the strictest drug laws of any democratic first world country. Getting caught with even a small amount of drugs doesn’t only carry legal consequences, but serious social ones too. Getting caught with a tiny bit of weed can cause you to lose your family, your career, your social standing, everything. Celebrities have been blacklisted for having a little bit of weed. It’s very serious. A lot of people won’t take the risk unless they feel they can’t do what they need to do without it.

(Btw, you can largely blame America for this as weed was a common and valued thing apparently until world war 2. America then imposed it’s views on drugs and that became the norm in Japan and is only just starting to shift in recent years.)

Really, most people just stick to alcohol and tobacco. No one frowns on that. In fact, it’s pretty much encouraged to smoke and drink so it’s the better choice.

In schools, the most popular substance abuse issues tend to be stimulants and inhalants like sniffing glue, paint thinner, etc. People who sniff tend to move onto amphetamines for a better high later. But only a small percentage uses weed compared to that of U.S. teens.

So, especially for someone like Kuroo, weed doesn’t seem likely. It’s not popular in Japan and when does he have time to get stoned five times a week? He’s in college prep classes which means he probably studies A LOT. He’s the captain of a sports team which means long practice hours and extra responsibility. His dad is a single parent and it’s unclear how able his grandparents are, so he may have extra responsibilities at home. He also helps Kenma with school and hangs out with friends. Even in countries where weed is popular, he’s not your typical daily stoner. Tried it once? Maybe. Does it all the time? Not likely.

If Kuroo abuses anything, it’s probably caffeine. Maybe stimulants if you really want some extra angst. I’m not sure he’d risk getting caught with that and ruining his future or that he could afford it, drugs are more expensive in Japan than America, but maybe.

As for partying, sure. On the weekend sometimes. I don’t think he’d be doing a lot of drinking in high school. He’s a volleyball player and takes it very seriously, but maybe some. But going during the week, getting super drunk, and doing other drugs? In high school? That doesn’t fit.

I see that more being something he does his college years maybe. If he got burnt out and went a little crazy, I wouldn’t question it then. But in high school? He’s a somewhat shy nerd that studies way too much, probably likes watching science documentaries, and wants to play volleyball to the best of his ability. He takes care of himself and trains hard. A lot of partying and drugs doesn’t fit that. Especially drugs that wouldn’t help him be better at what he does.

And disrespecting Kenma? That makes no sense. I’ve seen people write canon Kuroo calling Kenma his bitch and acting like Kenma is some weak loser that he keeps around out of pity. That makes no sense. Kuroo repeatedly acknowledges that Kenma’s talented and he respects those talents. He’s even awed by them sometimes. He cares about Kenma and knows Kenma is strong and capable, maybe even more than Kenma thinks. Even if you don’t believe they are romantic, Kuroo respects and cares about Kenma.

Also, I’m not getting into the sex god thing. I mean, I think he still could be. He’s a total nerd and his hair is a mess but there is no reason a nerd can’t be a god in bed. So that doesn’t really bother me. Do I think he’s had tons of relationships? No. Again, where is the time? Also, I’ve heard Japanese high schoolers are discouraged from dating but I haven’t researched it so Idk. Either way, nerds can be good at sex so I don’t see why he can’t. But the stoner thing seems way off base.

Anyway, you can interpret characters how you want. If you like Kuroo that way, that’s your right. I just think it doesn’t make sense. For an AU? Sure. But canon high school Kuroo? Not at all.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: The Case of the Heart in Armor: Part Two

I’m re blogging this once more this morning. It was at an odd time earlier this week when I did it, and I thought I mind give it another go. There were a few who asked to be tagged in updates who I am not sure saw it the first time. 

This was originally written for the CS Role Reversal event in October, to accompany the amazing fanart created by @courtorderedcake.  I had SO MUCH FUN working with her and coming up with this story.  I certainly didn’t mean to keep folks waiting this long for the second part.  I still hope those who were reading and excited about it will enjoy!! :)

@courtorderedcake  I don’t know why I can’t get your picture to post on here like I did with Part One.  For everyone else though, don’t miss her gorgeous art!! You can see it in the link to Part One below...

~~~~

 Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

Part One

by: @snowbellewells

Part Two

Chief Inspector David Nolan watched with weary acceptance as his erstwhile younger sister paced back and forth in front of the large mahogany desk in the private office at the Yard which he had worked bloody hard to earn. It wasn’t as though farm boys from Surrey made their way up the elite ranks of London’s police force regularly, and he could admit himself more than a bit proud of the distinction. It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen Emma in such a state either - she was as stubborn as the day was long, and had quite the temper besides, if a person had poor enough judgement to rile her. Though he didn’t mind listening to Emma’s tirade, he would have to quiet her soon, both because her rant was rising in volume instead of tapering off, and because the man she was ranting against was indeed an acquaintance of his and had helped him out of some tight scrapes - more than Nolan would actually like to admit.

Standing finally, and rubbing a hand over tired eyes - his latest case had already kept him from sound sleep three nights in a row - David rounded the desk with measured and steady stride to take Emma’s arm gently, stopping her wild gesticulations in midair before she could manage to clock him on the chin. Even though at present he found himself wishing she could be a bit more demure and correct, David did care deeply for the slip of a young woman his single mother had taken into their home when he was fourteen and Emma only twelve. His mum had caught Em’s hand in her pocketbook outside the market where she had been lurking, stealing to survive. He still remembered those half-wild eyes, her dirt-smudged face, and how thin and ravenously hungry the girl who became his sister had been. She’d already been alone on the streets for some time by that point, had trusted no one (she still trusted very few), and yet, Ruth Nolan, despite she and David having little to spare themselves, simply couldn’t abide the situation without helping. They’d only been in town to shop for a new sturdy coat to last David the winter and visit the theatre - a rare treat indeed - but when they had returned to the country, Emma had gone with them. Gradually, Emma had come to believe that they wouldn’t turn her out, that she couldn’t make Ruth rescind her welcome, and David had come to be glad for a sibling and hearty companion. There were still signs of that feral waif scrapping to survive when her eyes flashed with fury as they were doing just then, but David wouldn’t have Emma be someone else - even if it would make his life occasionally easier.

Hoping to placate her, at least a bit, before telling her what he knew might send her flying off the handle once again, David guided his sibling into the seat facing his desk, a soothing hand lingering at her shoulder as he attempted to commiserate. “It does sound as if your meeting with Mr. Jones was most vexing. No wonder you were put out.”

Emma was nodding along, her shoulders still radiating tension and looking only slightly mollified as he went back toward his own seat and lowered his broad-shouldered, commanding frame into it once more. “The sheer audacity!” She was still saying, clearly gearing up to tell him the whole story again, when David stretched his hand out to still her next torrent of hissed words.

“The thing is,” he began, rather hesitantly; regardless of his usual air of strength and authority, he seemed to be nearly tiptoeing around his sister, knowing her tart tongue and ability to hold a grudge could make him truly miserable if he handled the situation badly and she thought him to be taking Killian Jones’ side over her own. “Jones was not in the strictest sense out of turn to claim that he knew me… nor to be surprised we were related. He has aided us here at the Yard several times now, when we thought a case was about to reach a true dead end. He’s a right clever chap, and much as I hate to admit it, he sees things the rest of us miss - myself included. It’s almost uncanny, and no doubt how he caught you in the act - slick and nimble-fingered as you are, Sis.”

Emma’s mouth opened with a comeback; he could see her gathering a fortifying breath, but at the last statement, clearly reminding her that he knew she sometimes returned to her less-than-legal roots and he looked the other way, she snapped it closed again, her teeth clacking against each other with the force. Instead, she arched a brow at him sardonically as if questioning what he had to tell her and already warning him that it wouldn’t change her mind all in one.

However, before he could get around to explaining that she would have to learn to tolerate Mr. Jones as best she could, because they would soon be seeing each other more often, or warn her once more of the dangers she invited by haunting the seedier neighborhoods where he knew she most liked to set up her cart of flowers and put her old, erstwhile skills into practice, they were interrupted by two sharp, business-like raps on his office door before it opened abruptly. His second-in-command, Graham Watson, entered with an apologetic and rather sheepish look on his face. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir… Miss Emma…” the boyishly sweet-faced lieutenant nodded to her in deference before turning his attention back to her adoptive brother, a light flush actually crawling up the back of his neck toward his honey-colored hair, unmanageably curly and only adding to his tousled, youthful appearance as his eyes flicked back away from Emma. He had taken her to the opera once, and though he had been a perfect gentleman, Emma had the sneaking suspicion they would make for a poor pair beyond mere acquaintances. A faint smirk quirked one corner of her full, rosy lips upwards at the thought, but despite his clearly still harboring a bit of attracted interest, she had the distinct impression that he couldn’t handle her were she to truly let loose and be herself in his presence.

“That’s alright, Graham,” David assured, smiling and beckoning the other man forward.

Graham entered, but then turned back to usher another through the door behind him. “You told me to let you know when Holmes arrived,” he added.

Emma turned sharply in her seat, skin prickling with awareness at the sight of the tall, dark-headed and astonishingly blue-eyed man from the day before easing into the office behind Watson. He waggled an eyebrow at her, maddeningly aware of her strong reaction and raising her ire once more without even having spoken. Giving a brief dip of the head like a bow to her, he turned to face her brother as well, tucking his right thumb into the belt loop of his well-fitted charcoal slacks, and somehow making even perfectly correct dress attire look rakishly sinful as his hips preceded him a step forward into the room. “Afternoon, Nolan,” he greeted mildly, looking for all the world as though he had not a care. “Heard you wished to speak with me. Found the thief who took my watch, have you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Emma, looking all-too-pleased with himself if the grin stretching his mouth in satisfied confidence was any indication.

“Why you…” she leapt to her feet, ready to stalk forward and challenge his accusation - true it might be, but she would like to see him prove it. However, she found that the creative and colorful arsenal of pejorative names and curses usually ready on the tip of her tongue were all tangled up inside her mouth. Opening and closing it several times uselessly, she finally shook her head with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him darkly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle for words.

Smirking with lazy ease, as if the entire situation amused him immensely, Jones rolled his tongue around in his mouth obscenely (it did not make Emma’s pulse tap noticeably in her throat at all) before speaking to her once more. “Aye, Love, it is me, as you say…. Always nice to make an impression.”  And then (the very cheek of him!) he winked at her before sliding his gaze back to her brother.

It certainly didn’t help her rising temper to sense David, and Graham too it seemed, silently chuckling as he watched their volatile exchange. She supposed she deserved that to some extent, being quicker and more stealthy than most by half, and not ashamed to make it known and use it to her advantage, even with those closest to her when it suited. It probably was more than a bit amusing to both of them to see her genuinely rattled by this...this…  Well, she didn’t even have a word for this Killian ‘Holmes’ Jones, but she wasn’t about to stand there and have them all snickering at her expense.  Sweeping around her chair in the opposite direction, careful to avoid coming anywhere near Jones, she threw over her shoulder as she started for the door. “Well, David, if we’re done for the moment, I’ll be going…”

She was well on her way to stalking dramatically from the room, congratulating herself through her flustered nerves that it would serve them right to have run her off when they needed her for whatever they were gathered to cluck about like a bunch of old hens. David and Graham both knew she was a valuable and well-placed set of eyes and ears to the ground in parts of the city where the police could go but would see and hear nothing at all. David had accepted her help gratefully on numerous occasions - even if he always tried to go without it at first. He argued about jeopardizing her safety and the questionable legality of involving someone not part of the force to gain intelligence.

None of that concerned Emma though; she liked proving her mettle - and her skill. Deep down, there was also, she supposed, a part of her that wanted to do something in return for the gift David’s mother, and David too, had given her, taking her into their home and off of the street. He was the one person left in the world she could call family, and she would do anything for him, despite that sentiment going largely unspoken. She knew the same was true of him for her.

Before she could get out the door however, David’s voice drew her back in, a weariness and a resigned need to it that practically compelled her to wait and hear him out. David was capable and astute; good at his job no matter how much she might playfully heckle or give him grief. If he were this intent on having her assistance, then it was something serious with which he was dealing. A tremor of awareness, foreboding shivering up her spine, ran across Emma’s skin as she paused and then turned back to the three men now gathered around David’s desk and the precarious mess of papers piled atop it that she had failed to notice until that very second.

Graham’s voice spoke next, sounding both troubled and anxious as he did so, “Are you sure we should…?” His hands wrung themselves nervously, as if he was having to consciously fight not to reach out and cover the crime scene photographs she could just make out peeking from the stacks strewn across the surface before her as she drew nearer.

And when she actually laid eyes on what her brother’s lieutenant had wanted to shield her from, Emma’s stomach did make a large and unpleasant lurch for her throat.  Pressing her hand against her abdomen to still its sudden roiling, despite all that she had seen in her rough and ramshackle upbringing and colorful present dealings, she had to hold back a shocked gasp of horror at the sight in front of her. It was a near thing indeed.  Even as she struggled not to jerk her glance away and stand up straight and unfazed,  not wanting it to be dismissed as “feminine vapors”, or something equally ridiculous if she showed too much distress. She knew her brother and his subordinate better than that anyway - and they seemed plenty subdued and disturbed by the pictures as well. But she would not show weakness in front of Killian Jones.

To her surprise, at just the moment she had that thought, and steeled herself against the tremors trying to overtake her limbs, she felt a light, surreptitious hand rest carefully at the small of her back. It took a mere moment to realize that the touch was Jones, and that he must mean it to be steadying, offered in comfort and solidarity. He didn’t make an attempt to look at her in mocking, nor did he draw the other two men’s attention to his actions. And though her eyes had narrowed to near-slits, ready to chastise him about keeping his hands to himself, and warn him that she had no need of his brand of comfort, Emma found herself doing nothing of the sort. Where she had felt herself going cold at the fearful sight chilling her blood from the displayed evidence, warmth seemed to radiate from where his large hand rested, fighting off some of the frigid ice that had infiltrated her veins with the repulsion she felt for the crime. Despite still wanting to show him up if she could, and despite not wanting to let a point of frailty show, she was glad to have the contact in that minute, while she battled to regain control.

The criminal David was chasing was clearly a monster… and they were going to need all the help they could get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Deep, devious eyes, painted beguilingly, narrowed in intense concentration as they studied the carnage spread out over the worktable. Rather than finally seeing the last ingredient needed, there was instead merely one more bloody mess. A needless loss - not that the culprit was crying any tears over the unfortunate victim.

Not unexpectedly, it was now proven, as the villain had feared, that not just any organ would do. It must be a heart, fatal as that realization was. Moreover, no random heart would suffice either. Her last conquest had made that appalling fact abundantly clear.

No, if she wanted to truly put the alchemical possibilities she had studied to the test, and to discover if her abilities within the field were as great as she needed them to be, this final hurdle and greater risk was unavoidable. Bringing the dead back to life was seemingly impossible; none disputed that fact. And yet, she refused to accept those terms, ending her life’s happiness when it had barely begun.

Wiping deceptively pale and delicate hands on the cloth beside her, she did her best to remove the vivid red stains covering her hands and forearms where they were bared beneath her rolled up sleeves. Resurrection was bloody work indeed, but her course had long since been set. A specific heart it would have to be. Garnet lips painted as deep and dark as the blood splattered around her tilted up in an unnerving and sinister smile. Oh yes, she would get that heart she needed - no matter what it took to acquire.

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @cocohook38 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @teamhook @thisonesatellite @laschatzi @stahlop @ultraluckycatnd @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 

[tgai-spock]

Lines of ice from rolling waves and subtle villains

Silly stomaches on speechless mornings

Chapter 3

His father was up for breakfast the morning Spock came out of his bedroom. They had a large house on vulcan, and a small apartment in the town of  san fransico because of his fathers close work with earth, and because his mother often liked to visit Earth at least 4 times a year. She couldn’t bare the heat a lot, and if she was to go out on vulcan she usually did when the sun was rising or setting. It seemed peculiar to Spock as he often ignored warnings and would walk into the middle of vulcan’s forge during the heat of  the day. Amanda always said she loved vulcan, but she enjoyed spending a week or two occasionally on earth, to explore, visit friends and family, and stock up on her favourite foods or seeds.

Today there was a pit in his stomach that meditation didn’t seem to quell. His new school was not near any vulcan desert that he could sprint into, where people would eventually give up following. What if he wanted to be alone? He needed to be alone. Although meditation didn’t keep the pit away Spock instead reminded himself that he wasn't going to be at school long, as he’d find a way to leave. Whether it was with his parents permission, or without. He put his suitcase by the front door and walked over to the breakfast table of plomeek soup. It was his favourite soup.

“This is an unusual meal to have for breakfast” Sarek commented.

“It’s Spock’s last one, possibly for the year” Amanda said “and I thought he might appreciate it.” Spock nods his head once, he wants to say yes, he wants to say thank you, but he feared that each word he could say in front of his father might not correspond to the strictest set of logic, and this early in the morning was a time well before his rebellious attitude had a chance to wake. Amanda said nothing, put a hand on Spock’s wrist and smiled before going back to her breakfast. After breakfast Sarek removed the bowls from the table and began to wash them.

“Okay it's time to get going” Amanda said standing up and she and Spock moved towards the door.

“Goodbye son” Sarek said not looking up from his washing. Spock put on his shiny silver hat.

“Bye” he said walking out the door.

Amanda walked with him towards the school, she wanted to be with him for as long as possible.

“Why don’t I just live in the flat on earth and live off take out for a whole year?” Spock asked.

“Spock. Are you really going to wear that hat on your first day of school?” Amanda asked.

“I’ve already put it on” Spock said, he was growing very illogical of it.

“If you fancy spending half term in the flat, I could see that, but at least phone and let me know first. You’ll be safe in the school and thats where I want you to stay.” They stopped outside the school where the roads were packed with traffic, hover busses, hover cars and a few ships flying overhead. Amanda dutifully placed a kiss on Spock’s forehead.

“Good luck, and if you run into any trouble, if anyone says anything even slightly to you, phone me right away.” Amanda said. 

“Okay” Spock gave up “what am I to define as mean?”

“Anything that can be describe with the sound ‘phobic’ like xenophic.” Amanda said, both her hands on his shoulders.

“Claustrophobic.” Spock said.

“You’re doing it on purpose now. Go on, I love you,” Amanda said and pushed him off to follow the multiple signs placed around the outside of the school. The signs read ‘this way first years’. Several students of a higher year, wearing lanyards and ‘helper’ tags pointed and pushed the scurrying first years to the far end of the building. Spock was led to towards an area with a number of wooden picnic tables, where trees were growing apples along the side of the building, and a final arrow pointed to a propped open double door, inside of which were a lot of tables and chairs. The last sign read ‘take a seat in here’. Incase he couldn’t read there were more elder years with badges that said ‘prefect’ pointing them into the building.

The first years were all bundled into a huge cafeteria, mixed with square and rectangular tables, with wooden chairs placed around them. At the very end of the room, was a stage, with an empty podium and microphone. People streamed in from every angle, yelling and tumbling. Spock needed to sit at a table. He needed to do it fast, he needed to choose, square or rectangle. His immediate thought was square, but he didn’t want to be stuck sitting next to just 1 or 2 other people. If that happened he might be expected to make conversation, or he’d come off as rude. The more people at the table, the less likely they were to talk to him, right? He found an empty rectangular table that could fit six people along the sides,  and two at the edge if you really wanted to push your luck. He chose a seat along the side, at the edge. He pulled out his phone, and began to chew it, and then immediately stopped. He didn’t know what had compelled him to chew it, but he had caught himself hopefully before anyone else saw. He turned it on and off. He wanted to looked at his phone, but he didn’t want to do anything on it. Someone pulled out the chair at end of the table, which was next to him.

“Hello” they said sitting at the end of the table.

“Hi” Spock said. They had sharp angular features, a rectangular chin with a small dib, large round ears, and brown hair, cut in a shape of a bowl, with several escaping curls. They, also had a sticky label stuck to the centre of their chest which read ‘they/them’ underlined.

“Nice hat” they said.

“Oh.” Spock said, he had completely forgot he was wearing it “thanks. Erm, nice… pronouns.”

“Yah? Pretty neat right? No ones going to misgender me this year if I make it clear from the start, right?”

“That makes sense. I’m Spock, whats your name?” Spock said coming off as far friendlier than he intended.

“I’m” they pursed their lips and squinted.

“I’m? Spock asks wondering if that’s their name.

“Hold on I forgot my name.” They say.

“You forgot your own name?” Spock asked with his eyebrows raised, not that they could be seen beneath his hat.

“I had a dead name, and I chose a better name but lots of kids made fun of me for it, so I thought with this school I’d go in fresh with a new name since it wasn’t legal anyway.”

“Okay” Spock said, what they had said did make sense to him, he just found the concept of forgetting a name, chosen or not to be bizarre.

“You got to help me choose a new one, quick.” They said desperately placing their hands on the table in front of them.

“What?! I am sorry I cannot help you choose a new name. We have only just met” Spock said he really didn’t know what to do now. While this human was attempting friendly conversation, Spock had never had a conversation like this, at all. On vulcan if something was a personal matter, it stayed personal.

“I’m just nervous!” They said in a panic, as two others took a seat on the opposite side of the table. One girl with long blonde hair and a large squashed black mole on her chin, and a boy with spiked blond hair.

“Hey I’m Becky” the girl said with a long drawn out southern accent, and she places a hand on the boy next to her “and this is Jim.”

“Hi” Jim said with a slight tilt of his head and a tiny smile on the corner of his cheek “nice hat.” Was that sarcasm or not? 

“Thanks.”

“Whats your name?” He asks.

“Spock.”

“I’m” they said in a rush to introduce themself “I’m Moriarty?” 

“Moriarty? Thats a neat name” Jim says his eye lighting up.

Moriarty sweated “it sure is.” Spock was uncertain if Moriarty was their chosen name as he still didn’t seem very certain of it. There was still a scuffle going on at the other side of the hall, as though the doors had somehow become blocked and hundreds of people were trying to get indoors.

“Take a seat please” one adult yelled, or possibly a tall prefect. At the the other end near the stage’s podium was a man. His eyes searching the room from left to right, taking note.

“I’m going to start by saying it” Becky said almost yelling to be heard over the rumble of noise made from movement, and someones screaming “I don’t believe in magic, when I told my parents I wanted to go here because they ran a course on magic, I was under the impression they were going to teach me to be a  professional magician.”

“A magician you say? Did you know the first travelling magicians came from russia?” Moriarty asked leaning forwards.

“No. Thats cool.” Becky said.

“Can you do any tricks?”Moriarty asked. Becky took out a pile of her cards and shuffled them.

“Pick a card, and then put it back” she said leaning over to Moriarty. Mortality picked out an ace of spades, showed it to Spock and placed it back. Becky shuffled the cards and pulled out a king.

“Is this your card?” Becky asked.

“No” Moriarty said. Spock frowned his mouth opening slightly. He’d only been here a few moments but he already didn’t know what he was witnessing. Becky shuffled the cards and pulled out the two of hearts.

“What about this?” Becky asked.

“No.” Moriarty said grinning.

“So you agree I need professional training to be a magician?” Becky asked, her eyes reaching across the table to milk the words from him.

“I mean” Moriarty said nodding his head to the side “I guess.”

“Were any of you guys under the false assumption you were going to train to be a magician?” Becky asked “because I can’t be the only one who made that mistake.”

“I was not” Jim said “but, magic’s totally going to be a bonus of this shit-fest, gonna get a real nice kip in that lesson.”

“I didn’t choose magic” Moriarty said “they have really good science courses here, and I wanted to use them to get into starfleet.” Becky gasped and she went to say something but stopped when the man on the stage at the end of the room tapped a microphone.

“Ladies, gentleman, in-betweens and others, please quiet down, it’s time to begin.”

[Chapter 1]         [Chapter 2]       [Chapter 4]

[dcnativegal]

Day 55 of Pandemic, & I’m sick

Monday, May 4, 2020. Day 55 of the global pandemic (declared by World Health Organization on March 11th.) We as a planet hit 3,500,000 cases today, and 250,000 deaths. There are many more than that, but the planet doesn’t have enough tests.  But then, there was this announcement:

So obviously we’re in good hands. [Sarcasm alert.]

 The entire planet has slowed down, such that seismologists can detect the quieting of the earth: less shuddering of industry, cars, construction. Check out the drop in electricity usage:

Here’s a bit of perspective from Instagram:

The Lesbians of Paisley have been fertile ground for viruses. Valerie is nearly recovered from the viral pneumonia she was diagnosed with on March 26 at the emergency room at Lake District Hospital. She’d begun to feel feverish and achy, with violent coughing on March 15th, 2 days after what turned into my last day in my office at the hospital’s primary care clinic, and a day and a half after we’d dined with our friends Toni, Al, Bonnie and Bruce in person, sans masks. We began 100% isolation from the outside world the minute she felt sick. She recounted the ER adventure to a friend thusly: We drove in and they have organized a system that resembles getting on a [military] base after 9-11. We sat in the pickup at the checkpoint until a somebody in protective attire had taken my temp and saturation levels and asked a bunch of questions. Then they slapped a red sticker on the dash, told us to park in the ER lot and "don't get out of the pickup." Five hours later I had donated blood and been CAT scanned. I had two pneumonia shots that were current and two flu shots, also current. They checked the blood against 14 different virus strains and came up blank. The chest showed white lungs and my saturation levels were iffy. So they used one of the tests they had been sent, gave me antibiotics (just in case) and sent me home. Took me three days to sleep off all that fun.”

Me and Griffey the poodle waited in the pickup for her. At every sound, he got up from the passenger’s seat and looked at the ER entrance where she’d disappeared. No Valerie? Back to sleep. I walked him 3 times.      Hope, her RN daughter, told us that her flow through the ER was great practice in maintaining distance and perfect hygienic process through the CT scan, taking blood, even pushing her food on a tray to her. Lake Health District Hospital is prepared, and still, technically speaking, zero cases in the county.

I was so anxious about her health, her ability to breathe, that I gave up all thought of working from home. I listened to her breathing and coughing, brought her tea, and finally, asked her to write out her last will and testament. She did, and put it away. I figured, her kids are wonderful and won’t fight about stuff but, better for her to express her wishes, even if the paper wouldn’t be legally binding.

Apparently, I get the FrankenDodge (the pickup which has hit one too many deer and who’s grill is sewn together by wire). I’ll take it but I’d much rather have her.

We waited 10 days for the nasal swab results. While we waited, she got better. Never had that cytokine storm, nor that respiratory crash. Storms and crashes; pretty apt words for the medical horror of end stage COVID-19. Once her test came back negative, despite the warning of her PCP who says that nasal swabs miss between 30 and 47% of positive cases, I was able to go to town on the 10th of April, get some software downloaded onto the computer so I could work from home, and hit Safeway while wearing a mask. I also dropped off one of Valerie’s homemade masks to a friend, along with some toilet paper illustrated with Trump’s kissy face. The moment of levity was greatly appreciated.

I started feeling lousy six days after my jaunt to Lakeview (April 16th). Cough and release of gook high up in my chest. Headache. No fever. Who knows if I have COVID-19. We listen to a British gentleman, Dr. Campbell, daily, as he reviews what’s going on globally, and he interviewed a woman who had exactly my illness course, before she moved on to fever and gastrointestinal symptoms. She never got tested. Too much hassle. Which is so ridiculous, criminal really, and in the USA, a direct result of American hubris and incompetence. Fine. Anyone with any symptoms of any illness is isolated until we have a vaccine and treatment, is my prediction. I’m still feeling shitty, though better. Started taking antibiotics just in case and in the hopes of recovering SOMEDAY.

 My son Jonah and his girlfriend June escaped just in time the terrible plight of New York’s COVID19 deluge of infections and hospitalizations. They’ve been in Baltimore at June’s mother’s beautiful home. He spent his 26th birthday in the basement because they were still in quarantine. See adorable picture, below. Now they’re allowed upstairs, enjoying the quiet. Apparently, writing and directing music videos is not an essential service during a pandemic, but he’s writing pitches and living off the most recent lucrative gig with Kesha, thank goodness.

One of the most moving things that is happening in the USA during this time is the 7pm clapping ritual for medical workers and first responders in New York City, in all the boroughs:

There’s a firefighter in DC who’s going to hospitals and nursing homes to play the bagpipe.

That’s where my daughter Clara lives, in DC, but right now she’s staying with a friend in Laurel, MD, since her group house dynamics are stressful and had a symptomatic guest at last report. She’s working from home to make sure the Latinx school children are getting the tutoring they need now more than ever. We worry about her husband Jose and his country, Guatemala, since there are COVID-19 cases down there, and refugees seeking asylum are being dumped there, with and without the virus. Over 700 cases in Guatemala as of today. We hope he will get to the USA this year. However, Trump referred to it as a shithole country, which doesn’t bode well.

My sister and her husband are well, thankfully. They work fulltime from home in the company of Pepper the cat and Darcy the chocolate lab. Yuuki, 25, stays there, too, mostly in their room; they are out of work and applying for unemployment. Kohji, age 28, works from home in DC and makes more money as a web designer than I ever will after 34 years as a social worker, but who’s counting. (I remember well the admonition of a field instructor back in 1987: don’t go into social work for Power, Pay or Prestige.) His girlfriend is probably out of work; she works for a nonprofit that plants trees in DC. Probably not essential work right this very minute. Makoto, 23, is out of quarantine and looking for something to do; he’ll be a senior at the University of Delaware this fall. As far as I hear on Facebook and email, the rest of the folks with whom I share DNA are well. So that’s good. I worry about my Aunt Mary Lee who is 87. But she says not to:  she’s fine and her ritzy retirement community in McLean, VA is on “lockdown.”

Psychologically, in the experience of quarantine and ‘social distancing’, there’s me, and then there are my clients.

My moods go up and down, but a little further down than usual. The terror that Valerie might die of COVID-19 has passed, but I figure I will always need therapy.  I have “Facebook messenger” video chats with my therapist, Darcy of Bend, every other week now, which helps. Having ‘Generalized Anxiety Disorder’ and a tendency toward major depression, I find therapy to be a corrective. A bimonthly tune up. Without it, I naturally veer toward negativity and neurosis, and a hypervigilance that served me well when I was a child, but is exhausting, overwrought and over-thought as an adult.

Psychologically, Valerie is always fine. Seriously. She was once told as a young woman by a therapist who’d tested her with the MMPI (the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory) that she was outrageously and puzzlingly normal. Now that she’s feeling mostly well again from the pneumonia, she’s been tearing up the joint, fixing the sump pump that apparently keeps this little house from drifting down main street on the wetlands it’s built on. Digging out the leaves from our irrigation ditch, chopping and clearing the wood from our front yard.

The BEFORE picture:

The AFTER Picture.

 And this happened one morning in March. Just a cattle drive past our front door.

Valerie’s planning a garden at her daughter’s place, which has a deer-proof fence and lots of sun up on the hill above us. A delivery of horse manure is scheduled, and the garden bed has been rototilled. Val’s granddaughter Jessica and her husband Alan are living up there now, working from home for their Portland-based gigs. They’re almost finished the 14-day quarantine since they moved down here. The new normal: anytime anyone leaves one locale for another, they disappear into strictest quarantine, not to leave their abode. Groceries are delivered to the doorstep. A recent day turned out to be Jess’ 25th birthday: I’d bought a canvas bag with a picture of a pug on it, like her dog Archie, and Valerie found something gluten free flour mix with fresh jam to give her. Birthday gatherings are suspect at the moment.

Here’s a lovely idea for quarantined birthday celebrations:

What a kind and generous offer.

Even in isolation, Val and I do socialize, on zoom. The one pictured below is church.

We ‘visit’ with our fellow parishioners from St. Luke’s on Sunday evenings. Then we say Compline together, from the Book of Common Prayer. My favorite prayer of all time is this one from that service.

Yes, shield the joyous. Because joy is fleeting.

Our writers’ group, Easy Writers, ‘meets’ on zoom every Monday now. I wrote this bit about my yarn for the prompt, ‘write something in your home that means a lot to you.’

I am doing a great deal of crochet and a little knitting.

Yarn is my comfort and my joy. It is the raw material I create blankets and scarves and hats with. My tools are hooks and needles made from wood and plastic and metal. My fingers are also my tools.

Some of the yarn is like cotton candy: spun mohair from a goat is said to have a ‘halo’ or ‘aura’ because of the gentle cloud of color you can see an inch or two away from the spun thread. Some yarn is like twine: you can see every string of ply. My favorite is merino wool and single ply. A unity of color that will not split. All for one and one for all, the fuzzy stuff is twisted and bound into a single string of strength…

My clients are stressed out. The pandemic adds a layer to the stress they were already experiencing. I listen and knit, from within the cocoon of the yarn room which my folks can see behind me.  One of my clients wanders about with her phone in her hand while I get slightly dizzy. I like this kind of counseling since I get a glimpse of my clients’ homes. Reminds me a little bit of being a geriatric care manager. You can tell a lot about a person from their home. From my home you can tell that I have a lot of yarn, and I work multiple projects at a time because there are piles of them alongside my recliner.  

One of the sad weights of being present for my clients is their level of estrangement for most if not all social connections, especially people with whom they share DNA. And every single one has what is called in the mental health world “complex PTSD” from multiple traumatic experiences.  I sit with them, on the phone or via video. I hope to model for them what Carl Rogers called ‘unconditional positive regard.’ I breathe deeply to release my own distress at their sadness. We explore one tiny step toward reducing their isolation, the sense of trust. All during a pandemic where other people could be carrying a potentially deadly virus.

It’s no wonder I’m pawing mohair out of screen for my own comfort.

Sometimes I email clients links or articles on how to keep their spirits up, or about good things that are happening instead of the dire predictions they’re listening to or watching. There is much to share that is hopeful.  I sent one to a client on creative ways to care for everyone and she shot back:

“I believe this is Liberal rhetoric. 

Esp the paragraph below:

 This current emergency provides the possibility for a new emergence—the birthing of a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people and the living Earth. “

Oh well. We can’t have a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people, now can we?

Sigh.

 Brilliant writing is being penned right now, since the entire planet’s human inhabitants are barely one degree of separation away from this virus, which is apparently ‘barely alive’ and therefore hard to kill, as it spreads onward to make millions miserable and hundreds of thousands die.

I’m saving articles from The Atlantic, The NY Times, and the Washington Post, and following a historian named Heather Cox Richardson who writes a daily blog called Letters from an American. In a recent post she writes:

“The big news … has been the ‘protests’ of state governors’ stay-at-home orders and mandatory business closings to try to contain the novel coronavirus …These protests are a classic example of trying to control politics by controlling the national narrative. The protests are backed by the same conservative groups that are working for Trump’s reelection. …These are not spontaneous, grassroots protests. They are political operations designed to divert attention from the Trump administration’s poor response to the pandemic. Even more, though, they are designed to keep the American public divided so that we do not protest the extraordinary economic inequality the pandemic has highlighted.

These protests have diverted the national conversation by turning a national crisis into partisan division along the lines the Republican Party has developed since the 1980s... The change of subject protects not just Trump but also the ideology at the heart of his Republican Party. Since 1981, Republicans have argued that the economy depends on wealthy businessmen who know best how to arrange the economy—the makers-- and that it is vital to protect their interests. Under their policies, wealth in America has moved upward. The pandemic has highlighted how these policies have removed economic security for ordinary people. They cannot pay their bills, and they might well turn against an ideology that uses our tax dollars to bail out corporations while they must risk their lives to pay their rent.”  [Emphasis mine]

I am so glad someone smarter than me can reveal the interconnections of what’s going on politically.

There is food for thought on Facebook and Instagram: in the guise of a rewrite of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese, this poem.

Mary Oliver for Corona Times (after Wild Geese)

by Adrie Kusserow

You do not have to become totally zen, You do not have to use this isolation to make your marriage better, your body slimmer, your children more creative. You do not have to “maximize its benefits” By using this time to work even more, write the bestselling Corona Diaries, Or preach the gospel of ZOOM. You only have to let the soft animal of your body unlearn everything capitalism has taught you, (That you are nothing if not productive, That consumption equals happiness, That the most important unit is the single self. That you are at your best when you resemble an efficient machine). Tell me about your fictions, the ones you’ve been sold, the ones you sheepishly sell others, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world as we know it is crumbling. Meanwhile the virus is moving over the hills, suburbs, cities, farms and trailer parks. Meanwhile The News barks at you, harsh and addicting, Until the push of the remote leaves a dead quiet behind, a loneliness that hums as the heart anchors. Meanwhile a new paradigm is composing itself in our minds, Could birth at any moment if we clear some space From the same tired hegemonies. Remember, you are allowed to be still as the white birch, Stunned by what you see, Uselessly shedding your coils of paper skins Because it gives you something to do. Meanwhile, on top of everything else you are facing, Do not let capitalism coopt this moment, laying its whistles and train tracks across your weary heart. Even if your life looks nothing like the Sabbath, Your stress boa-constricting your chest. Know that your antsy kids, your terror, your shifting moods, are no less sacred than a yoga class. Whoever you are, no matter how broken, the world still has a place for you, calls to you over and over announcing your place as legit, as forgiven, even if you fail and fail and fail again. remind yourself over and over, all the swells and storms that run through your long tired body all have their place here, now in this world. It is your birthright you be held deeply, warmly, in the family of things, not one cell left in the cold.

-Adrie Kusserow

 Not one cell left out in the cold. Yes.

There is so much to be grateful for. I have a place to live, and even while paying off my bankruptcy debt, I have plenty. Enough that I can make small donations here and there. Here’s one cause I found: supporting foster children who were in college and now have no place to go. (Terrible visuals for the logo: it’s “Together We Rise.”)

Soon, the nights of below freezing temperatures will pass, and both Lesbians of Paisley will be healthy at the same time.  Perhaps I’ll get my Tricycle-for-Grownups serviced and toodle around for exercise. Perhaps the Stitch & Bitch knitting/crochet gatherings will resume, maybe in a park for physical distance and social connection.

And maybe I’ve already had Covid-19, and so has Valerie. Looks like 50-70% of all the people on the planet, not quite 8 billion humans so maybe 4 to 6 billion people, need to catch this thing in order to give our species herd immunity. Or WILL catch it because we have no way to stop it, only to slow the infections so that health care is not overwhelmed. We live and Love in the Time of Coronavirus, to paraphrase Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I maybe a libtard, a snowflake, a lily-livered liberal, who’s heart bleeds. But I agree with this sentiment, found on Facebook, our American ‘commons’:

Love absurdly and abundantly, my people. And wash your hands. 

[daraanna]

Mirror

The fic is inspired by beautiful song preformed by father and dauther Grzegorz and Patrycja Markowski 

the translation of the lyric is part of my works but I still recomended to listen to this song because in my opinion it is beautiful...

____________________________________________________________

Between one dream and the other

Time has your face

She was not sure how long she was sitting here. Certainly, it has been a long time since the sunset. Still, she could not find the strength to get up and go home. The surroundings of the trees and the wind make her feel a little bit better. She knew that her parents would worry about her. Although one part of her wanted to come back, the other told her to run somewhere far away ...

Though I would prefer the heart

I have your eyes

Only a week, seven days separated her from the wedding. She looked at the simple ring on her finger. She was so sure when Boruto proposed to her two years ago. Now she started to freak out.

I carry in them everyday

Since first day She started to think about her parents. Conversations at dinner, soft smiles, moments when they looked into each other's eyes, and the world around them disappeared. This everyday

Your uncommonness ..................... Between one dream and the other

Time has your face

It was 11 pm  o’clock when his wife entered the living room saying she could not find Sarada.

"She isn’t at the hokage office, nor with Boruto ... Her friends don’t know where she went," the pink-haired woman added.

Sasuke slowly got up from the couch and walked to her.

“I can go find her ...” he replied, however, did not calm down Sakura.

“It is not in her style to disappear like that without a word ... “she replied looking at him, worried “ I will go too.”

He sighed looking at her. He knew that look, much better than he wanted.

„Hn. You know well that she can look after herself" he said, grabbing her hand. She looked at irritated and surprised. He knew exactly what she wanted to tell him.

"I will find her," he added, squeezing her hand lightly. "You should rest after work ..."

"But ..." she began, but he interrupted her poking her forehead.

“I see that you are barely standing ... It will not take long” he smirked seeing his wife's reaction.

You bring me to life

You give the wind to my wings

It did not take long for him to find her. He was not the sensor type and the presence of many people did not make it easier for him, but he knew his daughter's chakra well and quickly sensed it around the training fields. It did not surprise him. It was one of her favorite places. But to his surprise, he did not find her in any of the best places for individual training. Searching through the fields, he reached the forest that once belonged to the Uchiha complex. His daughter was sitting on a tree branch near the stone tablets, the only remnants of the Naka temple.

You usually ask for more

I'd like to know

Moment  later he sit beside her. For a long moment they sat in silence looking at the stars.

“ How did you know you could marry mom?”

Her question surprised him. He didn’t know what to say.

"Do you have any doubts about Boruto?" He asked after a moment.

"No about Boruto, about myself," she said more quietly, pulling off her glasses to wipe her eyes. "I've hurt him so many times, because of my stupidity, he almost died in fight with Kawaki. What if I become Hokage? What if I will get focused on  work so much again that I do not notice the dangers ..? I-if”her voice broke when the first tear flowed over her cheek  “If this time I will not make it on time ... And ...”

You are a story

I know from my life

 Sasuke sighed, extending his right hand towards his daughter. He gently embraced her and pulled her to him. At the beginning the young Uchiha stayed motionless, and then a moment later returned  the gesture.. A small sob reached his ears. He remembered events of the previous war. Even for the veterans of the Fourth Great War, the invasion of the Otsutsuki clan and associated activities of Kara were shocking. The fifth war was a slaughter in the strictest sense of that word. When the Kaguya’s clan came to the Earth to "clean the orchard from weeds" it did not matter if you were a shinobi or a civilian.

"You know very well that no one could have foreseen it ..." he began, but his words were not his strong point. Sakura was definitely more suited to such conversations. She could reach both him and Sarada, no matter how much they hide their feelings.

Run wherever you like

Do not be afraid, fly

When the world calls you

 Not many people knew about her problems. For a long time she managed to hide it even to her parents. However, no matter how well she was convincing the world that she was doing great, she was not able to run away from herself in the end. She felt guilty and stress almost every night until her mother took her on therapy. Despite this, the images of the battle of Konoha continued to haunt her. When the Hokage was sent away by Kawaki, Kami knows where, Shikamaru-sama appointed her as commander. Despite the opposition of the Consul elders at that time, she was the only person with knowledge of the current military strength of the village, the exact construction of shelters and evacuation routes. Then she practically was an adviser to the Seventh. (Legally a consul made her a secretary). She knew almost all critical and secret information about Konoha. The only thing she lacked was the experience.. A defence plan was made in 15 minutes, and an evacuation of civilians began an hour later.

Run wherever you like

I'll be there

  It did not take 30 minutes to Kara to get under the walls of the village. A village deprived of its two strongest shinobi. A village run by a naive 16-year-old.

This battle had no right to succeed, and yet many considered it a success. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were evacuated. Material losses did not exceed the assumptions. The Shinobi who were fighting this battle knew that their chances were not great. And yet, when she was asking them to put their lives in the defense of Leaf, she had no idea what she was asking them for. 10 482. The number of  people who died fighting against all thirty members and the supporter of Kara. Jouins and Chunins, the elite of the village ... The people she knew, whom she trusted ... Who trusted her ... Sixth, Fifth, aunt Temari, uncle Sai, Konohamaru-sensei and many others. There was a moment when she remembered the names of even those she did not met during their lifetime. There was a moment when she sincerely regretted that she survived.

Do not be afraid, fly

You will not be alone

 It took her a long time to deal with the trauma. Too long. For three years, her private life did not exist. First, long months of treatment and rehabilitation, and then shed completely devoted to work. Her relationship with her friends suffered greatly. She broke up with Boruto in a roughly, cruel way. Even then she realized that the blond did not deserve such treatment. The truth was that he was the one who fought for them to the end.

“ I do not deserve him” she finally said “ It's all I did ...”

 You are like a mirror to me

I make sense from reflections

Involuntarily he sighed at her words.

"You know very well that nothing you've done can match up with my mistakes ..." he began.

"You know very well that I did not survive anything that could be equal to what you survived ... It's not an auction ..." she replied.

“Hn” he sighed “Pain is not an objective value. In my opinion, mini-dope does not deserve you.

“Dad!”

“What? Your guilty have nothing to do with your relationshipwith Boruto. I do not understand why you are connecting it “ there was no reaction to this from his daughter.

I'm looking at you

I want it or not

“Four years takes me to understand that I love your mother “ after a good ten minutes he came to the conclusion that he must speak “ However, after everything I did, I felt that I would not deserve to go back to Konoha, to have friends, to be loved ... And I left. The next two years it took me to understand that love can’t be deserved or repaid. Love just existe and takes many different forms.

 An undiscovered planet

From which you can see the home

 She looked at Dad. Despite the fact that she did not remember him to speaking so many words at once, it could not be denied that his speech was moving, but ...

“And the wedding does not change anything ... It's just a legal statement of something that already exists "he added after a moment.

"It does not make me any less nervous," she said, looking at her hands.

"Believe me, there are more confusing things in life than marriage."

“For  example?”

“Children.”

 A whisper of the phone

On a restless night

 For a moment she thought she was overhearing. Was her father just saying that she was the most stressful thing that had ever happened to him?

“Tch. What was that supposed to mean !? "she asked, irritated.

“You know ... Sometimes when you thinks you knows everything about life, a small stranger appears, all red wrinkled and unable to do anything but scream. And suddenly you realize that you didn’t love anyone so much in life. No one has ever needed you so much and you have never wanted to protect anyone so much from all dangers " her father replied” And the worst part is that you has no idea what to do, although you would like to help as much as you can. .. Although Sakura knew from the beginning how to take care of you, at least that's how it looked like” Run wherever you like

Do not be afraid, fly

When the world calls you

“ I think you get a little soft ...“he heard his daughter laugh.

“Hn. Do not tell Sakura ... "he replied, looking at her.

"I think mom already knows," she replied, wiping the rest of her tears with a handkerchief.

He sighed. It was not easy for him, too, that Sarada was growing up. It was not enough that he lost half of her childhood. Now he was supposed to watch her get married with a mini-dope... He was so nice kid when he was his pupil and what grew out of him? However, as long as his daughter is happy, there was nothing left for him to support them both.

 Run wherever you like

I'll be there

 “Arigatou papa” after a long moment she break the silence.

“Hn. Sarada ... “she heard his voice. When she turned in his direction, she saw that he was connecting his forehead to hers “No matter what happens, your mother and I will love you and as long as we have enough strength, we will support you”

It's hard to describe what she felt at this moment, she thought she would cry again, this time with happiness.

Do not be afraid, fly

You will not be alone

“We should go home, mom probably gets worried” she was still slightly flushed.

“True, if he calls Naruto, we will have a problem “ the older Uchiha sighed, hopping down from the tree.

“Hn? Seventh?”

“You know dope is already an expert in searching for me”

“Dad ...”

“Hn. We should not let Sakura wait " he replied slowly, heading towards theirs house. Sarada could not help smiling. A lot of people thought her dad was a cold person, the truth was completely different. Not everything is as it seems to us, sometimes it's enough to look a little deeper or ask another person for help to see true. After all, we do not have to deal with everything alone.

 Do not be afraid, fly!

______________________________________________________

I hope I didn’t make charakters to OOC, and didn’t make to much grammar and vocabulary mistakes...

And that you like it...

[king-pym-and-olly-crumb]

About Sarah and Lainey/Kai

 So I’m 22 years old, and since I was 19 I’ve worked as a residential advisor and teacher’s assistant at a summer enrichment program for high school students. Basically, they come to my university for six weeks, take “college” classes, eat in the dining hall, and explore the city.

As a residential advisor, I live in the dorm with the students, who are usually 16-18 years old and all girls since the floors are gender segregated. I’m generally meant to enforce curfew, deal with homesickness, diffuse roommate arguments, keep them out of trouble, and be there as a friendly resource for them, as it’s usually their first time away from home.

Since I’m college age and there’s usually only a difference of a few years between myself and my residents, and since we spend so much time around each other, we do become friendly over the six week program. They’re always sweet and precocious, and as someone planning on becoming a teacher I just have a naturally affinity toward young people. 

I say all this because I want it to be clear that I know, from a professional viewpoint, that the relationship between Sarah and Lainey/Kai is cause for concern. I’m not going to address Greg’s role in all this because his creep factor is well documented and unambiguous, but there is something much more insidious about Lainey/Kai.

Like Lainey/Kai, for the six weeks of the program, I’m the de facto guardian for my residents. I go with them to health services, I sign trip permission slips, and I am responsible for their wellbeing. As such, there is a power imbalance inherent within this relationship. As friendly as I am with them, I’m careful never to get too close to them and to always keep them aware of my role as an authority figure first. As much as I want them to be comfortable around me, I always want them to be safe and responsible, and part of that is setting boundaries and making it clear that I will enforce rules if they are broken. This is important, because they know that, if they are in trouble, I am a resource they can trust to have the maturity and wherewithal to help them. I don’t care how “mature” they act, a child is a child and they need that sort of structure in their lives. 

As a rule of thumb, I never let my residents follow me on social media until the end of the program, and even then my social media is 100% PG so there’s nothing I’d feel a child shouldn’t see there. Having a child edit photos of cleavage isn’t the most inappropriate thing someone could do, but it is not appropriate either. Similarly, all the touching I’ve seen in the videos with Lainey/Kai and Sarah reads as strange. This is obviously not to say that same-sex attracted adults cannot show affection for children of the same-sex, because honestly it would read as inappropriate even if Lainey/Kai was only attracted to men. Again, it’s all about establishing boundaries. When you’re not biologically related to a child you have power over, this sort of touching can be easily interpreted as romantically charged, especially as puberty and hormones make things even more confusing. There’s a reason your brain screams red flag whenever you see something like that - it’s because we instinctively know it’s just not right, even if nothing “wrong” is happening in the strictest of legal senses.

Part of the reason I’m such a stickler for boundaries in this case especially, and why I think the relationship between Sarah and Lainey/Kai is problematic, is because my residents tend to idolize me. My university is one of the top in the country, and attending the high school program usually means they really want to get in for college. I’m also reasonably well known on campus for advocacy and other projects I’ve been apart of and awards I’ve received. I don’t say that this to brag, I just want to show that my students usually come to admire me and really vie for my approval as Sarah does Lainey’s. Having that kind of hero worship makes a child less able to see adult behaviors as wrong as they might otherwise concerning an adult they don’t like. This is especially true for residents of mine who don’t have the best support systems. Children like Sarah, starved for love, are much more vulnerable to these sorts of intense emotional attachments. It’s not wrong to show a child who admires you kindness and affection, in fact, I think it can be healthy and productive for them to be shown that they can be cared for by someone they find admirable. Even if all the unconfirmed behaviors turn out to be just rumors, there’s plenty of confirmed actions that more than show a level of inappropriateness. Lainey/Kai’s track record with younger girls, and the fact that boundaries have clearly been crossed by her (and Greg) makes it obvious that Lainey/Kai has absolutely no idea and/or not a care for the fact that she is psychologically damaging an already vulnerable young woman with her behavior.

All in all, to all the anti o/laineybot folks who are being treated as if they’re overreacting for interpreting these clear red flags as just that, you are not wrong. She is being exploited and, at the bare minimum, emotionally and psychologically abused. It’s really, really sad.

[thatfairyfangirl]

True Colors Chapter 5

They say when you’re bored time slows down...They are wrong. Time felt like it came to a screeching halt! The world seemed to be doing a pretty good job of not needing you. You were beginning to wonder why they enlisted you in the first place...You laid on the couch listing colors as you focused your mind on the ceiling, having changed its color so many times in the past five minutes you forgot what the original color was supposed to be.

“ ‘Scuse me Rainbow Bright I believe the ceiling was white.” Tony quipped as he sauntered into the common room snacking on some blueberries.

“Yeah?” You asked as you looked up to him as his blueberries turned a vibrant yellow. “It looks better in purple.” You chuckled while the light from the window created a dull shine on the stud you had embedded in your tongue as you stuck it out at Tony.

“Awe come on! I was going to eat those!” He sighed, exacerbated as he tossed the now pinkberries onto the table.

“They’re still good you know. I changed the color, not the actual fruit.” With a snicker you reached for them, tossing a few in your mouth. “Just be glad it’s your snacks and not your suits?” You asked with a playful smirk thinking how they would look in hello kitty pink.

“What would make me glad is you not making the tower look like a hippie’s mushroom trip.” He answered dripping with annoyance.

“What else am I supposed to do Tony? I’m boooooooored.” You whined as you thrashed a bit playfully on the couch.

Tony glanced down at his overly expensive watch that you were sure was hiding a suit of some kind as the colors of the setting sun danced through the windows around the two of you. “Alright then...Let’s make the night interesting. Go get the others...Tell them we’re going to play a game.” He smirked as he headed over to the bar to pour his first drink of the evening.

“A game?” You asked as you raised your pierced brow. “What are you? My dad?”

“Ouch. My pride.” He joked in return with a grin. “THE game...what do you take me for? Someone sober? I’ll go get...the bar.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“I don’t like this game anymore! Steve never drinks anything!” You exclaimed as you took yet another drink, everyone else telling you that it was your turn. “Okay! Okay! Uuuumm.” You attempted to stabilize yourself and your newly refilled shot glass, finding an anchor in Bucky’s bionic arm reaching up your back, was very kind of him to keep you from toppling over. These last few weeks had been almost tolerable with him, you were both really starting to learn how to be team mates. Maybe one day you’ll show him the song he helped you create by suggesting those old movies. “Never have I everrrrr...been a customer at the VIP Club over on 20th.”

Tony perked up a bit as he drank, a smirk on his face at the mention of the strip club, realizing that this was probably something that would really ruffle the feathers of Capsicle and Terminator. “Never have I ever worked at the VIP Club!” The words rushed out of his mouth as he cut off Bucky’s turn in an attempt to steer the conversation to get everyone there.

The rest of the group watched with jaws on the floor as you took a drink, everyone but the two who didn’t know what was so amazing about this. “What’s the VIP club?” Steve asked with a small boyish grin.

Clint, Nat, Tony and you all traded glances with each other, unable to believe they just heard the question come out of someone’s mouth. Everyone knew what the VIP club was… “It’s a gentleman's club Steve.” Nat explained in the soft tone one takes when explaining a sensitive subject to the overly innocent.

“What’s that?” He asked innocently as Bucky looked you over, wondering what secret was just uncovered.

“Should we show him?” Clint asked with a wide mischievous smile stretching from ear to ear.

“That is the best idea you’ve had all night!” Tony announced as he got up, everyone else just drunk enough to follow suit.

~ ~ ~ ~

The early October air held a crisp chill to it as the group lead a blindfolded Steve down the streets. “You really used to work here Doll?” Bucky whispered in your ear as the group made their way to the building, the trance house mix already able to be heard from behind the frosted glass that separated the illicit from the innocent outside.

“Ugh! Don’t call me that.” You insisted. “Demeaning.” You added as you watched him tug at his sleeve, trying to hide the metal underneath. With an exaggerated sigh you brushed your hand down his arm, warping the silver shade to match his skin tone to make him feel a little bit better while in public. It was the least you could do now. “You think you’re going to give us a return performance tonight?” He asked, with a raised brow.

“Maybe.” You answered with a shrug before heading towards the front of the group to have your turn at leading the blindfolded Steve.  

The swell of music as the doors opened hit Steve’s ears as he asked if he could remove the blindfold yet. His fingers brushed against the fabric covering his eyes as he was shoved into a plush seat somewhere in the middle of the room before finally getting the OK to see again. The color faded from his cheeks before growing a bright vibrant red as he looked around the room. Tasteful nudes hung on the wall, showing everything yet not enough, colored lights danced along the mirrored pillars and balls scattered throughout the room, and no matter where he looked there was a woman wandering around in as close to nothing as possible. His jaw went slack as his eyes searched for a safe place to look, somewhere without nudity… “This….” He turned to you with a folded brow, far from happy. “You used to work at a strip joint?!”

“Yeah and you used to sing and dance to sell war bonds.” You retaliated as you waved to the waitresses with a smile, each of them happier than the last to see you.

“Umm I’d like to point out that this is not a strip joint.” Tony added in with a grin.

“Yeah punk, it’s clearly a Gentleman’s Club.” Bucky joined in with a sly smile, finding an odd enjoyment in teasing him just like he did before the war.

“I don’t care what you call it. Those girls are naked.” Steve argued pointing to the stage.

“Those girls have names! That one’s Heavenly” you pointed to a blond, “and that one’s Cherry,” you pointed to the redhead dancing on the other side of the stage.

“And they are very clearly wearing very lovely dresses.” Clint added. Okay so they were dresses that showed all the bits that they should be covering, and were for the most part sheer enough to see through.

“Yeah and how’s Laura going to feel about you hanging around girls in these very lovely dresses?” Steve retorted as his jaw tensed, looking around to the rest of his team, each of them acting very unheroic right now. “And you two!” He pointed to you and Tony. “I can’t believe you would bring a pole dancer onto the team.”

“Really? That’s what you're surprised about?” Tony asked with a chuckle. “You have met me before, right?” Steve took a breath, trying to tell himself there’s no way this was how it looked, even Tony wasn’t THAT irresponsible.

“Steve this is one of the cleanest and safest strip clubs in the city with the strictest rules on how a girl acts and what she is or is not allowed to do in order to keep it that way.” You interjected in an attempt to get him onboard. “Times have changed. A girl taking her top off in the right setting isn’t entirely taboo anymore. Loosen up!” If his jaw clenched any tighter you were sure he was going to break his teeth.

“I can’t believe this joint is even still open! What ever happened to decency laws?” Steve asked as he folded his arms, trying his best to look down to the table.

“Hey yeah, good point.” Bucky looked around the room. “No one’s afraid of a raid? What happens if the police show up?”

You pointed to a man in the corner with a thin blond girl gyrating on his lap. “You tell me. That’s the chief of police right there. This is all 100% legal fun.”

“I can’t believe girls these days. A broad with no self respect can just go up there, take her clothes off and get paid for it?!” His eyes snuck up, a well of curiosity bubbling up inside about what the pole dancing would really look like. His eyes were greeted with a redhead who had more tattoos than clothing, but not much of either, arms folded as she looked down to him.

“You know the door is right there,” she huffed.

“Sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Tammy!” You cried out with a drunken smile as you threw your arms up to hug the half naked girl...Bucky finding the image of it gave him quite a stir in the pants. “Come sit with us! Put some life back in these fossils!”

“Yeah! Explain to him how very not demeaned by this you are.” Tony added having far too much fun with this.

“He’s right...I find it empowering. And It’s good money to keep food on the table for me and my son.” She answered as she pulled a chair up next to Steve.

Later that night you and Tony were situated on a plush leather couch when he whispered, “So I hear RoboCop is petitioning for your Farewell Tour.”

You guffawed at Tony’s choice of words and rolled your eyes as your voice dripped with sarcasm, knowing exactly the kind of performance everyone was expecting out of you now. “Yes Tony, I can see it now... One night only! The illustrious Mirage takes the stage with her signature move The Oona Spin!”

“The Illustrious Mirage, eh?” Bucky asked taking note of just how close you were sitting with Tony, definitely deciding in the back of his mind that you two must be having some fun on the side.  “I would’ve thought they would’ve gone with something like…” He trailed off, taking a moment to glance at your form and consider what he thought it would really have been.

“Candy?” Clint chimed in.

“Candy actually works over at the club on Murray Street now. Not that I go there often enough to know that or anything...” Tony interjected with a sheepish grin.

“Actually you look more like a Chastity.” Bucky quipped with a devilish smirk.

“Ahh now Chastity...Chastity is VIP’s best!” Tony replied.

“Actually I went by Spectrum even back then.” You answered as you laughed at Tony showing off how much he knew about the illicit world of New York’s adult entertainment. And then what he said really hit you. “Hey! Tony! I thought you said I was VIP’s best! I actually recall you saying I was the best this side of the International Date Line!” You stood half scowling, at the suggestion that Chastity was better at what she did than you were. “How many of your parties did I perform at?!”

Tony muttered to himself counting on his fingers. “Five….Six if you include the time you came halfway through.” He turned to the group to explain, “I had originally booked someone else but they quit right in the middle of the night.”

And that was the straw that broke it, no way this wasn’t what it seemed. “Tony, not only did you bring in a DJ as a combatant but she used to be a stripper and please tell me this (Y/N) is a whore thing is a joke?! Please! Because it’s really starting to sound plausible!” Steve demanded, his face red with anger.

“Again...you have met me before, right?” Tony quipped with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes watching him change colors all by himself as he jumped to conclusions. “Okay Okay!” You swayed a bit as you stood. “You really want to see me perform? Fine, I’ll perform!” You announced as you set down your amaretto sour. “If it’ll make you feel better” You bent down wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders drunkenly nuzzling your cheek into his back just to have him angrily swat you away.

“There are some things I really don’t want to see Spectrum.” He insisted.

“Then close your eyes.” You said with a smirk before turning toward the stage. “Move over Chastity! For one night Spectrum’s coming back to the VIP.”

Steve let his head sink down, his hands on either side of his face to shield him from what was about to happen. Bucky, however, filled with curiosity, sat forward in his chair as he watched you climb onto the stage. But neither of the girls dancing moved for you. He quirked a brow as he watched you cross the stage, passing both poles. “Ladies and gentlemen of the VIP Club you are in for quite a treat tonight. Returning to us, for one night only is DJ Spectrum.” The soft smooth seductive voice of the female DJ on the far side of the stage announced before respectfully stepping to the side for you. “While she’s up on the mic how about we give the girls on the stage a break and get those VIP rooms filled up?”

The colored lights reflected off of the studs in your brow and nose as you pulled your rainbowed hair back into a loose ponytail. “Thank you Chastity.” You smiled as you took over the mic, the women making Steve so uncomfortable thinning out as they got customers to pay money to watch them get naked in private for a while behind the curtains along the walls. “It’s been awhile since I’ve worked on this set up, bear with me guys.” You forewarned as you stuck a pair of oversized headphones on before you worked your magic with the music. For the first time everyone got to hear the music you were so proud of. Jaws dropped as you fused all the songs you had left on the computer in the dj booth into one seamless piece of art, using your powers to accent the music, adjusting the way the colored lights fell around the room.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbppJusWws0

Bucky’s lips spread into a cheshire smile as he watched you, letting your music flow. “Leave it to Spectrum to take a drunk night and turn it into self promotion. You guys did realize that they have a DJ playing the music here, right?.”Tony asked with a chuckle and an awfully smug grin as he looked up to Steve. “You have a dirty mind Captain.”

Tag List:

@sillydecoy​

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[heavens-light-and-hells-ice]

Cendrillon

Once upon a time, on a beautiful estate not far from the city, there lived a man and his daughter. They lived without want and with love for each other, and they were very nearly happy. But the man, a widower, wished to be married again, and he took for his second wife a widow of noble blood but little money, bringing her and her two small girls to live with every comfort on his estate. He promised his two stepdaughters generous dowries and honored all three girls equally as his dear children -- and he prayed his new wife would love them the same way. 

They all lived happily for a time. But fate proved unkind -- a stroke of illness took the man suddenly to the grave. He died intestate, and his wife was given the care of the estate until the girls came of age. At first, the family wept together and comforted each other -- but by the time to shed the mourning-clothes came, things began to change. 

The widow spoiled and coddled her two youngest daughters, but as time passed she treated her stepdaughter with more and more contempt. The little girl was made to scrub and clean while her sisters were forbidden from work, lest their beautiful hands and faces be dirtied. She mucked the stables and carried heavy pails in the sun while her sisters were confined indoors to protect their complexions. By and by her stepmother even made her bedroom into a parlor for her sisters and made her sleep in the kitchens. When she curled up by the fireplace to stay warm, her hair and face became so dirty with soot that her sisters, too young to understand that their jesting hurt, laughed and began to call her Cendrillon. 

And so she grew up drab and weary, cut down by her stepmother's cruel words, while her sisters grew up pretty ladies -- but Cendrillon was never quarrelsome, as she had a kind heart, and her father had told her to love Halone and her stepmother, and she had ever been taught that to do so meant to keep silent and obey. And though her days were hard, she still had cause to smile now and then, as her gentle nature gave her friends among the servants and in the farm's old chocobo, with whom she spent every free bell that she was not instead in her father's library.

Around the time of Cendrillon's sixteenth nameday, an old friend of her father, curious as to the welfare of his late friend's family but confined to his home in the city by his poor health, bid his eldest son pay a visit to their estate. The young man, in training at the Tribunal, did so as soon as he was able to step away from his studies, arriving unexpectedly at the country house's door. He was greeted by the mistress and two pretty young ladies in colorful silks -- and one shy girl whose appearance shocked him.

When he asked, her stepmother shook her head and said, "'Tis a pity that Cendrillon has grown up so coarse and ugly while my daughters have been blessed with beauty, but alas! it must be the will of Halone." 

The young man mumbled and nodded but was immediately suspicious, for while the younger girls' faces were indeed fairer than Cendrillon's, so were their clothes and shoes. After dinner, he slyly excused himself and snuck into the kitchen, where he found Cendrillon laboring to scrub the pots and pans. 

"Why are you toiling here alone while your sisters don't raise a finger to help?" he asked. 

"Their constitutions are delicate," she answered, "and Mother does not want them to break their long nails." 

"She dresses your sisters finely and gives you only rags," he observed. 

"Fine clothes would get dirty while I worked," she said. 

"And you work without even a kitchen maid to help you!" he exclaimed. "Your family is not poor; your stepmother buys finery for your sisters yet makes you alone toil in dust and dirt. 'Tis cruel and unfair, and I am sure your father would be furious to see it." 

"Father told me to love Mother and support her however I can," she answered, sharp. "By working hard, I make her and my sisters happy." 

The young man understood that he had overstepped, and he apologized. But still he added, "Your happiness matters and is just as important as theirs. You are a good and dutiful daughter, but a parent has duties as well, and while Halone teaches us to be obedient, She also teaches us to despise injustice. You should not have to suffer as you do." 

Hearing it from the lips of another, even kind and patient Cendrillon had to agree. But what could she do? She was but sixteen, and the estate and all her father's wealth were in her stepmother's hands. And she was a woman, and in those days it was not easy for a woman to simply leave home and find work. 

"Have you no uncle or aunt, no godparent to help you?” he asked. 

“They have all gone to Heaven,” said Cendrillon. “But for my mother and sisters, I am all alone.” 

"You are not alone. I will see that you receive Halone’s justice,” he said, standing tall -- and though that was but a few ilms taller than Cendrillon, she was moved by this young man's respect and earnest kindness, and she thanked him sincerely. He returned to the city the next day, and as soon as he left, her stepmother redoubled her cruelties towards Cendrillon -- but now she endured it with her chin held a little higher. 

After a few moons, the young man returned, having buried his nose in every book of law he thought might be relevant to Cendrillon's case; that evening, he pulled her into a private corner and explained in whispers what he thought. First, though her stepmother's marriage settlement entitled her to a jointure, she was guardian of the estate only till her husband's heirs came of age and had a solemn duty to preserve it for those heirs' future use; second, the profits of the estate ought to be invested solely towards the maintenance and education of the heirs; and thirdly -- and most astonishingly to Cendrillon -- it was even possible that she, as eldest and only blood daughter of the late master, might be, under the strictest interpretation of the law at the time, her father's sole legal heir, for no papers of her sisters' adoption could be found in the archives. 

"I cannot think that right," said she on hearing this; "Father cherished us equally, and surely he would wish for us to each inherit an equal share." 

"Mayhap so, and he was a good man for it," argued her young advocate, "but your stepmother has not honored his wishes. They say in the city that she spends mountains of coin on silks and slippers to wear to fashionable balls; she spoils herself and her daughters while you are trapped here in the kitchen in naught but rags. I beg you, miss -- allow me to argue your case afore the Tribunal; the adjudicator might be persuaded to assign your family a better guardian, or mayhap declare you fit to take control of the estate immediately." 

Cendrillon was uncertain. "Is it godly to scheme against one's own mother in such a way?" 

The young man was not uncertain at all. "Is it godly to stand by and allow injustice? Would the Fury look upon your state and think it right? A child has a duty to his parents, yes, but a parent's duty to his child is far graver, and a parent's failure of that duty is a far greater crime. As long as your stepmother abuses her position, you are justified protecting yourself by whatever means you may." 

Kind-hearted Cendrillon was still troubled. Even if her sisters sometimes aped their mother's cruelty towards her, they were still young, and she easily forgave them; such little slights were not enough to wish them out of their inheritance. But in the end, she agreed, and the young man returned to the city to make arrangements on her behalf. 

Over the next few moons he visited several times, informing her of his progress. The procedures were labyrinthine, and in those days it was particularly hard to persuade the adjudicators to attend to the affairs of the lowborn and minor houses. But by and by he secured a date for Cendrillon's case to be heard, and early that sun he arrived at the house to include her in his final review. She was to remain at home while he argued her case, as back then it was considered unseemly for women of her father's class to appear before the Tribunal. 

He arrived at the front door and was met by the lady of the house. After paying the proper respects, he asked, "Is your eldest daughter within?" 

"She is tending the vines in the garden," said the stepmother, though it was a lie. From the very beginning, she had hid herself behind the door and listened to everything said between Cendrillon and the young man, and so she knew what they planned for this day. That morning she had tipped a basket of lentils into the ashes of the fireplace and ordered Cendrillon to pick each of them out, a task that would keep her busy for bells. "But tell me -- your father is a merchant of wines, is he not? Did he teach you any of his trade?" 

"Only a little before I went to the Scholasticate, but I know a few things," he answered. 

"Pray, till Cendrillon's returned, come down to the cellar, that I might show you a few bottles and ask you their worth," the stepmother insisted, and though the young man did not wish to long delay, he was persuaded that a short trip would do no harm. 

In the cellar there proved more than a few impressive bottles; the late master of the house had much enjoyed collecting them, having learned to appreciate good vintages from his friend, the young man's father. Likewise had the young man, though a serious student, learned to love good wine, and as he browsed the estate's collection he became so occupied that he did not notice that the lady had quietly walked out until she slammed the door shut and locked him within. "You are a foul meddler," she exclaimed, "but I shan't allow your mischief to succeed and ruin my family." 

"I only wish to help Cendrillon, whom you have treated evilly," shouted the young man from behind the door. "And you cannot expect the Tribunal to excuse my false imprisonment!" 

"Even the Tribunal will easily forget a mere clerk and lowborn," sneered the lady. "As for Cendrillon, she is only mine husband's daughter, while I have two blood daughters of mine own. Mayhap you think me a wicked stepmother, but -- how are my girls to marry well and live happy lives with naught left them by either father or stepfather? No nobleman will look twice at a girl without a dowry, and when I die, my jointure shall return to the estate and my daughters will starve. I must leave you now, upstart boy, for there's a ball tonight in the city -- my daughters must attend in their southron silks and attract highborn notice. If you've broken no bottles by next morn I shall consider releasing you." 

The lady left, taking the key with her and hitching every good chocobo to her carriage, including that of the hapless young man. By the time Cendrillon finished picking all the lentils from the ash, they had long departed. 

The wine-cellar was so deep within the walls of the house that Cendrillon could not hear the young man's cries for help. The butler, however, discovered him -- and, though he knew that his mistress would be like to punish him later, he was very fond of Cendrillon, who was gentle and kind and always treated the glassware with care; he chose therefore to lead Cendrillon to the wine-cellar door, though he could not unlock it without the key. 

Having heard from the young man all that had happened and all that was said, Cendrillon was stricken. "I now understand," she said, "why Mother has coddled my two sisters alone, dressed them prettily and protected their complexions: if she does not soon catch them husbands, they shall be poor and bereft. I thought myself unfortunate -- how unfortunate are they! If they were orphaned again, mayhap they'd end up without even ashes to sleep in."

The young man was astonished. "You are truly good, Cendrillon, to think of them in this situation -- but their misfortune still does not excuse your stepmother's abuses. We cannot miss this evening's hearing; it could be more than a twelvemoon till I could arrange another, and by then mayhap your stepmother will concoct some lie that will defeat us!" 

They tried and tried to open the door, but none of their tricks succeeded. They were at the point of despair when the young man cried, "There is no alternative! Cendrillon must go in my stead to argue her own case." She was aghast, but he continued: "There will be no disputation; you need only lay the evidence before the adjudicator, and I will tell you everything you need to say." 

"But I am a woman," cried Cendrillon. "No woman has ever argued alone before the Tribunal!" 

In answer, the young man removed his robes and passed them through the narrow crack under the wine-cellar door. This gave him, Cendrillon, and the butler all great embarrassment, but at last Cendrillon was persuaded to don them and tie up her hair in a masculine style. Through the door they reviewed all the details of her case, and with trembling she left to ride up to the city, though the only bird left was the farm's work chocobo, now truly ancient. 

As she saddled him, Cendrillon thought with dread, "This poor bird cannot take me to the city in time for mine appointment and back before my stepmother's return." But she thought of the young man's argument that Halone commanded injustice be fought, and so she fervently prayed -- and mayhap She heard, or mayhap that old chocobo she had so many years tended felt his heart swell with tenderness and pride, for he flapped his yellow wings and rose, somehow, into the air, and carried the astonished Cendrillon up into the sky, up above the winding carriage roads, through Daniffen's Collar and the walkways of the Pillars to the great metal doors of the Sacred Tribunal, just in time. 

Her inheritance case did not attract a great crowd of onlookers, but still her knees shook with fear as she stepped before the adjudicator. But after the young man, the butler, and the dear old chocobo had all worked so hard to bring her here, she could not allow herself to fail -- so she breathed in deep and spoke as she had been coached, keeping her voice as calm as she could. The arguments and paperwork were all in order, and there was all that was necessary to incline the adjudicator to listen -- and though he asked her several questions for which she'd not rehearsed, her mind was quick and learned enough for her to stammer out intelligent answers. In the end the adjudicator was satisfied, though he informed her that it would be a few suns before he issued his verdict -- and also a clerk of the Tribunal had really ought to wash his face and hair regularly, if he hoped for advancement. 

As the bells of the great cathedral tolled midnight, Cendrillon soared over the city, riding her bird home as fast as she could. She arrived just in time to run down to the wine-cellar door, pass the young man's robe back to him, and flee up to the kitchen before her stepmother and sisters returned from the ball; the lady, finding all in order and told naught by the servants, decided to free the young man at dawn. She woke the exhausted Cendrillon to gloat, "I learned of your little scheme against me, but no matter; your friend missed his appointment. Do you see now what happens when you defy your betters?" 

Cendrillon replied that she would not see for certain for a few suns yet. 

Within a sennight, there was an unexpected visitor at the door. It was the adjudicator, who had traveled down from the city unannounced to see the situation for himself. 

"Do you have living here a daughter known as Cendrillon," he asked, "and, pray, mind -- lying to one invested with the power of the Tribunal is an extremely serious offense." The lady of the house understood that and, though she did not wish to do so, revealed to him the girl in the kitchens dressed in rags and covered in soot. 

The sight of her face greatly astonished him, and Cendrillon blushed and turned her eyes down. She was very fearful, for she too was guilty of a sort of deception, and so she waited for her punishment. But instead, the adjudicator laughed, and he remarked, "I am glad, after all, that you did not wash." 

He presented her with a sheaf of documents explaining his commands. By strict interpretation of the law, he found Cendrillon to be her father's sole heir and to have a duty to support her father's widow till the latter's death, at which time the jointure would revert to the estate. "And," he concluded with a small smile, "as the young woman is exceptionally eloquent and learned, there is no reason to say that she is too immature to take control of her own affairs and rule as mistress of her estate directly." 

For this very ruling, Cendrillon and her friend had worked and hoped long and hard, and she could not help but feel elated and relieved. Yet as she turned to her stepmother, who had abused and tormented her for many long years, and upon whom she had now extracted just vengeance, she did not so much feel fury satisfied; now that her fear was gone and power lay in her hands, what she chiefly felt was pity. In her thoughts were not only the unkindnesses she had endured for many years but the unkindnesses her stepmother must also have endured, after her first husband died and his house provided naught for his widow and girl-children; she thought not only of how, as a woman, she had been unable to escape and make her own fortune but of how the same was true of her stepmother and sisters, and she thought of how her stepmother chose the path she took because she thought it the only one left open by a society even more cruel and unfair. 

She turned to the adjudicator and her mother and said: "It was my father's wish to provide for my mother and my sisters, and my wish is the same. You may live in the big house, Mother, as long as you wish, and the same for my sisters, who will have dowries sufficient to marry well, if they so like. When Father lived we were a family joined in happiness; 'twas not lack of blood relation but his death that made us turn frightened and distrustful. We have been needlessly unhappy, and if the power to choose again is in mine hands, I choose to create peace and trust again." 

And she held her mother's hands in her own, and then she left for the city in the adjudicator's carraige, to sign and register all the documents necessary to secure her independence, her sisters' fortunes, and her family's happiness. Whether from there she returned to the estate to manage the farm and sit with her sisters as an equal or if she stayed in the city to become a great orator at the Tribunal, mayhap to meet that young man again -- no one can quite say which story is true. But you can be assured that she succeeded, that the adjudicator began to change what the city and Tribunal thought of women who speak firmly and leave the home, that the old chocobo grew fat in the green pastures and never needed to fly again, and, indeed, that they all lived happily ever after.