#before of course. it was the manipulation of the ambassador. but now its like a phantom plague.

[jekyll-doodles]

If human 035 runs into 049, with the doctor think he has the pestilence?

Eeyup.

I think, for this story following his end, the pestilence as he sees it now, is akin to the lords' distractions. Not completely the same, but it only exists to keep the doctor distracted from what's happened to him and what he's really doing.

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Hi I recently discovered your account and I’m obsessed your writing is amazing and I don’t know if you’re still doing Tudor!reader Fics but if you are I have a request. So reader is Anne Boleyn’s eldest daughter and had to watch her mothers execution (for the storyline reader was 12 or so years old) and never forgave her farther so when she’s like 15 (maybe the day after Catherine Howard’s execution) she overthrows him as revenge. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say total understand if you don’t want to right it. Have a good day/night❤️

A/N: I love how kooky the timeline would have to be warped for this to be possible but I absolutely love the idea of this! So sorry for taking so long to write this, real life does enjoy getting in my way :(

Revenge

Someone had to stop King Henry VII, your father, from his increasingly brutal reign. Lady Mary, your half-sister, seemed unable to do anything without the counsel of her precious Ambassador Chapuys. Elizabeth was of course just a child, too young to rule. Edward was a mere baby. It seemed to you that the responsibility of saving the realm fell solely on your shoulders. It was a burden you were glad to take.

You were grateful that you’d had enough time being raised by your mother Anne Boleyn, that you had learnt how to be as cunning and manipulative as she had once been. Of course, having Mary as an older sister helped solidify those ideals, as Mary was able to inspire a great deal of loyalty in others when she wanted to.

It had been a long, arduous task to slowly turn the King’s courtiers against him. An entire year had passed before the perfect opportunity had finally arisen. Only two days had passed since poor Queen Catherine Howard had been executed on your father’s orders. Though you hadn’t been the greatest fan of the silly child, she was just like you… an innocent girl. Too many young women’s lives had been destroyed on the whims of an undeserving King, and the unrest among the populace seemed at its highest. It was the perfect time to strike.

The foundations you had laid throughout the year, telling little white lies here and there, promising things that you’d never do in order to gain the loyalty of the courtiers, would serve you well. The King had noticed some changes but could never trace them back to you. Often you would have agents loyal to you do the work that needed to be done while you were at home with Elizabeth in the country, creating a wonderful alibi.

Knowing that the King seemed to be favouring Catherine, the Lady Latimer, as his potential sixth wife, you realised that she would be the perfect distraction for your coup. You knew she wanted to be with Thomas Seymour so she would be likely to help you, especially as you had always had a good relationship with her growing up. Elizabeth, of course, was easy to manipulate into playing the part that you needed her to.

You dressed in your most regal black dress, deliberately picking out jewels and a French hood that made you look like a true ruler. You took a deep breath in and out to try to calm your nerves and your trembling hands before you went into the court. You gave a subtle nod to Catherine Parr who, along with Elizabeth, went up to the King to talk to him and distract him.

As soon as the King had begun discussing something with them both, you gave the signal to your loyal people who captured his guards and those you knew were still loyal to him, discreetly dragging them away.

You gave a sly, satisfied smile as you secretly prepared your weapon behind your back. You knew that your father’s greatest fear was getting sick, so you poured a poison on your blade before walking up to him, curtsying, and then holding the blade tightly against his throat. “Y/N! What is this?!” King Henry asks incredulously, clearly not believing one of his daughters could pull this off, his face grew white as he saw all the people loyal to you with their weapons drawn.

“I am now your Queen. You will take orders from me, and no one else.” You call out to the people in the court, who begin to cheer. You smile smugly to yourself as you see your father’s world crashing down around him.

“Why, Y/N? Just… why?” You give an incredulous laugh, sneering at him. “Why, father? For my mother.” You lean forwards, your breath touching his face as you snarl your words.

You turn to your guards, and give a sweet smile. “Throw him in the tower.” You command, pushing your father towards them. You sit on the throne, looking around at your successful coup. Allowing yourself a few moments to gloat in your glory, you immediately turn to your advisors. The Queen had work to do.

[imnopoetbut]

Me: Where is your reflection?

Them, looking up from the pool: What?

Me: I ask you; Where is your reflection? I cannot see it in the pool you gaze into.

Them: You are too vain. I do not gaze into the pool to admire myself like a cock.

Me: Then why do you stare at the pool?

Them: It is holy. Far holier than your selfish mind.

Me, angling my head: There is no water in your pool. It is not a pool, only a hollow in the sand.

Them: Silence! Do not speak of my pool in that manner.

Me: Was it an oasis once? Is that why you look into it?

Them, waving a hand: Leave me. I do not wish to speak with you any longer.

Me: Are you hoping it will reveal something if you gaze into it long enough? Like an oracle does to a crystal ball?

Them: Such blasphemy! I do not believe in witches and magic of the sort. They are nothing more than foolish old crones being led by Satan's hand.

Me: You are frightened.

Them: I am not.

Me: Your oasis is dry. There is an irony here. You gaze into your empty pool as Narcissus did to his reflection, yet you do not seek to admire yourself. Are you looking for some of that relief you received when there was still water in your oasis?

Them: Are you some ambassador to Satan? Do not compare me to Narcissus. I am not selfish as he was. I sit here because my pool is holy. Evil creatures like you are not welcome.

Me: I am simply curious.

Them: Ah! Pride, and now manipulation. Indeed, you are sinful!

Me: Inquiring on why you gaze into a hollow in the sand is a sin?

Them: You are twisting this into your favour. Leave me, Demon.

Me: I, too, was a child of the Lord.

Them: Then you are no better than Lucifer.

Me: Leave your pool. You will die here.

Them: It is the only thing saving me from Death.

Me: Maybe before. But now it is keeping you captive while you slowly starve at its edge.

Them: My pool is not empty. You simply cannot see it because of your evil nature.

Me: And you can?

Them: Of course.

Me: Walk with me. See how your pool is empty once you move? What you were seeing was merely an illusion.

Them: A sleight of Satan's hand! What have you done to my pool?!

Me: There is water elsewhere, my friend. You are shaking.

Them: Leave me! I am not your friend! You took the only thing I had!

Me: You have yourself. You were losing that to the mirage.

Them: You vile creature! Damn you to hell!

Me: You are angry that I showed you that you are letting yourself starve?

Them: Manipulation! You are a pestulance!

Me, crying: Please, leave your empty pool. Do you like being shackled here on a lie?

Them: I would not have it any other way.

[hurtthemgently]

Aftermath of stress position

+some fantasy politics?

Masterlist

Cw: stress position, manipulative whumper, intimate whumper, dislocation of arms, nonhuman whumpee, noncon touching.

Tristan sat and listened to the ambassador drone on about trade routes. The kingdom of Senouthis wanted access to the southern pass, but he knew that the northern pass would be more beneficial to their infrastructure. It had easier access to the sea and to the great forests in his own kingdom.

But they wanted the southern pass. He listened to his father explain the situation for a third time. The ambassador still wanted the southern pass.

He briefly traced his finger along the ring on his hand, tempted to twist it ever so slightly. But it was the tedious monotony that he wanted to torment the assassin with. The pain would come after he broke.

Until then, he’d listen to idiot ambassadors who think they know everything.

——

This was worse than any torture Clove had been through. His arms burned with the strain of being bent behind him. He constantly had to shift his weight to keep balance, and each time he did, the sharp edges of the cylinders pressed into his feet. If it weren’t for the threat of the holy water, he would have given up by now. The constant strain was worse than dislocated shoulders.

But the holy water was just an inch below his feet. He was terrified of what it would do to him, and desperate to never find out.

It had been an hour since the tears stopped coming. Clove could feel his arms start to give, and tensed to keep from falling. Bad idea. He felt a spike of pain up through his legs, as the muscles he had been straining for hours suddenly cramped.

He heard an awful popping noise, just before a wave of nausea overcame him. The blinding pain coursed through every muscle, like lightning. A burning tearing pain in his shoulders. A cold sharpness in his chest, coursing through his veins. Pins and needles in his legs, the cramping turned to a dull ache.

He was vaguely aware of sound, like distant cries. The pain made everything blur, a senseless ache that screamed at him to get away from its source. Everything burned. Everything ached. There was nothing left of the assassin, only pain.

The pain consumed every thought, every other feeling. It made him nothing. A haze started to cover over the burning sharp ache. A relief. Then blankness.

——

The prince woke to a sharp poke in his shoulder. He looked up to see the ambassadors daughter, looking at him and suppressing laughter. She pointed up to where her father was pointing at a map of the southern pass.

He watched as the stick he was using to point started to wriggle and writhe. The ambassador let out a yelp as he dropped a live snake to the floor.

Tristan looked over to the girl next to him and saw she was covering her smile with her hand. The prince stood and picked up the snake, ignoring the entire room staring at him, and brought it over to the girl.

“I’ve vanquished the mighty beast in your honor, m’lady” he held the tiny writhing snake out towards her as she burst out laughing. He laughed too, almost dropping the small creature.

She took the snake from his hands and placed it on her shoulder, where it wrapped around her neck and turned to silver, covered in tiny black gems. “I thank you for your great bravery, m’lord”

The king finally rose “this meeting is dismissed for now, we’ll reconvene on the hour” he glared at his son, barely disguising a smile

——

Tristan descended the steps into the dungeon, eager to see his captive broken. He opened toe cell door to see that he had fallen. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t used actual holy water.

“You can now touch the floor” he said aloud, wondering if the command would work even when the assassin couldn’t hear him.

He looked at how bad his shoulders were twisted and realized that he didn’t know to set joints. Maybe he needed a medic. He undid the clasps around the assassins wrists and carried him to a long table outside the cell, remembering to remove the gag.

He heard a small groan from the assassin as he walked out of the dungeon to get help.

Feeling began to return. Clove wished that weren’t the case. The icy cutting in his chest was gone, but his arms ached. He was aware of being carried and laid out on a hard surface.

After a while, he felt a pair of hands grab his arm and- “Ah-AgH—” he heard a sickening pop as the joint was jerked into place. The snap tore through him, he couldn’t see despite opening his eyes.

He felt the same pair of hands grab his other arm and whimpered, bracing for the pain. His cry rang out in the stone halls.

A different hand, one far more gentle, carded through his hair. It felt so soo good. He tried to lean into the touch, but a spike of pain went through his shoulder as he shifted slightly.

Tristan watched his captive flinch and gasp, trying to lean towards his hand, and briefly thought of pulling his hand away to make him struggle more. But the assassin needed comfort.

Tristan wanted for his captive to rely on him completely for comfort.

[hothian-snow]

After replaying the Imperial Voss planetary storyline, I found myself adoring the character of Darth Serevin. Below are is a quote from the codex:

Cultured, diplomatic and charming, Darth Serevin is as concerned with appearance and manners as he is with seeking power. He once destroyed a former apprentice, not for his clumsy scheming and attempts at betrayal, but for insulting one of Serevin’s dinner guests. For these reasons, when the Empire was still smoothing over its short-lived attempt at invading Voss and a diplomatic envoy of immense skill was called for, Darth Serevin’s poise and experience made him the ideal choice.

A Sith who exudes cunning and charm. A cultured antagonist (depending on whose faction you’re on) who fights with words and manipulation, rather than blatant violence. I love seeing the various sides of the Sith, and a Sith who enjoys playing the role of ambassador and diplomat is one that I find incredibly compelling.

If one has played through the Ilum storyline, he turns out to be a ‘traitor’, teaming up with Emperor Malgus to create a new empire - a better empire. The only issue is that this coup, this attempt at a revolution, occurs at the worst time possible. Malgus may be impulsive, filled with festering rage from the Treaty of Coruscant, and his disposition for suffering a tunnel vision when it comes to his goals may be why he chose to wage a takeover right when the Empire is busy fighting the Republic. Still, I could not believe that Darth Serevin whose entire persona is built upon patient scheming would go along with the plan, unless he was forced to.

Days of patient negotiations, endless gifts and delicate political maneuvering in both Voss-Ka and Kaas City--then one sentence from you and our entire position on Voss comes crashing down. 

- Email if player chooses the light side option in the final choice of the planetary storyline

The man who was willing to spend precious time kissing up to aliens suddenly deciding to jeopardize the Empire at a time when unity is needed more than anything? Personally, it feels very out of character.

When you play the Ilum storyline, you have to fight Darth Serevin. I find Talsa-Ko’s words very intriguing, giving hints about the relationship that Darth Serevin and the Voss people have towards one another. 

If an Imperial player kills Serevin, Talsa-Ko says: “Darth Serevin was a Voss friend. Now he is gone. I wish it had been you.”

If a Republic player kills Serevin, Talsa-Ko says: “Today, the Voss mourn the passing of a great man”

If the character argues back that: “Darth Serevin lied to your people and was responsible for thousands of deaths here on Ilum.”

Talsa-Ko replies: “You cannot understand.”

Yes, the Voss has been manipulated before - take the Shining Man in the Imperial Agent storyline as an example. Of course, Darth Serevin was manipulating the Voss too as that was literally his job.

“We faun over the arrogant Voss publicly and undercut the Republic’s negotiations privately.”

And yet, I believe that somewhere along the line, he truly came to appreciate the Voss, if not to respect them in some ways.

Over his long tenure on Voss, Darth Serevin has developed a liking for Voss art and architecture; he recently sent orders for his own lodgings on Dromund Kaas to be redecorated accordingly. He has also seen the value of the Voss people to the Empire; gaining an army of Voss commandos and Mystics would make the Empire unstoppable, and Darth Serevin is intent on seeing this happen.

Is this just a Thrawn-esque act where to know your enemy, you must understand their art and culture? I don’t think so, not really

In the Battle of Ilum flashpoint, although he did say that he wished to fulfill Talsa-Ko’s vision for the “glory of the New Empire”, his last words revealed much. When you kill Darth Serevin, his final words are “Talsa-Ko… I have failed you.”

His last thoughts were of the Voss.

[holyevents]

IN SANCTUS TERRA…

After a month of merriment and mourning, Cador’s soul finds eternal rest — the crescents rise and fall, and as the New Moon wanes, stealing lazily behind the hills, the Red Rain Moon ascends, hanging crimson in the sky. Yet the wheel still turns. Its orbit conceals violence under its tongue. The moon’s bloodied mantle seems particularly fitting this year, given the circumstances; a spell of unease trickles into the light, leaving an indelible stain. The people of the Holy Land might have looked to the new moon with great liberation and promise, yet the feeling of trepidation begins to sink in. The Red Rain Moon is a moon of dark red, and the violence of it does not escape the masses’ notice: within their city walks a reputed murderer; within their city stalks a beast, seeking to disempower the meticulously cultivated harmony that the Tridium — Sun, Moon and Stars all — have always strived to brace.

The citizens seem intent on demonstrating their discontent, on letting their grief be known - all the mourning and rituals in the world, it seems, pale in comparison to their determination to hold onto their restlessness. As the days drag on, their impatience grows. The mortals feel their voices quelled, feel their hands shackled - and so, they drink on, and fight on, and find satisfaction in the anger that makes their fists shake. The whispered words of the few who saw the body of Cador before he was laid to rest are murmured into one ear then the next. It seems it was not Fate who had called the great Star home, no, he was sent there with poison upon his lips and in his lungs.

The people of the Holy Land look towards the execution of the red-handed creature as eagerly as they look towards those who might serve as their beacon of light in the midst of the encroaching storm.

If God were alive, would He not find it odd that the creatures He created craved violence and peace in equal measure? 

The powers that lord over the precious kingdom of the Holy Land have already begun moving within the shadows to place all their pieces on the board, to see who might crown themself as the new Star. There are those who find favor with ARIANNE ALTIER, LUCA RICHE, JASPER RICHE, and EVANGELINE TRAME. Theirs are the first names upon the lips of the people - those who have curried the adoration and interest of the people with their fame and wealth. It is whispered that the MEMBERS of the ROUND TABLE are already intent on casting their lots and having the vacancy filled. In turn, many have turned to the High Priestess, ISOLDE WICKEN, in the hopes of knowing to whom the honor of being the Star of the Tridium will fall.

“After all,” the keepers of the Temple mumble to themselves, “What does it matter who wears the crown, so long as it is a mortal?” 

“Some mortals,” sighs a Second Eye, arms laden with offerings from the people, “are more deserving of our loyalties than others. Not all of us should be tainted with divinity.”

Little do the citizens of the Holy Land know that it is because of divine creatures that they will have their hunger for justice satiated.

The two remaining parts of the Tridium gather the Horsemen to their chamber, the demon, AZAZEL, and the angel, GABRIEL, crowned with the moon and the sun, respectively. The Horsemen stand before them, VIKTORIA’s gaze flickering between the two as she takes a seat at the table, DMITRI and RYUK following suit while NERISSA leans against a pillar, an intrigued smile already gracing their lips. There is no one else present; not a single other soul that can hear what conversation occurs between the two parties. For there are secrets that shall be passed from the Tridium and into the hands of the Horsemen that will sever the tenuous harmony of the Holy Land.

If one were silent enough, perhaps they would hear Fate’s shears cutting the cord in two. 

Only the shadows will hear of what is proposed by the Moon and the Sun to the four creatures of the apocalypse. Poisoned, infernal, senseless - the words are whispered within the privacy of the gilded walls of the room, leaving the cursed soul who struck down the great Star of the Tridium with no option other than to fear for their life - or forfeit it completely - for the Horsemen are now determined to have it. 

IN THE REALM OF INFERNUM…

From the moment they step foot into the beguilingly hellish land of Infernum, they know something is amiss. The air is tainted with unease; bitterness swiftly stirring in the wake of it - what was once the taste of contentment now a rancid, ruinous coating upon their tongues. Even the Daemonium seem ill at ease; their guttural howls no longer cries for revelry and satiation, but desperation given vicious voice.

And still the lingering shift continues to elude the returning party of demons.

Little do they know that their kingdom was violated - that their peace was desecrated. 

The doors of the Black Palace open, and instead of howled greetings and a cacophony of salutations, the travelers are greeted with the silence of the dead - six veiled corpses awaiting them. All eyes turn to JUDAS, who looks on in silence then lifts the veil of the body closest to him. The mass of marred flesh that is revealed comes as no surprise - how can he possibly entertain such a sentiment, when the perpetrators are escapees of none other than the Black Cells? His eyes turn to ABADDON, who has no answers to lay before his questing gaze.

Then AMON, a notorious member of the Conclave, breaks the stony silence that fell over the Vices and their king. “There were three members of the Black Cells that escaped, my lord,” they begin, eyes flickering between the unspoken king and queen of Hell. “Their guard, it seems, had forsaken his duties and left himself vulnerable to manipulation. It seemed as though they knew that you, Abaddon, and the Vices had left the kingdom…” AMON’s gaze settles on ABADDON, their lips twisting into a sneer as they walk between the corpses. “But that is not what concerns me.”

The Conclave member reaches down, their fingers bunching the fabric of the veil before lifting it. Beneath it lies an angel - bloodied and marred, their wings twisted beneath them. On their breast is a pin, to mark their authority as an ambassador from Caelum. The Seraphic creature was bludgeoned within the realm of Infernum, by an escapee of the Black Cells. DAMIEN WARD kneels beside the corpse, and gently shuts their eyes.

When he pulls away, his fingertips are stained with blood. AMON bows their head, awaiting the word of the demon they acknowledge as king. MAMMON, however, looks at DAMIEN.

No one gives voice to what they are all thinking - the blood is not only on ABADDON’s hands, but all of theirs.

And the angels will seek retribution. 

It is what the now-dead God had created them for, is it not? 

“Who broke out of the cells, Amon?” ABADDON asks, her voice striking through the silence, as sharp as the end of a whip. 

“There were three of them,” AMON recounts, “two were mortal and one of them was a gifted one. They stole the weapons from the vault and -” 

“Have you sent forces to capture them yet?”

“Yes, my lady, of course-”

“I don’t see their heads on a stick yet,” ASMODEUS interrupts, crossing his arms as AMON twists their hands anxiously. 

AMON stammers out, “Th-They evaded us, but I believe that they may still be within the Realm-”

JUDAS raises a finger, and a hush falls over them all. Three murderers, hateful of demons, are now waiting within the shadows of Infernum - armed with weapons that could fell any one of them. If they aren’t careful, the streets of the city will run black with the blood of those over whom he reigns. The whispers of dissent would multiply ten-fold. They would look to another to uphold his beloved crown.

DAMIEN WARD looks at him, while the members of the VICES glance between the two. The Anti-Christ’s gaze doesn’t waver from that of the Great Betrayer.

“Send word to Michael.” JUDAS says, eyes shifting from the angelic corpse. “Tell them one of their own has fallen.”

IN THE KINGDOM OF CAELUM…

The angels return to their sanctuary, having grown impatient with the absence of their king. It is said that the land is tied to him - when he leaves, it seems to pale; the birds losing the lilt in their son and the sun sinking from its perch atop the skies. Were that the truth, none of the citizens of Caelum would be surprised, for their hearts are tied to the kingdom’s land as well. After all, they fought for it, raging against God, of all creatures, for this piece of eden-like earth. The blood of their enemies had drenched the soil, but it was their blood that made it flourish - it was MICHAEL’s blood that ensured its acquisition. 

When MICHAEL steps into the kingdom, Caelum breathes anew; the VIRTUES filing after him only serving to stir the land into giddiness. No longer are they shackled by the etiquette of foreign courts - now they can indulge in the respite offered by their people and their kingdom. Is it not known, after all, that angels find comfort only within the warmth offered by other angels? For none can compare to their holiness. 

It is why they take the loss of their loved ones as harshly as they do. 

It is also why, when word reaches MICHAEL and the VIRTUES as they make their way  through the halls of Archangel’s Castle, they are greeted with nothing but wailing and grinding of teeth. The angelic ambassadors are considered particularly beloved - for they are entrusted with the will and whim of the king that fought for their freedom. Among them is the fallen BARACHIEL; one of the first to draw their blade in rebellion against God. The most beloved of them all. 

Beloved as they were, the grief they receive is quick to curdle into rage.

The tongues of the angelic creatures grow barbed as they look at their king. Though he isn’t to blame, there is no doubt that the fissures in his visage are beginning to show. Looking upon him, they can’t help but wonder about the efforts he claimed to have made to ensure the loyalty of his allies. While the Holy Land thrives despite its loss, it seems as though Caelum suffers still under this king’s hand. Why are they not thriving as they should be? Can it truly be wise to keep their hearts threaded with that of a king who found it so easy to abandon his kingdom and leave it so pliant and vulnerable?

The whispers follow the king of Caelum as he strides towards the War Room, the VIRTUES gathered and armed to the teeth, awaiting their orders while they bite down on the grief and anger that weighs upon them. 

Gathered within the War Room of the Castle, the VIRTUES lay their eyes upon MICHAEL as he looks between them.

“We ride for Infernum,” He declares. “and we will not leave until we have our retribution.” 

FINAL NOTES: And with that, our second event is now live! We want to thank our members for their patience and support during this period — we sincerely hope the wait was worth it! We cannot wait to see what you all come up with on the dash. For the sake of clarity, you will find notes below on what is occurring with each of the factions. Please keep in mind that you are not restricted to threading only within your faction. Involving your character in any of the events taking place is certainly possible — and encouraged! We are incredibly grateful to our members for being so supportive and cannot wait to see the threads and activity that will bloom on the dash. Below you will find notes on what is occurring with the different factions. 

MORTALS: The entrants and nominees seeking election as the Tridium’s next Star are ARIANNE ALTIER, EVANGELINE TRAME, JASPER RICHE, and LUCA RICHE. If they hope to be successful, they will need to campaign for the position. We invite them — and any of the other mortal characters who wish to participate or offer support — to hold their own events to “canvass” for the position. At a later date, we will be releasing a poll for our mortal-writers to vote for who they think should be the next star. The results will be released at the end of our second event. 

HORSEMEN: The Horsemen have been hired by the Tridium to find the perpetrator that murdered Cador. Though the masses have begun to suspect foul play, only the Horsemen and the Tridium members are aware of this. Azazel and Gabriel have yielded all their information to the Horsemen and have established with them a line of rapport.he Horsemen are free to collaborate with others should they choose to. We also highly encourage that other characters volunteer for the suspect line-up for fun interrogation threads! 

DEMONS/ANGELS: The demons are experiencing a loss of their own — the escape of prisoners from ABADDON’s Black Cells. As the Horsemen are already occupied with the Tridium’s plight, we encourage members of the Virtues and Vices come together to hunt down these escapees. To reiterate: there are three mortals within the realm of Infernum currently running amok and highly likely to kill angel and demon civilians. Their identities and history are known only by ABADDON, but we encourage our players to hunt for more information!

Additionally, please keep in mind that there are two events that occur during the month of the Red Rain Moon. Your character is free to attend any of these, and we highly encourage that you use them for your threads:

VISITATION: Throughout the Red Rain Moon, Mortals in particular pay visit to the graves of those they’ve lost — whether to the Blood Plague, mortality or war. Rather than Visitation being a macabre ordeal, however, it is a celebration. Denizens light candles for those who are absent and dance until the sun comes up, gorging themselves on cuts of meat and fruits.

THE RED FESTIVAL: On the final day of the Red Rain Moon, creatures of all kinds gather in the citadel of the Holy Land and celebrate the Red Festival, the purpose of which is to demonstrate gratitude for those who have survived — and continue to survive — the Blood Plague’s defacing effects. The aim of the festival is to paint the participants in red, mimicking the influence of the calamity, and there is only one rule: all participants must dress in white.

And finally, if you have any questions, please drop them in the Discord channel. You are free to thread out any of the events that have been outlined in the event or to have your characters go on their own adventures. Otherwise, we hope you all have fun and enjoy!

[unmaskedagain]

Made me Do (Queen of Mean)

I decided to do a quick follow up fic to the Queen of Mean AU. I’m leaning towards a ship. Can you guess what it is by the end?

Marinette smiled amicably at passing staff as her makeup was done. The sun was bright and shinning. The park with its slopping hills and the beautiful green grass was picturesque. Half of it was cut off from the public. The shoot would last a majority of the morning and a bit into the after.

The head makeup artist cooed over her bluebell eyes and raved about her beautiful “exotic” features; which nearly made Marinette sneer. Oh the things she put up with.

           But she had to. Time for childish naivety was over. She needed her name out there. She an “in”.

           And while she never wanted to be model, never desired the spotlight, never wanted more than to be a fashion designer and for clothes to leave the world in awe, never wanted more than to be nice and good and to live her dreams just as she dreamed them… Marinette understood…

           The world wasn’t kind. It was a tilted stage. Everyone played their own little games to get ahead. So Marinette was forced to play a role she never wanted.

Model.

Actress.

Trendsetter.

Ice princess.

           Still once a day, since Marinette had begun her reign, did Mari have to tell that little voice in her pipe down? The voice that sounded like the old her. The old, nice, kind Marinette who loved everyone and the thought the best of everyone. And the New Marinette would doubt herself, wonder if she was fraud, a sellout. But then she remembered that the old Marinette never realized just how wrong she was until it was too late.

           Until her friends turned their back on her. Until her life’s work, her prized sketchbook was ripped up and left for her to pick up the pieces like what remained of her heart. She was a fool. And the only good thing that ever came out of that experience was she gotten to learn who her real friends were. Learned out to really stand up for herself, damn the rest of the world.

           In a way, she was almost wanted to thank Lila. Lila had been her initiation into the real world. Her manipulative little games were the perfect crimes. The way no one ever seen her laugh when she lied. The way she swore up and down that it was Marinette with the metaphorical smoking gun; it was Marinette’s fault. It was cruel. And Marinette didn’t like her for it. She disliked herself more for falling into the traps Lila set.

           No! That Marinette would’ve never survived the real world. It’s why she had to go away. Marinette got smarter, hotter when she let Chloe show her how to use her beauty like a sword. And she did it fast, just in the knick of time because her parents had been considering transferring her.

           The old Marinette had to die, and the new Marinette rose up from the dead with a thirst for blood and a list of names; Lila’s was underlined in red. Every day, she checked it to remind herself just why she was doing what she was.

           When Lila’s mother came to school, with the principle storming up behind her, red-faced and steaming mad, all the students in the Cafeteria could only watch as the Italian lady roared at her daughter. Screamed about how all the lies had come back to bite her family in the ass; after all ambassadors had no business traveling to exotic places, with celebrities, on their country’s dime when they should be working.

           Marinette could only smirk as another confirmation of Lila’s lies was made public. All she could think of while it was happening was: Look what you made me do.

           Yes, Marinette had used her connections (Chloe. She asked Chloe to get her Dad to ask the right questions) to get the right info into Italy’s embassy’s ears about what their ambassador was up to.

Chloe made a nasty remark about how easily stupid people are led, that her class overheard from over at their table.  (Yes, their table. No matter how hard they tried. Marinette refused to go back to friendly terms with her classmates. Though she was polite to Kitty Section’s band members. Luka was her friend. And no matter, how hard she hinted that he’d thrive as solo artist; Luka was loyal.)

           It had taken days Lila’s mom to fix the mess and her bosses still eyed her suspiciously weeks later. She also made it clear that Lila was be attending summer school for her missed attendance and that they weren’t moving. Which meant that Lila wasn’t going to escape the mess she was in anytime soon. Which of course led to her being Akumatized… again. No matter, Ladybug took great pleasure in showing her a thing or two. In a way the old Marinette never would.

Marinette straighten her back and raised her chin as a onlookers started appearing behind the security gates. They pointed at her and waved excitedly. Marinette waved back.

The new Marinette understood why the spotlight was needed, why her face had to grace the covers of magazines, why blowing up on Instagram and twitter was the best thing that could happen to her.

Slowly but surely the world was whispering her name louder and louder as the days, week, and months, drew on. Paris, however, was all but screaming it.

Her face was on billboards. She was in perfume and make-up commercials for some well-known brands. She had gotten small, very small, roles on enough hit Paris shows to have people start recognizing her. It wasn’t long before all of France knew who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was… but that was mostly because of her, rather overzealous, fans.

Her slowly rising fanbase was equalizing her to a hurricane. Unexpected and potentially earthshattering; cold and severe, blowing them all out of their seats. Basically the opposite the resident walking ball of Sunshine that was Adrien Agreste.

           The media called it a friendly rivalry between competing designers.

Gabriel Agreste’s Sun.

Audrey Bourgeois’s Storm.

           The Sunshine child Vs The Storm Princess.

Audrey loved it. Loved the idea so much that she created an entire shoot for the cover of Teen Vogue; a cover that Adrien Agreste was supposed to have already booked.

The dress Marinette was wearing wasn’t her design. (And that killed her only a little). It was Audrey Bourgeois’. And it was an off-shoulder, hi-low hem dress. It was mix of purples, blacks, and blues. She had on a studded, leather jacket with knee high leather boots. A very Rocker princess look, complete with a sliver tiara on her head. The opposite of anything Adrien Agreste would ever be seen in.

Speaking of who. Adrien and what looked to be in the entire class was having another picnic. It wasn’t a surprise they were there. Sabrina has snitched to Chloe had Adrien had learned of the photoshoot from his father and wanted to “coincidently” catch Marinette outside of school. Maybe remind Marinette when she was still their every day Ladybug. The only surprising thing about the entire situation was the Sabrina was still firmly in Chloe’s back pocket; loyal to the end.

Chloe was getting her pictures done first. The entire photo shoot a deadly nature theme. She was a tornado. Her dress, very Coachella worthy, as was flowy and loose; a mix of greys, whites, and silvers. There were fans all around her blowing at worrying speeds. But Chloe didn’t bat an eye. She modeled like she was born for it. Marinette could only wonder why, with a daughter as gorgeous as Chloe, Audrey never considered making her a model. But people make stupid mistakes.

Marinette, for example, for every crushing on Adrien.

There was no longing left in her for the blond or Alya, who kept blatantly staring her way. Or for any of her other used to be friends.

That desire had died months ago. Back then she had been willing to do just about anything to be let back; to get a key back into kingdom. Her! When she was the one who starting bringing their little clique together back when most of them never even talked to each other. Marinette got them to be friends. No! She got them to be best friends; build what might one day be lifelong friendships to tell their kids about, that people would be envious of. And what happened?

They painted her as a villain, kicked her out and locked the door behind her.

“Might I ask how you know them?” A voice asked from next to her.

           Marinette shifted in her seat to eye the handsome, regal, blond, grey-eyed boy next to her, getting his own make-up done. He wore a suit of an icy blue and white., and an expression on his face that could’ve chilled out global warming. There was a dark silver crown on his head. She raised an eyebrow at him, “Ice King, right?” A blizzard.

“Felix,” He corrected. “And you are the Storm Princess?” There’s was no mocking in his tone, just curiosity.

           Of course Marinette knew who he was. Felix Culpa. A model that had been making waves longer than Marinette and Adrien. His mother, a close friend of Audrey, had built a fashion empire that he would inherit. His mother was Adrien’s aunt. Emilie’s older sister.

“Marinette,” She offered. “They are schoolmates of mine.”

“But not friends.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not anymore.”

Marinette had moved on and so did the rest of the world. Now drama in class was now a daily thing. Over the last few weeks Marinette had be subtly wreaking havoc in her class. A comment thrown here or there to start an agreement. Letting Chloe casually mention the amazing things they did that week. Or who they met. And if the people they met happened to be the idols of quite a number of her star struck classmates… Well nothing could be done about that.

It was Karma.

“Do they know that?”

“They should,” Marinette answered easily. They weren’t her friends anymore. They never would be again.

Maybe, Marinette got what she deserved for being too trusting. But they’ll get theirs too. Ladyblog was burning to cinders but somehow hanging on by a thread; apparently Lila becoming a well-known Liar in Paris made people not want to blame a poor little teen girl for falling into the web of lies.

“Does he know that?” Felix asked. “My dear cousin Adrien hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. Old boyfriend?”

           Marinette barked out a laugh. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not?”

           Felix leaned towards Marinette, a smirk on his face. “Offended, definitely. I don’t think I could think of a better insult for a princess.”

           She giggled. After that the two fell into an easy conversation. Each talking about their hobbies and everyday annoyances. Eventually, Marinette admitted to once having a crush on Adrien… before she grew a brain and saw that he was... Well, she had struggled to put it nicely.

“Spineless,” Felix, luckily offered. “I know. Believe me. The oaf is way too passive for anyone’s own good.”

“There!” The makeup artists announced looking them both over. “All done.” And within seconds, her team was packed up to move on his a lovely Hispanic girl dressed to be a volcanic eruption.

           It was moments later that they each were called to their own shoots. Marinette and Felix walked side by side, like royalty. Marinette ignored the waves and calls from her classmates and tried to steel down her nerves. No matter how many times she stepped in front on the camera she could never stop the butterflies in her stomach from happening.

“Everyone gets nervous.” Felix suddenly said. “Before a big shoot, I still get a nauseous feeling.”

“What do you do?”

“I remind myself just who I am,” He answered. “I suggest you do the same. They call me the Ice Prince, for a reason.  They call you a storm, be the storm.”

           Marinette nodded firmly and steeled herself. Her blue eyes narrowed and a frosty look appeared on her face.

           The photographer loved it.

“You’re beautiful, princess.” Zara, the photographer, yelled. “Your rage is screaming off you. More. I need more.”

           Rage was easy. All she had to do was cast a look at Alya and the rest.

“Oh the lightening in your eyes is stunning.”

           Marinette twirled. Her dress blew in the harsh wind of the fans.

“There’s no calm after this Storm.”

“Beautiful and deadly,” Zara commented. “You. Are. The. Storm.”

           Felix finished his shoot first and came over to hers. He stood behind Zara, next to the computer monitors. It took a lot of Marinette’s willpower not to keep glancing at him. He surveyed the since passively, not a hint of emotion on his face.

“Marinette come over here!” Zara called to where she stood next to computer monitors.

           Marinette glided over and her mouth dropped at the images on the screen. That was her? No, that couldn’t be her. The girl on the scream was angry and wild; a force of nature. She was…

“Beautiful,” Felix said. “Absolutely stunning.”

           Marinette snorted, very un-ladylike. “You’re one to talk.” She motioned to his pictures. “I’ve never seen anyone look so majestic.” So handsome.

           Felix raised an eyebrow. “Imagine how we’d look together.”

“YES!”

           Wait, did that come out of her mouth. Tikki, please tell me that didn’t come out of my mouth, Marinette silently begged.

           Luckily it didn’t. It was Zara. The redhead practically jumped up and down. “A clash of natures. It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. We’re shooting it!”

           And they did. At first Felix and Marinette seemingly danced around each other. Then they danced with each other. It took everything Marinette had not to turn bright red when Felix put one hand in her’s and the other on the small of her back.

“Look at each other like the other is the best thing you ever saw.”

“That won’t be too hard,” Felix whispered.

           Marinettte’s eye bulged and let out a small gasp. And then a hiss of rage. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh hell yes!” Wait what? “Hashtag IceStorm.” Chloe catcalled.

“Ugh,” Felix groaned as they changed poses. Now they were only, just barely holding hands. As they glared together as the world; daring it to not to tremble before them. It was their last shot. “Bourgeois. Adrien’s only friend. The always available playmate of my childhood. I thought I escaped.”

“Hey, that’s my best friend you’re groaning about,” Marinette glared up at him. (And damn his height!) “And I have you know she’s one of Adrien’s most tolerable friends.”

           Felix paled. “The most tolerable? What are other soulless harpies that drag you down to the underworld?”

“You’ll wish.”

           Felix nodded. “I certainly will. I’m to join Adrien’s class on Monday. Though from what you told me, I should be on the lookout for traits and nasty liars who lie.”

           Marinette blushed. She had complained a bit to him.

           Zara called it quits. And Chloe joined the two as they walked back to the dressing rooms. When they separated, Chloe pointed out, “Finally. I wondered when you two lovebird would stop holdings hands.”

           They blushed when they realized that yes, they had in fact held hands the entire way there. Chloe cackled as they rushed into the trailers.

“You’re evil,” Marinette hissed at Chloe when the door shut behind her.

“Yes but you love that about me.”

“Not when you use it against me.” Marinette grumbled.

           After they changed, Marinette and Chloe walked out of the trailer giggling over new crushes. Felix was waiting for them which just made Chloe burst into laughter. He was dressed in a black button down shirt with grey slacks and a grey tie.

           Marinette would get that girl back.

“And what are you lovely ladies up to this evening?” Felix asked, ignoring Chloe’s snickers.

“We’re going ice skating with two friends of ours: Luka and Kagami,” Marinette answered. “You should join us.”

           Felix agreed and the three walked passed the security gates into the park. They had been in the park less than a minuete before… it happened.

           A Frisbee landed in front of them.

“Sorry about that,” Alya said as she jogged up to them. Adrien and Nino trailing behind her. The class had forgiven Adrien quicker than Marinette thought they would. “Marinette, gurl, I didn’t know you were hear.”

“Bullshit,” Chloe snorted.

“We were just leaving,” Marinette chimed.

“Wait,” Adrien said. “Why don’t you stay? We’re having a picnic.”

“Can’t. Plans.” Chloe answered coolly.

           Alya glared. “We weren’t inviting you.” She turned pleading eyes to Marinette. “I really need to talk to you. I need help. The Ladyblog needs help. I was wondering if you could set up an interview with Ladybug again. Like last time.”

           The two girls froze and just looked at the reporter, stunned. Was Alya serious? Was she insane?

           White-hot rage rushed over Marinette. HOW. DARE. SHE?

“Is that appropriate?” Felix asked suddenly. “Are you two friends?”

“No,” Marinette quickly snapped. “We’re not friends. And it’s appropriate. Ladybug made it clear she doesn’t work want to work with you.”

“More like she hates tabloids,” Chloe crossed her arms and glared fiercly at the three.

           Alya stiffened indignantly. “The Ladyblog is not a tabloid,” She shrieked. “Its serious journalism. And Ladybug trusts you Marinette, she’ll listen.”

“Ah the blog that news discredited.” Felix added.

“Dude, it was a misunderstanding.” Nino said.

“Due to the lack of fact checking,”

           Adrien step to his cousin. “You don’t know. You weren’t there.”

“You are correct,” Felix admitted. “However, I did make sure double check my resources. I wanted to confirm just what type of class I was enrolling into. So I researched. Anyone could do it.”

           Marinette looked Alya up and down. “Well, not just anyone, I suppose.”  Alysa flushed. “Ladybug said I was bias because of my past friendship with you. She won’t listen to me again. Yes Ladybug trusts me almost as much as she doesn’t trust you.”

           Hurt filled Alya’s eyes.

Yeah, Marinette wanted to say, look what you made me do.

[laird-brochtuarach]

Sam Heughan On Outlander's Devastating Double Loss

BY JULIE KOSIN

“Murtagh, ugh!” In the midst of a pandemic, Sam Heughan is trying to remain positive—the actor has just completed a social isolation baking challenge with his Outlander cast mates when we hop on the phone to discuss the latest episode—but I've just accused him of emotional manipulation, and I'm well within my rights. Tonight's Outlander offers several tragic beats that would be crushing on their own: Jamie Fraser donning a British red coat to fight against the Regulators; the death of his beloved godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbons (Duncan Lacroix), in the skirmish history will remember as the Battle of Alamance; and the gruesome discovery of his son-in-law Roger (Richard Rankin) hanging from a tree after crossing paths with the enemy camp.

Heughan loved every minute. "It was my favorite episode," he tells ELLE.com of "The Ballad of Roger Mac." "This was a tough season to break from the book and I think it’s going to be one of our best because of that storyline." Murtagh's death is a controversial storytelling choice; in the Outlander books, the character died years earlier under less dramatic circumstances. But on the show, Jamie and Murtagh are pitted against each other—Murtagh as a Regulator, part of an early group of rebels plotting against British rule in the late 1760s, as Jamie is conscripted to fight alongside the British lest he lose Fraser's Ridge, the land he and Claire (Caitriona Balfe) have built into a bustling settlement in the backwoods of North Carolina. In fact, Jamie's superior has ordered him to find and kill Murtagh, a task Jamie managed to avoid until battle, when another soldier completes the deed with a shot to Murtagh's chest. The Scot dies in Jamie's arms, his last words exactly the same as in the book: "Dinna be afraid, a bhalaich. It doesn’t hurt a bit to die." It's a heartbreak neither Jamie nor book fans saw coming, and one compounded by the strain of losing Roger. "It's a very dense episode," Heughan accedes. "The repercussions are huge for everyone."

Below, Heughan breaks down the process of shooting this episode, what's to come, and how his My Peak Challenge fitness charity is encouraging self-care during coronavirus self-isolation.

Jamie has experienced a lot of grief in the last few seasons. What makes Murtagh’s death different?

It felt [like] the most grief. He's not only losing his godfather—basically a stepfather—but he’s losing the last real contact with Scotland, the last member of his blood apart from his aunt and daughter. It’s very raw—losing that part of his life, the old world and ways of doing things. For Jamie, losing him is like losing his rock, like losing one of his points of safety. There was always this great love between Jamie and Murtagh and it was never spoken of. You just knew Murtagh was always there for Jamie, and likewise.

Jamie’s unwillingness to accept reality is surprising. Everyone can see that Murtagh is dead, but he drags his godfather’s body to Claire and demands she heal him.

I mean, he knows. Of course he knows, but he would do anything to save his godfather, and Claire is the one person who if anyone could do anything, it would be her. He's in all the stages of grief, and then reality dawns on him. It's funny because we shot that as a pickup scene, [so] it’s interesting when it [comes] together. We had to shoot [Murtagh's death] a couple of times because of problems with continuity, so it was challenging to shoot.

You’ve been planning to put Jamie in the red coat for a while—how much of what we see onscreen is what you envisioned when you first pitched it?

It's pretty similar. Before we finished last season I knew Jamie was on the side of the British, and I went to Matt [Roberts, executive producer] and the costume department and said, "Could we put Jamie in a red coat?" Then I went back early to do a fitting for the coat. I wanted Jamie looking good and powerful in it. Everything it stands for is everything he’s fought against—the occupation of Scotland, the suppression of his culture, Blackjack Randall, Wentworth Prison. There’s so much psychologically in this piece of material. Historically, it’s probably not quite accurate—if he was a general in the militia, he probably wouldn't have worn a red coat, but really, it’s less about him becoming a redcoat and more about Tryon testing him.

Did you research the Battle of Alamance before shooting?

It actually wasn't much of a battle—I think the number of casualties were maybe 20 or so. Those words Governor Tryon says, "Fire upon them or fire upon me," is what [the real] Tryon said. We see that he really pushed for this battle. He wanted to be seen as a great general and he wasn't. His men wouldn't fire upon the regulators initially, because they were [basically] the same people.

This episode felt uncomfortably resonant—a federal government turning on its own people in a time of crisis.

Not much has changed, and there are torn loyalties as well. It was the same at Culloden, because you had Scots fighting for the British against [Stuart’s army]. It's [a question of], where does your loyalty lie, and who do you think is going to look after you? A lot of these people were fighting because they needed money. They needed to support their families or they thought they were doing the right thing. It's tough morally.

What was shooting those battle sequences like?

Crazy. I think we shot the main sequence with the cannon in two days. It was summer in Scotland, and we don't generally have a really hot summer, but it was pretty hot at that point. They were tough days. We shot over a number of days in the forest with a second unit, and we all loved being part of that. We haven't seen that type of battle in Outlander, with muskets and guerrilla warfare. It’s very different from the battles we had before. We can see the world is changing, with this new technology and modern warfare.

The final shot of the episode is the family finding Roger hanging. What does this mean for the rest of the season?

The whole family will be hurting. We can see everyone really struggling. The family is beginning to fracture, and that's what the season's really about—they’re torn apart by different circumstances. There's a really fantastic episode coming up, which is quite stylized. When we first read it, we weren't sure how it was going to play out, but I think it really works.

This section of the book is so dark, and now we have Murtagh’s death weighing over it.

Of course there are people that are purists, but it's really great to still surprise the viewer while in Diana Gabaldon's world. We're not changing much. We're adding and layering, and we're back to the status quo now. That character's gone, so we're back to Diana Gabaldon's book, but the Murtagh storyline has definitely added a lot to the season.

Is Jamie hardened at the end of this episode?

I think he's lost something. There's a hole there and it'll take him time. Time is the healer in this one, for all [the characters]. But because of circumstances, he's really thrust into having to be the man of action again and put his family first. By the end of the season, everyone is unsure of the future. They're uncertain of what's going to happen. Even though they have this prior knowledge, they know this great battle is coming. The forecast of the future doesn't look very promising.

You launched My Peak Challenge years ago as a fitness program that helps members get healthy while supporting different charities. How did the social distancing challenge come to be?

We launched My Peak Challenge four years ago and we've been growing—we have ambassadors from every country and they get together and do challenges. Now they've been working out how to do things online, like Zoom challenges. We have a private group where people post about finding mobility and losing weight and gaining strength and confidence and making new friends. And we've fully financed a couple research projects for blood cancer. It’s nice to be able to do something. As an actor,  you feel pretty pointless and hopeless. We're there to entertain, obviously, and to help spread the message, and we wanted to do something with [My Peak Challenge]. It took us about a week to put the videos together, but people seem to really enjoy it, and we want to post more challenges. Hopefully it's helping people stay sane. It's great that people can share it and virtually challenge their friends and family. It should be accessible as well. I noticed a lot of people are putting together these workout series, but I think we beat Hemsworth to it. [Laughs]

[kinetic-elaboration]

March 12: 1x10 Journey to Babel

My favorite Star Trek episode! Possibly my favorite episode of anything... I’m not going to have much of anything deep to say about it but I did enjoy it immensely.

I actually know the opening of this ep really well because I was using it as the basis for a still unfinished AOS-verse fic that I still want to write but it doesn’t get old regardless.

We can relax when the Vulcans get here! Can you though??

Spock’s utter non-reaction to the name Sarek. But inside he’s gotta be feeling a lot, right? I mean at the very least, nerves at the impending awkwardness.

I feel like Sarek is so subtly suspicious in this scene. Like... why is no one acknowledging we’re related? What’s going ON?

And Kirk knows something’s up but he’s not sure what.

So rude! Asking for another guide. That really is a rift.

And then Amanda’s look when Kirk mentions Spock’s parents. So subtle, so confused, so judgmental.

Also this is a great concept for an Enterprise mission.

I think Amanda’s really interested in the ship! So this is where Spock works...

Humans smile with such little provocation... Whereas Spock smiles when Kirk isn’t dead

Lol the parallels with Sarek and Kirk calling Amanda and Spock over. Mr. Spock, attend.

Sarek taught him computers! So adorable.

Mrs.Sarek lol. But she proves the unpronounceable name can be sort of pronounced.

Idk if I believe this whole depiction of Vulcans as patriarchal... It doesn’t really square with T’Pau running the whole planet. Nor is it logical.

Amanda is so glad that Spock has friends!!

I love to see Kirk defending Spock.

Lmao at the idea of Sarek following the teachings of his father. Was he doing that when he took a HUMAN wife??

Kirk and Amanda bonding over their stubborn husbands.

Oh no, the signal is coming from inside the ship!

Kirk is sure loving this.

So Sarek is 102. That would make him 60-some years older than Spock.

Sarek’s vote carries the others! He’s so important.

Now Kirk is trying to charm the aliens.

I just noticed that Amanda asks Spock if she can share the sehlat story. She looks at him and he very obviously inclines his head. He’s okay with McCoy hearing this.

Alive with six inch fangs!!

Sarek being so protective of Spock and his dignity. “He’s a Starfleet officer!!” Honestly so proud of him.

Sarek/Amanda is actually the best ship.

I feel like Spock gets his humor from Sarek honestly. Like the way he talks to the Telluride Ambassador is so similar to how Spock talks to people.

Can’t believe Kirk had to break up a fight between Spock’s dad and another ambassador lol.

Of course Kirk has to be shirtless for the dramatic reveal of MURDER.

Spock doesn’t think Sarek killed anyone. (Even when he kinda throws him under the bus with that “my father is capable of killing.”)

But then there’s Sarek “I agree, I am a very suspicious person here.”

Meditation cannot be discussed with Earthmen.

Sarek had 4 heart attacks and didn’t tell his wife. The nerve.

Sarek and Spock ganging up on Bones. A real bonding moment.

Spock’s blood has human blood elements...interesting.

Spock was researching for Sarek. Idk why that hits me so hard... He finds this really long shot solution, an experimental drug that isn’t even used on Vulcans and just says “okay problem solved we’re going to fix my father now.”

Calling his father by his first name... cold. He doesn’t do that with Amanda.

*Stefon voice* This ep has everything, mystery, intrigue, family drama, diplomatic drama, medical emergencies, shirtless Kirk, and a fight scene!

Poor Spock, on top of everything else, his space husband is injured too.

Now Spock is off to question the prisoner. Eep, wouldn’t want to be that prisoner.

I feel like Spock’s excuse of not wanting to give up command is total Scotty erasure, and seems really flimsy on its face.

The Andorian tells him to think about passion and gain...asking Spock to think about passion!! How dare?

Not a lot of Kirk in this episode but every Kirk scene is gold. He’s being charming again. And he has such devotion to Spock and his family, even risking his own health to make sure Spock can help Sarek--and Sarek hears all of it! We are specifically shown that he’s awake!

Kirk’s face when he looks at Spock in the Captain’s chair is just so loving.

Hmmm I guess no one trusts Scotty around here!

Bones is not encouraging confidence by not knowing what Vulcan blood pressure should be.

Haha just knocked Spock the fuck out. “My patients don’t walk out in the middle of operations.”

“Sir, we stunned the Andorian and pieces just started falling off.”

I love that the inside of Sarek is smoking.

...You know actually the Enterprise did need Kirk specifically to command in this crisis.

How is CHEKOV the next in command lol? He’s 22 and the lowest ranked person there.

It’s interesting that the Orions are the bad guys in this episode.

Spock’s parents can so clearly tell how in love Kirk and Spock are.

“One does not thank logic.”

When Kirk collapses and Amanda moves closer to him, Sarek is still holding his fingers out for a kiss like a lovesick nerd.

Bones gets the last word!

And now Kirk, Spock, and Sarek are going to be recovering in the same room for a while lol.

I didn’t write any notes on the Spock and Amanda scene because it’s just... too much. Too overwhelming. It’s so dramatic, first off, and... Amanda is just so human. You know in some ways she’s assimilate to Vulcan life--how she can pronounce Sarek’s last name and how she thinks the Vulcan way of life is “better”--but she really wasn’t written to e like a long term Vulcan resident imo. I mean when it comes right down to it, she’s very human. I like that but I just think it’s interesting.

I’m a little uncomfortable with like the degree of emotional manipulation... saying she’ll hate him forever, slapping him. But Spock’s excuse looks pretty flimsy when you consider that there are other people who can command the ship. But then... well like I said, there WAS an emergency and Kirk really was the best man for the job so like you do get an example of how not all officers are interchangeable. And I was trying to wrap my head around the argument that this isn’t just a Starfleet position, it’s a Vulcan one, and one Sarek would understand: duty, rules, and the many before the one. So I guess it does make sense, and the tension is appropriate for the scenario.

I also appreciate how the point of this episode was to show, as DC Fontana said, three people who hadn’t been a family for a long time becoming a family again, so you can see all the complexity in their history and how the differences in their cultures blend together sometimes awkwardly, and how hard it is for all of them.

This is the best ST installment for Vulcan fashion. Like, this ep, T’Prng’s dress in Amok Time, and Ambassador Spock’s asymmetrical coat in STXI are the only valid Vulcan outfits. I never got the robes and head coverings thing. Like, are robes logical? I think not. Plus, they are desert people but they are NOT austere, so I don’t get all the dark colors and shit. Vulcans should absolutely all be wearing hot pink wide legged pants and fur-trimmed ponchos; I am not joking. Also I thought Sarek’s outfit was great: it’s simple and professional but still has a lot of color on it; it’s exactly what it seems like a Vulcan ambassador would wear. And they never reach that level in any later installment!!

The Amazon trivia tells me that deleted dialogue said that Sarek was an engineer before he was an ambassador, which I don’t totally get (that’s not... a science...and he went to the VSA right?), but I do find it VERY interesting and I wish I’d known that when I wrote HAICG and had Spock name his son after an engineer.

Next time is Friday’s Child, which is also a great episode to watch and think about HAICG.

[st-just]

Notable Provinces and Clients of the Sublime Esheri Commonwealth

Because I always do these in sets of three, right?

Central: Enlightened Esher, the Clockwork Republic itself, the seat of Reason’s reign. The beating heart of the Commonwealth, where vizers and imperial committees meet under their cool and distant stars, working selflessly and ceaselessly to drown the world in formulae and ink. Sitting on a narrow straight joining two continents, it is well served by trade networks, grand canals and aqueducts stretching inland to sustain the largest concentrated population the world has ever seen. Its suburbs and hinterlands are vast enough to have subsumed cities that were once distant, and are as close to perfectly ordered as human effort has yet achieved, the roads wide and level, the soil fertile, the weather and climate decided and prepared for well in advance.

The Sympona: Properly speaking an archaic name for a region that no longer officially exists, Sympona roughly refers to the region of old imperial conquests, from whose populations the Janissary Corps was originally conscripted. Governed thoroughly and well by the Commonwealth since its creation, its cities are by now nearly as Enlightened as the central heartland – the only real remnants of their old culture the language that loan words were plucked from to fill all the gaps in universal standard, and the exact particulars of sanctioned local festivals. Rational governance of the countryside remains an issue in certain wild reaches – most dangerously where small gods and parasitic spirits survive in hiding, manipulating peasant superstition to coerce obeisance and sacrifice from them.

Old Esher: The eastern reaches of the old Empire, and the original homeland of the Esheri people themselves. Central authority was enforced after the Revolution only after a rather brutal military campaign and a few rather unpopular compromises. To this day, prominent families and clans have sustained themselves from the old aristocracy, and dominant the local governorship and offices. The administrative Committee of the South-East has a reputation for being lured into complacency or corruption by the old lines, and on multiple occasions the Public Safety and the Secretariat have felt the need to dispatch their own agents to monitor or intervene directly.

The Maahiri: The first great triumph of the Commonwealth in foreign affairs was spreading their Enlightenment to one of the old empire’s eternal rivals. The Maahiri shahs were relied on their slave-soldiers as much as the old empire had, though they had by the end grown into a complacent and corrupt aristocracy of their own, feuding with powerful noble clans and the ‘Knives of Paradise’, a powerful deiphage cult in intrigues that left the shahs themselves puppets with a remarkably short life expectancy. Inciting a civil war that broke the rickety edifice of state apart was, when properly undertaken, simplicity itself. After that it was simply a matter of measuring the pace of digestion. While by now largely integrated, some local resistance does remain – most notable descendants or copycats of the Knives.

The Kingdom: A rather desolate land even before its century of troubles, this rugged and hilly region of the old Mishaari lands was the last to be pacified, and has been the source of several particularly blood rebellions in the generations since – the mildly tasteless joke being that, like everything else in the Commonwealth, the revolts come like clockwork on a strict 20-year schedule. The colloquial name comes form the most infamous of the rebellions. The King in White was a particularly potent sorceror whole voluntarily allowed their soul to be consumed and replaced by a Reaper. Even the better part of a century later, scars and ruins are everywhere and obvious, and the native population remains semi-nomadic and in most cases only barely short of open defiance to the central administrators.

The Adylet Protectorate: The so-called ‘Ashen Steppe’ was for a great period the hard border to the Commonwealth’s influence, a permanent state of low-level warfare with the nomadic tribes who raided into settled lands and a trickle of trade caravans bringing goods from the far coast the only notable things to emerge from it. That changed five years ago. A masterful and brutal coup involving the defection of two royals and the simultaneous destruction of the nomad’s three foremost cults has left the Grand Marshall a loyal and devoted ally of the Commonwealth, and the Committee on Unsettled Peoples has been only too happy to provide all the help she requires – both material and scientific – in centralizing power around her new permanent capital and beginning to civilize the region.

Stedry: This mountainous region is, theoretically, much of the direct Illyric frontier with the Commonwealth. It has, for the past few decades, been the site of an increasingly blatant proxy war between the two great powers. The voivodes and bans who rule the various mountains fortresses and valleys owe only loosest allegiance to the Throne, and have historically been as likely to fight an imperial army as rally behind it. This has made turning them without actually starting a war much easier than it would otherwise have been – a matter of providing refuge and deniable amounts of funding and support to forward-thinking claimants, stirring up sympathetic rebellions among the peasantry and artisans, and in a few cases outright orchestrating the overthrow of lords – an angry mob murdering a regent and installing a reasonable man as his replacement in one case, a de facto military coup in another. Maps still show the Stedry as Illyric vassals, generally, but in practice by now trade, education and governance are increasingly carried out on the lines the Committee of General Enlightenment’s ever-present and ever-helpful advisers suggest.

The Aluic Republic: The Commonwealth’s main presence in the Outer World can be uncharitably described as a scientific expedition gone wildly out of hand. The need for safe harbours and resupply on zoological and cartographic surveys naturally lead to seeking friends among native states – something which only became more important as the outer continents were increasingly claimed and exploited under unfriendly flags. Contact with the feuding Aluic city-states solved both problems neatly. Being seemingly the only peoples in the outer continents to have independently developed an alphabet and study of mathematics, they were clearly the foremost champions of civilization available. The sacrificial religion and traditions of sacral kingship were both somewhat disagreeable, but something of a long term problem. As is inevitably the case, a subset of the cities were more than happy to take the aid of flattering strangers against their much despised rivals, and the unification wars progressed quite smoothly. Formally speaking, the Republic is a federation of equal members. In practice, it is an empire with power distributed more or less evenly between the three leading cities (two of the founders and one whose leadership picked an excellent time to switch sides) and the Commonwealth’s ambassador.

The Kingdom of Thuraya: Formerly what was probably the grandest and more powerful of the Soya Principalities, the recent coup has thrown it quite dramatically into the Commonwealth’s orbit. Following several rather humiliating defeats against the Free Cities – first in attempting to assert firm authority over their coastal ports and waters, and then being forced to grant traders free trade and navigation throughout the kingdom – thee scholar-gentry were thrown into turmoil, with increasingly violent anti-foreign movements rising in prominence. Of course, when some of the more pragmatic local governors determined they would need aid to triumph, the Commonwealth was more than happy to discretely provide what they needed. The civil war was swift, if brutal, and the king was safely removed from the grip of his ‘evil advisers’ – having been kept in a comfortable sort of imprisonment in the palace since. The new government still rules in his name, and his seal on the rapid centrilizing and modernizing reforms being undertaken is most likely all that has kept the response to scattered revolts instead of a full-on counterrevolution.

[quatorz]

Here’s something I wrote just prior to the election...

I’m sharing it here in case anyone thinks its useful.  I think-especially with the events of today-its going to become so apparent that we need to ‘demystify’ the Trumpster fire and expose him for the lying sack of shit that he was.

I said to a friend of mine MANY years ago that the most dangerous thing that was happening was that the truth was becoming partisan.  Man is that true now. 

But I wrote this, sent it to a few relatives (including my own Dad who is a supporter of the Orange One), and posted it to Facebook. 

The goal of the piece was always: ‘hey, you don’t have to listen to me.  Here are other sources (most of them Republican) who point out this mans complete inability to fill the Oval Office.  (And I live in Pennsylvania, and I wrote this just before our former Governor-former Republican Governor-Tom Ridge endorsed Biden.  Else I definitely would have included this). 

And some of it may seem slightly personal or familiar?  I was writing this primarily to speak to members of my family and friends. 

If any of this is useful, feel free to use it. 

Why I’m Not Voting for Trump

A few weeks ago a bomb dropped.  Not a literal bomb-as in ordinance, but a news bomb.  Although in our endlessly insane (or maybe insanely endless?) news cycle that’s been the last four years, it was easy to get overshadowed because another bomb probably dropped the next day or ever a few hours after that one.

But this one was different.  This was the revelation that Trump had 400 million dollars in outstanding loans.  On one of those loans-for 100 million dollars-they’d paid only the interest-none of the principal-and the loan is due in 2022.  The obvious question was asked: who does he owe that money too?

It’s a good question.  There was a great quote making the rounds from Eric Trump in 2014: ‘Who needs American banks?  Russia has plenty of money!’  During his town hall Savannah Guthrie asked Trump directly if that 400 million dollars was owed to foreign banks.  “Probably,” he said.

So: what makes that revelation a ‘bomb’? 

When I heard this, I immediately thought back to an instance that’s always stuck with me: last October when we inexplicably pulled our troops out of Syria.  Do you remember that?  Trump got off the phone with President Erdogan and announced that we were pulling out of Syria.  The backlash was immediate and bi-partisan.  Resident sycophant Lindsay Graham was especially critical, tweeting out:

“The most probable outcome of this impulsive decision is to ensure Iran’s domination of Syria...The U.S. now has no leverage and Syria will eventually become a nightmare for Israel.

“I feel very bad for the Americans and allies who have sacrificed to destroy the ISIS Caliphate because this decision virtually reassures the reemergence of ISIS.  So sad.  So dangerous.  President Trump may be tired of fighting radical Islam.  They are NOT tired of fighting us.”

This incident always stuck with me.  Especially the timing: getting off the phone with Erdogan and then hours later pulling out of Syria.  Astute researchers quickly found an audio clip of Trump on Steve Bannon’s radio show from back in 2011 saying ‘well, I have a conflict of interest when it comes to Turkey.  I have two buildings in Istanbul’...

So at first I thought this was simply another example of something I’d long thought Trump guilty of: being the president of Trump Enterprises first, and America second.  We’d seen that before with one of the first acts of his administration: the Travel Ban*, and then with his handling of the FBI building**. 

But when news of the outstanding loans came to light, I thought again about Syria, and the odd, out-of-the-blue nature of the President’s decision. 

The day the news of the loans broke, they had a former security official on MSNBC, and he brought up an interesting point: if you had large outstanding financial obligations like that to a foreign bank, you might be denied a security clearance based on that fact because you could be threatened or cajoled into acting against our country’s interests. 

Is that what happened here?  Did Erdogan ask Trump to pull his forces out of Syria (or did he demand it)?  Or was it Putin, indirectly through Erdogan who maybe told Trump “a mutual friend would be very appreciative if you would do this for him”. 

Who gave the order to pull out of Syria…?  An order that-according to Lindsey Graham-went against America’s interest and all but assured the resurrection of ISIS?

You’re probably thinking: whoa, Dave!   Easy there!  I mean, that sounds pretty crazy, right?  The idea that the President could be financially compromised to the extent that he does the bidding of our adversaries? 

Actually, I’m not the first to submit this crazy theory.  After the 2018 meeting in Helsinki with Vladimir Putin, a Republican state Congressman from Texas (yes, you read that right: a Republican from Texas) posted an op-ed with the title: Trump Is Being Manipulated by Putin. What Should We Do?

This Texas Republican’s background?  He’s former CIA.  In the op-ed he writes: “over the course of my career as an undercover officer in the C.I.A., I saw Russian intelligence manipulate many people. I never thought I would see the day when an American president would be one of them.”

He goes on to say: “The president’s failure to defend the United States intelligence community’s unanimous conclusions of Russian meddling in the 2016 election and condemn Russian covert counterinfluence campaigns and his standing idle on the world stage while a Russian dictator spouted lies confused many but should concern all Americans. 

“By playing into Vladimir Putin’s hands, the leader of the free world actively participated in a Russian disinformation campaign that legitimized Russian denial and weakened the credibility of the United States to both our friends and foes abroad.”

Wow.

I strongly believe that this President is dangerous.  He’s dangerous in the way he coddles up to autocrats.  He’s dangerous because he has financial entanglements that make him put his own interests before the nation’s.  And he’s dangerous because he politicized a virus that killed 200,000+ people when we now know he’s on record in February telling Bob Woodward (on tape no less) that this was WAY worse the flu, and was deadly. 

But you don’t take my word for it.  Listen to some fellow Republicans.  Here’s a statement by 70 Republicans who served as national security officials and say that this President is dangerously unfit to serve another term.  https://www.defendingdemocracytogether.org/national-security/

There’s more.  In an open letter to America, 780 retired Generals, Admirals, Senior Noncommissioned Officers, Ambassadors and Senior Civilian National Security Officials announced their support of Joe Biden for President for similar reasons: https://www.nationalsecurityleaders4biden.com/

Let me say, also, that I don’t think there’s anything ideologically wrong with being a Republican.  But I would submit to you that this current Republican administration and Republican Congress does not serve you, or anyone you know.

Basically, if you’re not going to watch Penn State play Ohio State tonight from Mar-A-Lago, their interests are not your interests. 

Trump isn’t for the ‘little guy’.  He’s accomplished one thing legislatively in his four years in office, and that was a tax cut for millionaires and billionaires.  Now, those billionaires are using their considerable resources (like Rupert Murdoch and Fox News) to try and get you to vote for him again so that they can keep the gravy train rolling.  It’s as simple as that.  It’s all about money.

Oh, and I forgot one other thing this President has done for the wealthy and corporations: he’s been hell bent on deregulating industry.  Which is great for big business, but not so great for us-the consumers.  In 2019 regulations on the pork industry were rolled back (read more about that here: https://qz.com/1716113/trump-gives-pork-industry-a-path-to-regulate-itself/).

What could go wrong there?  There were two health inspectors who came forward (if I remember right, they may have been the ones to bring the issue to light) and they basically said that they wouldn’t be eating the food from the companies where they had worked. 

Right now there are massive efforts to have legitimate votes cast be discounted.  In Minnesota, Republicans there are fighting a ruling that ballots can be received up to seven days after the election-as long as they are postmarked by election day.

This deadline was put into place months ago because of the pandemic, and was accepted on a bi-partisan basis.  Now Republicans are challenging that.  So you could have voters that put their vote in the mail last Tuesday-while the deadline was valid-only to have their vote challenged if the post office delivers it on Wednesday. 

Surely it can’t be partisan to feel that everyone’s vote should count?  But this is the new extreme right Republican party that will do anything to win-even disenfranchise legal votes.  Discounting valid votes is how we go from being America to being a Banana Republic.  At some point these Republicans need to understand that they are Americans first and Republicans second, or we are screwed as a nation. 

Trump is a man who shows no respect for the office of the President, caters to autocrats while his lawyers argue in court that he shouldn’t be able to be investigated while he’s in office.  If you’re an American, that should ALARM THE CRAP out of you.  Democracies can fall.  It’s happening everywhere around the globe.  If you think it ‘couldn’t happen here’ simply because it never has, that’s some dangerous thinking.  Remember, technically Putin is ‘elected’ into office.  And this Congress has failed epically in its duty to be a check on the executive branch.  That’s their job, by the way-regardless of who is in office.  

Don’t get me started on Attorney General William Barr.  I wonder if-during his confirmation hearings-when he listed ‘Banana Republics’ on his resume they thought he’d worked for the now defunct clothing chain, not that he was adept at creating them. 

You may be asking yourself: why is he putting all this out there now?  Because I love all of you-and certainly respect all of you.  And I see you blindly following a leader who doesn’t represent you or your values.  And I see you acting in a way and saying things and posting things that are inconsistent with the people I know you to be.

I’m working on the assumption that you are being fed false information.  That deep down you are indeed the people that I think you are, but you are being misled.

And remember: there are two ways to lie.  You can outright tell someone something that is false.  But you can also lie by omission.  Fox News is certainly guilty of the former, but maybe even more so of the latter.  (Fox News probably won’t tell you that 780 former Generals and National Security officials say that the President shouldn’t serve another term.   They didn’t lie…they just didn’t mention it.  And I think that’s something worth mentioning.)

Think of the dynamic at work here: Trump does or says something.  The dozens of news organizations that you’ve followed and respected your entire lives tells you it’s false.  One-ONE-news organization backs up his claim (the organization that is owned by a man who has benefited financially from President’s policies).  Meanwhile Trump calls the others ‘fake news’.  Do you see anything wrong there?

There is a great quote from Orwell’s 1984 that has become hauntingly prescient over the last four years: “The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” 

This Tuesday will be a deciding moment in this nation.  If you want a vote that actually means something in 2024, don’t vote for Trump on Tuesday.

 ****************

*What about the Travel Ban?  Glad you asked.  If you remember, the travel ban was assigned to keep us safe by preventing people from certain countries from coming to America (it is worth noting that the travel ban was first struck down by a federal judge appointed by George Bush).  One of the oddities about the travel ban was that there were three countries that were exempt.  These three countries were the only countries that had produced terrorists that had killed Americans.  None of the countries actually on the travel ban had.   Weird, huh?  Do you know what else these countries had in common?  They all had Trump branded properties. 

 **  The F.B.I. building.  So the F.B.I. building is in not great shape.  It’s old and falling apart.  In fact they had sections of the outside cordoned off so that a piece of the outer façade doesn’t fall off and kill someone.  The U.S. government had worked out a deal with a contractor that the contractor would build the F.B.I. a brand new facility-for free-and then in exchange the contractor would be given the old F.B.I. location to do whatever they want with it.  Presumably, knock down and make it into a new building/hotel/shops (whatever).  Pretty good deal, right?

Except…a year or so ago a lady had a meeting at the White House and then went before Congress and said that the F.B.I. did not, in fact, want a free brand new facility anymore, but instead wanted the renovate and repair the old one instead.  Huh…

Do you know what building is just a couple blocks down from the F.B.I. building’s location?  Trump’s D.C. hotel. 

Now I know what you’re thinking.  You’re saying: ‘but Dave, look at all the NFL owners: they didn’t want new stadiums.  They decided to pour money into their old dilapidated stadiums that were steeped in tradition and history!’  Except you’re not saying that because that never happened.  Everyone wants a new facility over a crumbling money pit, and I’m sure the F.B.I was no exception.

(It’s also interesting to note that-for some reason-there was two billion dollars in one of the recent versions of a Coronavirus relief bill-that wasn’t passed-allocated for the repair of the F.B.I. building.  Why?  Who put that in there? It wasn’t Senate Republicans.  It was funny watching Mitch McConnell answering questions about that and having to admit that he had no idea that it was even in there).

[moneypedia]

How to Defend Against False Accusations: A Personal Defense and 5 Guidelines to Protect The Truth

August 5, 2018 By Drew Shepherd

[Note: This post contains details about an undiagnosed case of borderline personality disorder (BPD). These details are included for informational purposes only, not to spread hate towards people with the illness.

If you or a loved one have been diagnosed with BPD, however, you may want to avoid this article.]

Guilty until proven innocent.

That’s the new norm these days.

Our current social climate has made it empowering to be a victim. And any abusers left standing must be exterminated—whether they’re guilty or not.

Please don’t think I’m downplaying the experience of actual victims though.

I know what it’s like to be among the lowest of society, and the struggle of real victims is part of the inspiration behind this site.

But the inconvenient truth is that all these “abusers” aren’t the monsters they’re made out to be.

Why do I say that you ask?

Because I’m one of them.

And this is my story.

The Accusation(s)

During my early twenties, I got involved with a girl who I later realized had borderline personality disorder (BPD).

I’ve already written about the experience and I’ve alluded to it multiple times since. So please read that article before this one if you haven’t already.

BPD is a serious mental illness, but most people have never heard of it, let alone know how to diagnose it.

If you’re not aware of how people with the disorder act, this post will come off as a rant against an innocent girl who liked me—which couldn’t be further from the truth.

But to summarize, the most notable symptom of BPD is the inability to regulate emotions. It’s a symptom so powerful that a sufferer’s feelings can define his or her reality. And this is what leads to many false accusations.

Manipulation, emotional abuse, cheating, promiscuity—she publicly accused me of all them.

It’s part of the process of “painting someone black.” The BPD person goes through cycles of both extreme love and hate for their loved one, but once the relationship ends, the other party is permanently devalued.

Of course this treatment is reserved for those in close relationships with the BPD sufferer. Outsiders will only see a victim pleading her case.

I’ve stayed quiet on these accusations so far since most of them don’t have any substance, but I unfortunately made one mistake that appears to give her claims some validity.

So I’m sure that she already has, or eventually will use this evidence against me. And if her false accusations were to gain traction, they would not only destroy my reputation, but also the legitimacy of the message I present on this site.

The latter is my primary reason for defense.

I’ve always said that the Bible is the basis for my moral judgment, and that couldn’t be more important than in sexual matters.

Now do I always control my lustful impulses and thoughts?

And do I always prevent myself from viewing images I shouldn’t see?

No.

I’m a Christian but I’m still a sinful human being. Controlling lust is part of the lifelong battle against sin in the Christian life.

But when it comes to things like fornication and adultery, I’ve held true to my stance on abstinence.

And as tough as it is to be a twenty-something with this stance in our sex-saturated world, it’s beyond frustrating to be accused of doing the complete opposite.

I’m an ambassador for what I believe. And I can’t allow anything on this site—faith-related or not—to be diminished because of one person’s claims.

So I’ll go into detail here about what really happened, and then I’ll show you how to defend against false accusations once and for all.

Drew “The Player”

I’ll preface my story with a little background information.

I was going into my last semester in college, and it had been about a year since I saw my accuser in person.

Things didn’t end well between me and her the last time we were “together.” But I was admittedly still interested in her—even with all the red flags.

It appeared that both of us were sad with the way the first go ‘round ended. So I foolishly tried to work something out with her before the semester started.

To my surprise, I was ignored and indirectly shot down.

How a normal girl would’ve reacted

It hurt pretty bad after putting myself out there for someone I thought still cared. But rejection is a part of life, so I moved on.

What’s crazy though, is that she changed her mind at some point afterwards. And even though I never got a direct response from her, she apparently assumed we were in a quasi-relationship.

Now fast forward to February.

It was the week of Valentine’s Day. And while I did still think of her, I wasn’t sending a Valentine’s Day anything to a girl who I didn’t trust, who now lived in a different state, and who couldn’t even respond to my direct communication.

The only reason I entertained the thought of us getting back together—if we were ever truly together in the first place—was because she hoovered me back in.

Hoovering is a term that describes actions similar to what its namesake, the Hoover vacuum does.

It’s a tactic people with personality disorders subconsciously use to suck loved ones back in after a failed relationship.

In this case, she used one of the social media apps we both had to convince me that she was open to a renewed relationship, and that she had changed for the better.

But at this point, I was just focused on schoolwork because I had no clue what this girl was thinking.

I had a senior project for an external company that took most of my time that semester.

My project group and I met just about every weekday. And at the time, we were all trying to meet a deadline coming up the next week.

The day after Valentine’s Day, one of my teammates mentioned that we should go play trivia at a local bar. But being the introverted party-pooper I am, I declined.

My schedule involved waking at around 5:30 each day. My teammates were always out too late for my liking, and I knew I’d never make it back in time to get enough sleep if I went.

So I gave the whole, “Thanks, but no thanks” spiel even though I knew they wouldn’t let me off that easy.

Our team was a pretty tight group—especially for four people who were assigned to each other at random.

We had a ton of inside jokes by the end of the semester. And they were the first to tease me at graduation because my honor stole nearly fell as I walked across the stage.

So naturally, they all had a good laugh at me for not wanting to miss my bedtime.

Of course it was all playful fun though. I did get back at them numerous times over the semester, but I’ll admit that I have an off-kilter personality that lends itself to being teased.

So anyway, we went our separate ways and I headed to bed.

The next day, I saw an email from the night before saying that I was invited to a school-specific social app. I didn’t see the email until the early morning though because I went to bed early.

I had never heard of the app before and I was skeptical. So my first thought after waking and reading the email was, “What the heck is (app name here)?”

My second thought was, “Who’s the funny guy who sent this?”

Now I knew it was someone who previously had my email address.

Of course any student could have pulled that info from the school’s directory, but I doubt anyone would have gone through the trouble of searching their class roster, finding me, and then using my email address for the sake of hitting me up on an app.

So it had to be someone with whom I worked with closely or had a personal relationship with.

With these facts in mind, I falsely concluded that it was a prank from my teammate that the rest of the group was in on.

They had just gone out together the night before. And they always found a way to mess with me—even when I wasn’t around.

So just like any other time I felt I was being pranked, manipulated, or taken advantage of, I played along with the hope that the other party wouldn’t realize until it was too late (and this has been my M.O. since I was a kid).

But doing this, in hindsight, was a terrible idea.

Any form of participation on what I later realized was a hookup app would paint me in a bad light. And the consequences of my actions weren’t as clear at 5:30 in the morning.

After I made a quick profile—complete with pictures no man would ever use if he was truly seeking casual sex—I waited about 15 minutes for a response that never came.

Then after realizing how bad my actions could appear without context, I quickly deleted the app and went on with my day.

I’m not sure if I completely wiped the profile I created. But since the app was lesser-known and low key about its hookup aspect—it’s not like I signed on to Tinder—I figured this wouldn’t be a problem.

Outside of my own actions with the invite and the app though, I don’t know anything else. But there’s a chance that a troll profile made 10 minutes after I woke could end up biting me. And that’s why I’ve chosen to address it.

Now, I’m almost certain this invite was from my accuser. And I still kick myself for not recognizing the true source of the bait.

My actions gave her the apparent confirmation that I was “playing the field.” And within the week, she either started, or just made it obvious that she was sleeping with another guy to spite me—a wild and disproportionate response to the thought that your S.O. may be seeing someone else.

So once I confirmed that this actually happened, I ghosted her and all her drama, focused on my schoolwork (which led to my first 4.0), and then went along with my life.

People with BPD are notorious for doing stuff like this. It’s the reason why a popular book covering the illness is called Stop Walking On Eggshells (affiliate link):

They’ll cry about a lack of communication but then ignore you when you reach out to them.

They’ll go on about how lonely they are while sleeping with one of their (or even your) “friends” behind your back.

They’ll say you’re too stupid to complete a task but discredit you when you do it, and then raise the bar higher so you won’t reach the new mark.

After a while you won’t know what to do because she’ll never be satisfied. And everyone else will chalk it up to you not knowing how to treat a woman.

No-win situations and constant testing are common to those in relationships with these people—especially in regards to anything sexual. So I presume the invite was a test to see if I was some dirtbag who would cheat on his partner.

Now I’d hesitate to call it cheating either way since she ignored my attempts to directly communicate, and I had no idea what our relationship status was.

But the other “fact” she gathered was that I was a player who enjoyed casual sex (an assumption that would have driven a younger me mad with laughter).

Look, I understand that I don’t have a squeaky-clean Christian boy appearance—going through trials doesn’t purify the outside after all.

But that doesn’t mean I partake in the same activities those who look like me may be into. And it for sure doesn’t mean that my moral character is anything different than what I present on this site.

Of course it doesn’t help that I’m black either…but I won’t go down that road.

I should also note that I don’t have a personal Facebook or Instagram account. So it’s tough for others to know much about my life unless they read this site or talk to me or my loved ones personally.

This blank space makes me an easy target for accusations since I can be unknowingly attacked through mediums where I can’t defend myself. And there are no videos of me playing with my dog to fill the holes left by my “shady” lifestyle.

Usually this isn’t a problem as most of the people I meet don’t care about my online presence. But of course there’s always one person who assumes the worst case scenario. And it’s sad that in my case, this person was someone I genuinely liked before.

These obsessive behaviors were nothing new though:

This same girl cried sobbed in the middle of one of our classes—when we were both in our twenties mind you—because I didn’t initially return her interest.

She would go from spaced-out to depressed and then stare at me like it was my fault.

She even accused me of cheating after seeing a pic my mom took of me when I was at dinner with my family.

So you can imagine the relief I felt when I closed the door on that for good.

At this point, the only ones who still believe her lies—or to be fair to the illness she has, her reality—are people I’ve never met.

But I’m not even mad anymore. I’m just annoyed that my life is still negatively affected because I fell for the wrong girl.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the honest truth.

How to Craft Your Defense

So now that my story’s out of the way, how do you fight your own false accusations?

It’s not too difficult.

Just follow these 5 guidelines to protect yourself in both the present, and the future:

1) Remember the Alibi

As tempting as it is to piece together a story that makes you look like a saint, you have to ensure the truth you present is actually…well, true.

Since I couldn’t remember all this off the top of my head, I dug through my old emails and group conversations to get the timeline right. And I could always use them again if legal action was involved.

It also helps that I have an archive of posts here that clearly present my personality and the mistakes I’ve made.

You can even compare this post to the one I wrote on BPD earlier and you’ll see numerous similarities. If anyone thought I was lying, they could search the other 40+ posts here too to see that the story adds up.

But if you don’t have thousands of words as supporting evidence, just take your time, breathe, and write down what happened as best as you remember.

False accusations can cloud your memory when you first hear them, and your emotions will push for a raw defense. But if you start writing what you remember, you can put that passion to good use now, and update your writing later with more facts.

A story set in writing will be a great resource to have. You don’t want to lean on your memory or your speech when the pressure’s on.

If you write down what happened, you’ll also find other bits of evidence you’ll need to prepare your defense. And if your audience is really concerned with the truth, they’ll take all the info they can get.

2) Compare the Fruit

Perhaps the easiest way to expose the shakiness of false accusations is to note the shakiness of the accuser’s lifestyle.

This is by far my least favorite technique though since it appears to be an attack on character instead of the accusation itself. But understand that those two targets aren’t mutually exclusive.

A person who usually acts one way is almost certain to do it again.

And no, that fact isn’t judgmental. It’s simple probability.

This is going to sound like I’m bragging about my accomplishments and attacking her character, but let’s compare some notable points about my life and my accuser’s:

I improved to at least a 3.5 GPA in my last four college semesters within a STEM major. But I’ll admit my accuser was booksmart, so we’re pretty much even there.

I have never gotten blacked-out drunk (or even consumed alcohol). I have never taken an illegal substance. And I have never lived a promiscuous lifestyle. My accuser has done, and probably still does, all three.

I landed a stable job in my field more than a month before I graduated, and I’m still employed there today. My accuser barely held a job as a bar server about a year after graduating with the same degree.

Again, I don’t like expressing my achievements, and I never want to attack anyone’s character. We all make mistakes, and I made one of the biggest mistakes any student ever will (which she contributed to by the way).

But when someone’s lifestyle displays a clear pattern of incompetence, recklessness, and mental instability, the validity of their claims also takes a hit.

And that’s without mentioning that I’ve written the equivalent of a book here at HFE—a site where I cover my own shortcomings just as much, if not more than my accomplishments—on my own time and dollar because I believe it will help others.

So knowing all this, let me ask you, who do you think is telling the truth?

A tree’s fruit always gives it away.

Know who you are and know who you’re dealing with so any other lies are dismissed as the jokes they are.

3) Change “I” to “We”

The most unfortunate thing about false accusations is that no one’s waiting to hear a verdict.

As soon as those words leave your accuser’s mouth, you will be facing much more than one person.

Friends, family, social circles, even whole communities may turn against you.

And what began as a defense against one liar becomes a battle against an entire army.

So what do you do when this multitude of warriors stands against you?

It’s simple.

You gather the troops.

Find people who can vouch for your story. Get help from friends who aren’t blinded by the lies. Ask people who were neutral bystanders to explain what happened since they’re not biased.

I know I can get anyone from former classmates, friends, and family members to acknowledge the truth of my claims.

And since I know the mental issues my accuser deals with, I can also refer to a psychologist or another mental health resource.

An understanding of my accuser’s mind is one of the best counters to her claims. Yes, she acts in unstable ways, but they’re predictably unstable, and numerous people have experience with the problem I have now.

You shouldn’t be afraid to get professional help either.

Lawyer up if it’s serious enough.

Slander and libel are legit crimes. And if you can prove that your life is heavily impacted, especially financially, you may have a case.

So don’t go at this alone. You can bet your accuser isn’t.

4) Go One and Done

The biggest mistake people make when presenting any argument, defense, or reasoning is that they over-explain themselves.

Sure, you want to be as thorough as possible in your explanation, and you should reference points of that original argument to answer questions. But there’s no need to add to your stance or sate a mind that will never believe you.

If you’ve taken the necessary steps to present and defend the truth, you have to live with the results.

Learn to be comfortable with the fact that everyone won’t like, listen to, or believe you. Because the more you add to your original defense, the weaker it will appear.

You’ll also introduce more room for error. And it would be a shame for a memory lapse to cause an otherwise solid defense to fail.

Remember that it’s only your job to present the truth. Not to make others believe it.

I’m confident that my defense removes any ammo my accuser has left. So now the only claims she can bring against me are accusations of neglect—which don’t matter since I’m not her parent—or causing hurt feelings—which isn’t a crime in America yet.

I presented the truth one time, and now there’s no need to address her claims again.

Every accusation doesn’t deserve a response. So stay true to what really happened, and let people think what they want afterwards.

5) Don’t Even Fake It

These accusations have made me realize the importance of the Bible’s command to, “Abstain from all appearance of evil.” (1 Thessalonians 5:22 KJV)

It’s not enough to just avoid evil acts. You have to avoid situations where you could possibly do them too.

For instance, plenty articles on false accusations describe how to protect yourself against false rape claims. But if someone can accuse you of something like rape without an obvious fabrication, you are in over your head.

You can’t reach the point where a verdict is decided by a “yes” or “no.”

It’s one of the many reasons you shouldn’t sleep around in the first place. You are putting your life in the hands of someone who could easily change their mind in the morning. And you have to stay out of that gray area.

Remember to guard your character at all times. You never know when you’ll need to fall back on your integrity.

For example, I remember one conversation I had with a friend a few years back, and my accuser happened to be in the room.

My friend noticed that I received a few glances of interest from girls. So out of the blue he asked, “Drew, how many girls do you get?”

He chuckled while asking the question, so of course it wasn’t anything serious. He didn’t ask about anything explicitly sexual either.

So being the joker I am, I said something along the lines of, “I don’t know. I lost count.”

Then the both of us laughed it off.

But there’s a chance my accuser heard those words and immediately assumed the worst.

It would have been ridiculous to say something like:

“I’m sorry sir, but I am a Bible-believing man of God who has accepted the challenge to live righteously. How dare you imply that I live such a heinous lifestyle?!”

So I had a quick laugh and moved off the subject.

But even this could have added to her claims. So now I try not to even joke about stuff like that—at least not when I’m around people who barely know me.

You should do the same. But don’t limit your efforts to watching your tongue:

Always dress in a respectable manner.

Avoid the crazy nighttime venues—they’re magnets for people like my accuser.

And please don’t go to a hotel room belonging to a member of the opposite sex.

Presentation always matters.

Avoid the appearance of evil, and it’ll be impossible to even accuse you.

Grant Me That Chance

I’ve had enough headaches from my past relationship, and I’d rather not think about it anymore.

But it was important to defend myself here before any other false info leaked.

I hope none of it came across as too aggressive though. I wrote all of this to clear my name, not to get revenge.

From all I’ve seen, read, and now experienced, real victims don’t go out of their way to destroy their abuser’s life. They just want justice and a chance to finally move on.

So if anything else comes up about this, please remember this point and grant me that chance.

Contrary to what some people think, I don’t hate my accuser, and I hope she’s able to turn her life around.

If there was a normal version of her who didn’t have what she had, I’d love to meet her. But the ship has sailed on anything between me and the real her.

All I want now is peace and the freedom to live a good life. And I’m sure that’s all you want too.

So remember who you are, take a stand for the truth, and then defend it with your life.

And who knows? Someone else may come to your defense if you do.

-Drew

[things2mustdo]

Face it, the mainstream media is not only full of contradictions, but deep-seated, institutionalized biases. When a male or conservative does something, it is often considered horrendous. Yet when a female, liberal or a member of another “special” group does the same thing, passes are given or journalists’ eyes are averted.

Social media users with common sense political opinions have already started to compile these glaring double standards. Return Of Kings and its supporters should continue doing the same thing.

So here are five of the most egregious recent examples of hypocritical mainstream media madness:

1. Use of dead veterans’ families at political rallies or conventions

When Khizr and Ghazala Khan appeared at the Democratic National Convention to lambaste Donald Trump for his views on Muslim immigration and supposed behavior, commentators and journalists went wild with fanfare. Their son Humayun, a Muslim soldier, had died in Iraq. Trump was attacked for allegedly grandstanding about and minimizing Humayun’s death.

Meanwhile, many of these same newsmen and women, including Rachel Maddow’s stooge Steve Benen, derided the Republicans for featuring Pat Smith, mother of Benghazi fatality Sean Smith, as a speaker at their own Convention. Mrs. Smith had laid into Hillary Clinton over the latter’s role in and perceived indifference to her son’s death in Libya. So one family became heroes to the media for going public after their tragic loss, while another was portrayed as so weak in their grief that they were manipulated by big, bad Republicans into talking.

Moreover, Trump had nothing to do with Sean Smith’s death. Compare this to Clinton, who was the Secretary of State at the time of the American deaths at Benghazi and whose State Department had received numerous calls for assistance. Considering that Sean Smith and others died alongside U.S. Ambassador Christopher Stevens, the first American ambassador to be killed whilst serving since 1979, the woefully insufficient security precautions taken by the Obama Administration and Secretary Clinton should not have transpired. But this spotlight on Clinton does not make for good (liberal) news.

2. Psychiatric records for a war hero vs. medical records of a pathological liar

Countless liberals, both in the media and within other leftist cabals like mainstream Hollywood, have attacked those questioning Hillary Clinton’s health as “misogynists,” “sexists” and other undesirables. When these tags are unable to be used, leftists claim that even piecemeal doubts about her physical condition are nothing but conspiracy theories on par with Roswell UFOs and lizard people running the world.

Yet eight years ago, these same people were frothing at the bit to out John McCain for his supposedly poor health. Most perversely of all, they homed in on his decorated military service, suggesting he had Presidentially disqualifying mental health conditions from his service in the Vietnam War and the multiple years he spent as a prisoner-of-war. “Where are his psychiatric records?” bellowed one piece from Salon, in addition to a number of other articles that more than hinted at the same topic.

Whilst I, like many of you, revile his putrid, watered-down “Republican” policies on many issues, McCain had gargantuan balls in Vietnam. Here is a man who spent more time as a tortured prisoner-of-war, including a stay in the notorious Hanoi Hilton, than Barack Obama spent in the US Senate. As the son of the commander of US forces in Vietnam, McCain received numerous offers of repatriation from the North Vietnamese. He refused and would only accept being returned home once fellow American soldiers captured before him were released. By contrast, Hillary lacks the mental fortitude to tell the truth most of the time, not even after she’s had seizures, coughing fits, and dramatic collapses on camera!

3. Sexualizing political candidates (and removing their genitals)

When an artist by the name of Lushsux painted a mural of a scantily-clad Hillary Clinton, a local Melbourne, Australia council and numerous global commentators derided it as “misogyny” and “sexual objectification.” “Take female politicians seriously!” was the crux of their shrill arguments against the rendering. Lushsux then trolled his critics by repainting the mural so Hillary was dressed in an Islamic burqa. Soon after, multiple statues of a nude and testicle-less Donald Trump appeared in American cities. Unlike the Hillary artwork, the proliferation created huge fanfare and delight amongst both prominent leftists and run-of-the-mill liberal voters. Why is one act so offensive and the other so funny, particularly in age where body-shaming and mocking someone’s appearance is meant to be so taboo?

Most of the critical commentaries about the Trump statues that appeared in the mainstream media, of which there were few, failed to take into account one glaring significance of the testicle-less Trump. Short of them being violently taken or hacked off, how exactly could Trump have no balls? Imagine the furore if a statue, mural or other representation of Hillary Clinton had lacked breasts or shown her vagina circumcised/mutilated. “They’re condoning violence against women!” would be the stock-standard answer from liberals and their even more deranged SJW cousins.

4. Lesbian’s Olympic marriage proposal vs. heterosexual male’s Olympic marriage proposal

This is bad and misogynistic:

This is love and should be applauded:

Leftists rejoiced when Olympic official Marjorie Enya asked her partner, rugby sevens player Isadora Cerullo, to marry her using a microphone. Love wins, right, especially when it’s gay love? But when Chinese athlete Qin Kai asked silver medalist He Zi to marry him, the knives from the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) came out. The BBC, unfortunately taxpayer-funded, published an article insinuating that Qin Kai was attempting to control He Zi with the very public marriage proposal. Not only could it be control, it could be awfully pernicious “male control.” Coverage of Enya’s proposal to Cerullo, however, got the broadcaster’s tick of approval.

If either of the two proposals is a form of control or narcissistic, it was the lesbian one. Unlike the Chinese diver, who was competing individually, the lesbian proposed to was part of the Brazilian team, which had not even been awarded a medal. Brazil had come ninth and that night Australia had beaten New Zealand for the gold medal. He Zi may not have won the gold medal, but she had actually participated in the final. But do not let facts get in the way of a good male-bashing.

5. Objectifying men vs. objectifying women

Cosmopolitan has established itself as a dual enabler of both ditzy female airheads and SJW political freaks. Over time, the magazine has come out strongly against countless normal displays of male sexuality, admonishing men who appreciate female breasts and buttocks for being “horrible.” Of the many Cosmopolitan pieces to take this line, an article in mid-2014 takes the cake for its ridiculous shaming of harmless, healthy behaviors. Ironically, though, covers for this publication feature the same sorts of thin, healthy women that men desire most in the first place.

Fast-forward a mere two years and Cosmopolitan went to the extraordinary effort of cataloguing 36 men whose crotch bulges tickled their fancy. Of course, numerous other articles during that time had objectified men in a way considered misogynistic when males do it to women, but the timing was amusing. After so much talk of valuing female athletes, whose physical accomplishments are far less than men, for their work and not their bodies, Cosmopolitan celebrated the years of sacrifice of male athletes by effectively taking photos of their barely clothed genitalia.

We could keep on going

Many other hypocritical pieces were penned about these situations, not just the ones I have referenced. Then there’s the great number of other articles we could assess and critique on separate issues. You may be convinced, and rightfully so, that the mainstream media is inherently biased. But we need to take this to the next level and disseminate the proof to wider audiences.

Journalists and commentators will continue their bad habits, that much is clear. What matters now is fighting back. Complaining about double standards only goes so far. Exposing them in an organized fashion stands a better much chance in helping us to arrest and then reverse this institutional bias.

As Return Of Kings readers, you are our extra eyes and ears. If you find more examples of extreme leftist media bias, bring it to our attention.

https://www.returnofkings.com/19995/anti-female-stem-bias-a-bayesian-explanation

The New York Times recently ran a long piece exploring the history of women in STEM fields and attempting to explain the ever-present difference between men and women in performance and participation in these fields. The article begins by citing research on perceptions of female aptitude in math and science:

“Researchers at Yale published a study proving that physicists, chemists and biologists are likely to view a young male scientist more favorably than a woman with the same qualifications. Presented with identical summaries of the accomplishments of two imaginary applicants, professors at six major research institutions were significantly more willing to offer the man a job. “

She shares an anecdote that is supposed to display the prejudice of professors against females in the field, but instead illustrates one valid reason for the bias displayed by the Yale study:

“Other women chimed in to say that their teachers were the ones who teased them the most. In one physics class, the teacher announced that the boys would be graded on the “boy curve,” while the one girl would be graded on the “girl curve”; when asked why, the teacher explained that he couldn’t reasonably expect a girl to compete in physics on equal terms with boys.”

Enter Bayes’ Theorem

Bayes’s theorem is a foundational principle of statistics and probability that allows us to update our estimations about the trueness of a fact based on new evidence. The math of Bayes’ theorem is simple and elegant, and the overarching idea is powerful — we can use evidence in a formalized manner to change the probability that something may be true, and this can often have non-intuitive results.

The classic example of Bayes in action is medical tests — for example, if 1% of women have breast cancer, and a mammogram detects the cancer 80% of the time with a 10% false positive rate, what is the probability that a positive result means the woman has cancer? If a mammogram is positive, the chance of cancer is less than 8% due to the presence of false positives, as well as the low baseline population rate of cancer.

What does this have to do with women and STEM fields? Readers of this site are familiar with the allure that even a plain looking girl can have at the height of her availability and youth. This isn’t just a factor when getting free drinks at the bar – it extends to the classroom, hiring for jobs, treatment in everyday life, and many other areas. Girls in primary and secondary school are judged to be better students, despite boys showing a significant advantage in standardized tests starting around middle school. The article highlights the ways that women are supposedly discouraged by the system, but makes no mention of the advantages they enjoy.

Put simply, women are more likely to be handed accomplishments without having to work for them, both due to the power of their sexuality and as unconscious overcorrection for their supposed disadvantages in opportunity. Given an applicant with a certain pedigree – a Ph.D, say, from a top graduate program —we will have a certain estimation of that person’s intelligence and aptitude. However, the “false positive” rate on those qualifications identifying extremely high aptitude is likely to be much lower for a man, who has not enjoyed the advantages of a feminized education system, catch-up programs, and the hint of his sexuality influencing the evaluations of his superiors.

The bias against hiring a woman whose qualifications are equal to a man, and their subsequent lower salary offer, is simply a use of Bayesian inference. It accounts for the implicit probability that the female will not be as good as her résumé suggests, to say nothing of the chance that she will leave her job to begin a family and leave her employer empty-handed at some point in the future. If, as the example above states, both men and women implicitly behave as if men are superior in math and science, we must give some consideration that this is a possibility.

If Men Are Better At Math/Science — What’s The Big Deal?

The media is encouraged to sing the praises of women where they excel compared to men, and females indeed show demonstrated advantages in many cognitive areas. They are better at language acquisition, picking up on non-verbal cues, and we are all familiar with their evolved capacity for psychological manipulation. Many would suggest that women have better organizational skills. They are incarcerated for violent crimes less often, are less prone to risky behavior, and are more resilient to psychological trauma such as PTSD.

But when it comes to exploring why men have long-demonstrated advantages in certain disciplines, the media scrabbles to ascribe the boogeyman of injustice perpetrated on the protected class. The article is quick to dismiss the repeatable and longitudinal difference between males in females in standardized testing, a long-standing form of evaluation that every college and grad school uses to give out valuable admissions spots. It also does not mention the lack of female representation in technology entrepreneurship, a field that is less dependent on credentials and more on individual drive, creativity, and aptitude.

It could certainly be true that women are discriminated against AND that they are simply less common at the far right of the aptitude bell curve necessary for competitive positions in academia. But I challenge you to find this idea entertained in any mainstream publication despite the mountains of circumstantial evidence. Larry Summers was tarred and feathered for even mentioning research on population dynamics as a potential driver of this difference. The lesson here is that, when you begin an “inquiry” by presupposing the conclusion, you will end up with a politically correct and eminently intellectually dishonest worldview.

Read More: The Anti-Male Commercial

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

“Oh. Very well”: Alexander Waverly in Exploitation and Backstories

Waverly... bothers me. I think he’s a fascinating character and wonderfully portrayed and he’s a very intrinsic element of The Man From UNCLE that makes the show what it is, but he’s deeply and fascinatingly flawed and Damn do I want to talk about that!

Disclaimer: This is all based on my headcanons, not on concrete evidence from the show; I’m just speculating.

Disclaimer 2: I’m going to briefly reference real historical events. I do not intend to go into great detail because the last thing I want to do is to turn these into fuel for fanfiction without at least due respect to the victims of these events and their families. The 1930s and the 1950s were not really that long ago. How and if fandom should treat these kinds of tragedies is another debate, but for now: some events are still with us and I am conscious that while what I’m doing here is having fun with character analysis, not all of this is fiction. I’ve done my best to do what research I can, but if something I’ve said sounds off or disrespectful, please tell me and I will do my best to correct myself.

Waverly gives me the heebiejeebies. Whether it’s his matter-of-fact statement that his agents are expendable, his deceptions and manipulation of them, the fact that he regularly keeps them in the dark in ways that endanger them, or the fact that despite all of this they show him ultimate and unflinching loyalty - something about him throws me off.

Now the things I’m about to say about Napoleon and Illya’s pasts prior to joining UNCLE are headcanon, sometimes with basis in canon, sometimes just pulled out of nowhere for the fun of it or because I thought it fit. They might not, probably don’t, fit everyone’s headcanons. Napoleon and Illya are always shady about their pasts and I’m glad of it - it means we get So Much variety in transformative fandom. There is also a point to me getting into Napoleon and Illya’s backstories in order to talk about Waverly, and I will get to it.

I headcanon Napoleon as the only child of a fairly well off family. We know his grandfathers may have been an admiral and an ambassador respectively, although of course taking Napoleon’s word on anything is risky business. For the sake of argument, though, I’m going to say that’s canon. Napoleon is likeable and has a lot of friends. He does okay in school, but not well enough, I don’t think. He’s sporty and popular but not overly academic. He doesn’t go to college (this is arguably disputable; he states in Cherry Blossom that he threw the javelin in college - but I think that’s just him talking nonsense to get attention from girls. Pretty standard for Napoleon really!), or if he does go to college, he drops out and joins the army. I think Napoleon lying about his age in order to join up is so believably something he would do. He’s young, overconfident and desperate for a cause. We see in Secret Sceptre how he’s clung to Morgan’s ideals and assurance that the cause they’re fighting for is just, and how distraught he is to learn that his old mentor is not the moral safe ground he thought. How this must lead Napoleon to revisit his time in Korea with a new perspective - one of corruption and greed and futility! He wants reassurance that he’s doing, has done, the right thing. It’s an insecurity he masks well, but it’s there. I’d argue you can see it again in Seven Wonders of the World, for example, and even throughout season 4: war is never over, good never triumphs fully, good and evil are not black and white, how do we know that our ideals are the right ones?

I headcanon that Napoleon met his wife before he left for Korea, although I don’t think they were married until after he returned. They were both too young to get married; Napoleon in particular is immature and impulsive. Napoleon’s family did not approve. Still, I think that for what time they had together they were very poor and very happy. Whether this would have lasted, who knows? I headcanon that she died in a car crash, and that Napoleon wasn’t there when it happened. He’s home from a war he never understood, he’s full of grief and guilt, and his life is not what he thought it was going to be. What a time for Waverly to appear, to tell him that there is a concrete Good and Evil and that there are Good Guys and Bad Guys, that there’s a simple cause and Napoleon can find a career in joining it. Napoleon’s not stupid - but it’s not going to be hard at this stage in his life for Waverly to make UNCLE sound like a godsend. 

How Waverly gets hold of Illya in my headcanon is if anything more unsettling. He’s born into genocide and famine, and I headcanon that he was 8 when his parents died. That he lived with a Romani family is also firmly set in fanon for many and has some good canon basis and I very much subscribe to that. What his childhood was like is frequently speculated and I haven’t come to too many conclusions myself but it’s safe to say that Illya’s childhood has taught him to be resourceful, self-reliant and wary of close connections. So he goes to Cambridge, does his Masters, does his PhD., goes back to the USSR and joins the Navy, then somehow goes from the Navy to UNCLE (in an implausibly short space of time). That’s not my concern here - what I am interested in is how his transfer from the Soviet branch of UNCLE to the New York HQ is effected. 

To me, Illya is a gay character. I’d go so far as to say he’s coded as such, even if not deliberately. I won’t go into detail about that because I could write a whole post about it I think. Somehow, I think he is outed during his time with the Soviet UNCLE branch; this puts him in danger. He’s a good agent - one of their best - Waverly will have heard of him. Where Beldon fits into all this I’m not quite sure, because I got so carried away with making these headcanons that I forgot about him! But I’m sure he fits in somewhere. But I digress. UNCLE in the USSR are at a loss what to do with Illya: they can’t keep him, but he’s too valuable an asset to lose. It’s like Christmas has come early for Waverly! I’m sure he can’t get in there fast enough, to say oh well I can take him off your hands, there’s an opening in Research here in New York, or something along those lines. Maybe Illya is sent to Beldon first; but I do think Beldon and Waverly are in cahoots about getting Illya over to the USA. They probably fight over him a bit; he’s highly qualified, has excellent Survival School records, can pull the Weirdest stunts, speaks God knows how many languages.

Illya is undoubtedly in a terrifying situation; not only is his career on the line, but potentially his life as well. I don’t think anyone at the New York UNCLE branch knows he’s An Homosexual, barring Waverly (and Napoleon, eventually, of course) - but this places Waverly in a position of extreme power over Illya - and yet how can Illya be anything but loyal to this benefactor? Illya knows he is in Waverly’s debt, and that his entire position depends on Waverly’s discretion. Illya had been in danger; communications were made from East to West and back again, strings were pulled, and Illya has been quickly and quietly removed from the USSR and joined the ranks of Waverly’s remarkably devoted base of agents. It’s a win-win-win situation: Illya is saved from awkwardness at best and physical danger at worst and has a chance to put his talents as an Enforcement Agent to better use; the Soviet UNCLE folks have got rid of their outed gay agent without a scandal; Waverly has a shiny new agent. And sure, then Illya is partnered with Napoleon, everyone lives happily ever after.

But it’s Waverly’s motives that bother me; I can only speak about Illya and Napoleon because we don’t know much about any other agents, but he’s taken them both at times of great vulnerability and placed them undeniably in his debt. He’s indoctrinated Napoleon with his own ideals at a time when Napoleon was desperate for ideals, and he’s placed himself in a position of power over Illya by being his sole rescuer. He’s effectively secured both their loyalties. On a scale of Albus Dumbledore to Harold Dobey, Alexander Waverly is firmly up there with Dumbledore.

I don’t believe UNCLE is an ideologically pure organisation. I’m sure it was started with the best of intentions, but its entire motive runs on one perspective of right vs. wrong. World peace is a worthy goal - I’m sure it’s what Napoleon signed up for when he joined. But Waverly is a hard-moulded spy left over from the war. Espionage to him is uncompromising; he’ll do anything, and sacrifice anything, for the cause. For what he sees as right. He sees no need to bother his agents with trivial details: all they need to know, as is frequently demonstrated in the show (I’m thinking very much of Foxes and Hounds and Deep Six here but there are many many other examples), is what their orders are. Any superfluous information is unnecessary. He keeps them in the dark, hides, lies, deflects.

When Napoleon comes to Waverly in Concrete Overcoat, he almost has to beg for his partner’s life; Illya is collateral damage in Waverly’s plan, and Napoleon’s faith in the man is, in my opinion, irreparably damaged. When Napoleon is reported dead, by his partner of four years, in The Maze Affair, Waverly’s response is first one of shock, and then one of mild inconvenience. 

“Oh. Very well,” he says. 

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 6: The Order of the Phoenix

TW:  character experiencing PTSD and flashbacks

Iset and Regulus were drinking tea in the dining room when Sirius and Remus arrived.  Sirius watched his brother as he moved across the room to take a seat near him.  The room was huge and the table could easily seat twenty people.  Kreacher had put out a tablecloth and a Slytherin green table runner.  The whole thing made Sirius think of too many meals filled with the uncomfortable silence of four people eating in such a large room.  

Sirius still wasn’t completely sure why this girl was here.  He remembered that she had been in his year at Hogwarts, in Slytherin of course.  He couldn’t remember her name though, something long and foreign.  A memory nudged at him, from one of his last summers in Grimmauld Place.  

“Mother,” Regulus said.  “Iset Senusret has invited me to visit her family in Egypt.  Her uncle is willing to take us to study curses on Egyptian tombs.”

Walburga Black studied her youngest son over her teacup.

“Senusret?  I don’t recognize that name.”

“It’s a very old Egyptian family,” Regulus looks bored, but Sirius is sitting next to him and can see that he’s gripping the letter in his hand too tightly for it to be casual.  “Her father is the ambassador, Father must know him.”

“Orion?”

“Yes, Walburga?” Orion Black looks up from The Daily Prophet. 

“Senusret?” Walburga prompts, looking annoyed.

“The Egyptian ambassador?  Very old wizarding family, from what I understand.  Man has good politics.”

Walburga taps her chin with one manicured finger.  Regulus cuts in before she speaks.  “Miss Senusret has provided a translated and abridged family tree.”

Regulus reads from the letter.

“Regulus, I have spoken to my father as to the status of your family.  However, he is very concerned about the sort of company his daughters keep.  As your family records are accessible, he was able to assure himself as to your blood status.  I am sure your parents, as well-bred individuals, must share similar concerns for their children, so I have enclosed an abridged and translated copy of my genealogy.  The full records are on file in the Wizarding Library of Cairo.  It is abridged in two ways: one, it includes only the direct line and two, it is cut off at fifty generations.”

Walburga raised an eyebrow at that.  Did she look impressed?  Sirius shook his head.  Walburga was never impressed.  He looked closely at Regulus, who took out a small scroll and passed it to his mother.  When his mother unrolled it, it became longer and longer.  He saw Regulus mouth the word “brilliant” as his parents studied the scroll.  Sirius snorted.

So this was that girl.  A girl who sent his brother her genealogy.  He’d managed to get Regulus to admit that he fancied the girl, but never more than that.  He’d never seen the two of them so much as holding hands.  Yet, she had been standing with Regulus in the bloody afterlife.   

Sirius plunked himself down in a chair and Remus sat beside him.  Sirius couldn’t help but notice that it felt very us vs. them.  Not that it felt hostile, but it felt like the two groups of people who moved in different worlds.  Sirius and Remus looked old sitting across from these two people, and it was worse than when he was around Harry and Harry’s friends because Regulus had always been just a year younger than him.  His youthfulness made Sirius feel ancient, and he wasn’t even 40 yet.  Remus and Sirius also seemed… shabby.  It wasn’t just their clothes; it was the way the Iset and Regulus sat, the way they held themselves, the expressions on their faces.  Regulus looked every inch the Black heir that his parents had wanted him to be, and Sirius hated it.

“Mr. Lupin,” Regulus said when neither Sirius or Remus spoke.  “Would you mind telling us when exactly it is and perhaps what’s going on.  Sirius hasn’t said anything.”

“I haven’t had time to say anything,” Sirius pointed out. 

“Sure,” Remus picked up the cup of tea that a muttering Kreacher had poured for him.  “Its July 1996.”  Both Iset and Regulus blinked, their masks cracking for a second. 

“Let me think.  You know that the war ended and Voldemort vanished?”  The pair nodded.

“Well, he’s back.  He came back just over a year ago.”  Regulus flinched, his whole body jerked.  Iset gave him a worried look. 

Sirius spoke before Remus could continue, “What side are you on?”

“Sirius!”

“He was a Death Eater, Remus.  If he’s going to go running back to Voldemort, we don’t need to tell him anything.”

“I’m not a Death Eater,” Regulus said. 

“Prove it!” Sirius leaned towards him, reaching for his brother’s arm.  To Sirius’ surprise, Iset caught his hand.

“How dare you!” Her dark eyes are flashing dangerously.  “You don’t know anything.  He’s done more to fight Voldemort than either of you.”

For a moment, Sirius thought that he was about to get slapped across the face, but the moment didn't come. 

“Iset,” Regulus’ voice was quiet, soothing.  “It’s alright.  It’s better that he didn't know.  The fewer people who know, the less danger I’m in.”  Iset settled back in her seat and Regulus put his hand over hers for a moment.

Regulus rolled up his sleeve, the mark was there, but it had faded.  “I don’t think that it ever goes away.  But make no mistake, the Dark Lord wants me dead.”

Sirius sat back in his seat, studying his brother.  For years, he’d had an image of his brother in his mind.  His brother who followed exactly what their parents wanted, became a Death Eater, and got cold feet then tried to back out.  The idea of Regulus actually standing up to Voldemort threw him for a loop.  Regulus hadn’t even stood up to their parents.

“So what did you do?” Sirius asked.  It was easy enough for Regulus to say that he wouldn’t go back to Voldemort; snakes can lie.  “If I can trust you, then I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Iset was glaring daggers through him, but Sirius ignored it and kept his eye on his brother. 

“The Dark Lord sought, probably still seeks, to make himself immortal,”  Regulus said, putting down his teacup.  “He found an ancient form of magic and sealed part of his soul into an object.  He can’t be killed while that object survives. I suspect this is how he returned to power.  I discovered the location of this object and retrieved it.  I died in the process.”

“So did you retrieve it, or not?” Sirius asked. 

“Kreacher!” Regulus called.  Kreacher appeared with a crack.  “The locket?”

“Here Master,” Kreacher handed Regulus a golden locket wrapped in cloth.  Regulus held the chain of the locket with the cloth, careful not to touch it.  “Kreacher couldn’t destroy it, master!” Kreacher apologized, bowing his nose to the ground.  “Kreacher has punished himself many times, but he can’t destroy it.”

Regulus opened his mouth as if to say something, but Kreacher vanished with a crack before he could speak.  Regulus laid the locket on the table.  Sirius started to reach for it, curious.  Regulus batted his hand away, and Sirius frowned at him.

“Don’t touch it.” Regulus doesn’t say ‘you idiot’, but Sirius can hear it.  “It’s nasty, even darker magic than anything in this house.”

“So this is how Voldemort survived,” Remus said, leaning forward and Sirius turned to watch him.  Remus used a fork from the table to turn the locket over and inspect it.  “This is Slytherin’s locket, is it not?”

“It is,” Regulus said.  There was an odd expression on his face and Sirius didn’t know what to make of it.  There was a time when Sirius knew what Regulus’ facial expressions meant, but that time had long since gone.  Regulus drummed his fingers on the table and there’s a long silence.  Sirius couldn’t take his eyes away from the locket. Was a piece of Voldemort’s soul really trapped inside?

“Well,” Regulus finally said into the silence. “Are you going to tell us what is going on or not?”

So they did.  Between them, Remus and Sirius, they told Regulus everything that had happened in the last seventeen years.  Mostly, Remus spoke and Sirius watched his brother, trying to gauge his reactions.  It was strange.  He had held in his mind all these years the image of Regulus he’d known while they were still in school: a pompous idiot who was happy to go along with their parents as long as it benefited him.  But looking at him now, he seemed so... young, and it made Sirius think of Harry.  Regulus didn’t look like the pompous Death Eater Sirius remembered, he looked like a lost kid pretending not to be lost.

When Remus finished with the summary of the fight in the Department of Mysteries they all sat back for a while.  Both Iset and Regulus seemed to be trying to digest the information thrown at them.  Remus was watching them with his calm, even gaze. 

“We need to tell Dumbledore.” It was Sirius who spoke into the silence.  Regulus made a face, and to be honest Sirius kind of agreed with him.  Sirius hadn’t forgotten the first war; Dumbledore had manipulated the kids on his side, just as much as Voldemort had, even though Dumbledore was on the right side.

“We can imagine that you don’t like him,” Remus said.  “But, he’s at the head of the effort against Voldemort.  He’s the only wizard Voldemort fears.  If anyone needs to know about this locket, it’s him.”

“I suppose,” Regulus said.  “But not today.  I’d like to have more than two hours back in my body before I have to deal with The Order of The Phoenix.”

Sirius and Remus just blinked at him.

“Oh, the Death Eaters know about your little group,” Regulus waved a hand dismissively.  Sirius was thrown back 15 years.  The Death Eaters knew, of course, they knew that’s why everyone died.  Images, memories, flashed before his eyes: Marlene sprawled across her own doorstep, Fabian and Giddeon lying next to each other with eyes unseeing, blasted ground splattered with blood and bits of Benjy, Alice staring at the ceiling and not responding, Edgar lying on the ground in front of his dead children, James… James. 

“Sirius! Sirius! Pads!”  He realized that Remus was shaking him.  Sirius’ hands were gripping the table so hard his hands were white and his body was trembling. 

“I-” Sirius started to speak but no words came to him.  He felt a sob threatening to break out of his chest and he covered his face with his hands, trying to focus on calming himself.

He distantly heard someone, probably Regulus, saying “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.”

“It’s not your fault, it happens.” That must have been Remus.  Then Remus was back.  He placed his hands on Sirius’ shoulders reassuringly. 

“What can you hear, Sirius,” Remus's voice was calm, steadying.

“Your voice.”

“What do you smell?”

“Tea,” his brain latched on to that smell, clawing itself back to the dining room, tea, biscuits.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Grimmauld Place,” he knew that his voice was unhappy.  “The dining room.  We were here with Reg and that girl.”

“Good.” He could hear Remus sitting down next to him.

“Sorry,” Sirius said gruffly, dropping his hands away from his face. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“Regulus left?” Sirius asked even though it was obvious that they were now alone in the room. 

“I thought it might be best.”

“Probably.

Keep reading on AO3

[d3-iseefire]

Little Swan Lost Chapter 34

Note: Boom! Look who’s back! :D I’m sorry for taking so long to update, but I’m back now and we’re back on track! Also, a huge thank you to BeaverHatsAreTheCoolest who was kind enough to make some epic fanart for the story! You can check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840778

Bilba sat sandwiched between Cerys and Ori and tried to focus on the movie. She was idly chewing on her thumb nail, a bad habit she'd mostly broken and only reverted to in moments of high anxiety.

Like now.

Her eyes flickered to the door, but it remained shut.

What in the world was keeping him?

It wasn't so much that she wanted Thorin to come back, as much as she wanted to stop stressing about him coming back.

"Popcorn?" A giant bowl full of fluffy kernels appeared under her nose, culled from the small kitchen area behind them. Bilba hadn't realized they even had popcorn back there, but Ori had sniffed it out with laser focused efficiency.

"I'm not really hungry." Bilba pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. At Cerys and Ori's urging she'd gone and changed back into her nightclothes and pulled a robe on before returning to sit on the couch.

"We should totally have a spa day," Ori said, eyes going to Bilba's bare toes where they were braced on the edge of the couch. She toed off her slippers and held out her hands to reveal her fingernails and toenails were painted with a very pretty pink and gold floral pattern.

"Maybe," Bilba said non-committedly. She rested her head on her knees. On the television, the main heroine had just met her love interest in classic romantic comedy fashion, by spilling a full cup of coffee on him. "You ever notice they only react to getting a giant coffee stain?" she asked absently. "Isn't the coffee fresh?"

Ori's eyes narrowed. "That is so true. He should be screaming in pain from the burns."

"Less romantic," Cerys said. "How did you two meet? Oh, I spilled coffee on him, versus I gave him second degree burns and permanent scarring."

"True," Bilba conceded. Inwardly she cringed at the thought of someone one day asking Thorin how they'd met, officially, and him responding with the story of her almost getting him killed and leaving him with bruised ribs.

Not that she was suggesting their story was anything close to a romantic comedy, or that she had any intention of falling in love with him. Just that...if someone asked...and... there were parallels...and...and she was just going to stop thinking about it now.

The door opened and Bilba jumped. Her arms tightened around her legs and her toes curled into the cushion of the couch.

Cerys leapt to her feet as Thorin walked in. Bilba stayed seated because her body was literally frozen in place while Ori stayed seated because she was Ori.

"Ladies." Thorin frowned at her, and Bilba tried to not noticeably cringe. "Are you all right?"

Bilba nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry to have caused trouble."

He scowled. "You should be able to walk around your own home without risk of harassment."

"That she should," Ori said with a dark look at Thorin as if she held him personally responsible rather than her husband who was actually in charge of palace safety.

Thorin shook his head and frowned at the movie. Ori had paused it when he'd come in and it was frozen on a scene of the heroine frantically trying to help the love interest clean off the coffee stain only rip his shirt half off in the process. "What are you watching?"

"A romantic comedy, Your Highness," Ori drawled. She gestured to the couch. "You should join us. Maybe you'd learn something."

Bilba tensed, expecting Thorin to explode at the blatant disrespect. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow. "Learn what? How to get scalded and have my clothing ripped off? I'll pass."

The thought of him having his clothing ripped off called to mind the memory of him without a shirt on and Bilba quickly focused on her feet as her face went red hot.

Thorin started to move toward his room, only to pause and half turn back. "Would you care to join me tomorrow for breakfast?" he asked Bilba.

Bilba gaped at him.

Ori gaped at him.

Cerys, who was still standing at attention, gaped at him.

"Uh," Bilba started to say...something but, before she could, Ori piped up.

"Sorry, I beat you to it," she said cheerfully. "Maybe the day after?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Don't you and Dwalin usually eat with us?"

"Normally," Ori agreed, "but I promised I'd take Bilba to King's Landing tomorrow. They make great omelets."

Bilba tried her best to keep her face neutral even as she privately panicked.

Ori was lying.

Lying.

To THORIN.

She swallowed down a dry throat. Was this a test? If she said something she'd be disloyal to Ori, who was connected to the Captain of the Guard and the Spymaster. If she didn't say anything, however, she'd be showing disloyalty to Thorin.

Before she could come to a decision, Thorin turned toward his room again. "All right, day after then."

He vanished into his room, pulling the door shut behind him, and Bilba twisted around to stare wide-eyed at Ori. "What was that?"

"That," Ori said in a droll voice, "was me saving you from having to sit across from Kyra for an entire meal. At least for tomorrow, we'll have to figure something out for the next day."

Oh, Bilba thought. She'd known Kyra ate with Thorin at times, earlier that day for example when she'd intercepted them. Had she known the woman ate with the entire family at meals? She couldn't remember, but it certainly didn't surprise her.

"She's everywhere I turn." As soon as the words left her mouth, Bilba flinched and mentally kicked herself. Ori and Kyra were friends, and she was sure Cerys had far more loyalty to Erebor's ever present ambassador than she did to the interloper.

"You know," Ori said slowly, "you do outrank her, by a lot. You can set ground rules."

"Oh, I'm sure Thorin would love that." Bilba tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. She didn't want to be bitter, but some days were easier than others. "Everyone loves her, and they hate me."

"They just don't know you yet," Ori said, patting her on the knee. "You'll see. You just need to get out and let them see you, the real you."

Bilba snorted. "They'll probably throw things at me."

"Only if they want to deal with me or Gareth," Cerys said in a voice that was almost dangerously calm. She'd sat back on the couch again after Thorin had left and drawn her legs up to sit cross-legged on the small cushion.

"I thought you and Kyra were friends?" Bilba said to Ori, carefully. She had no idea why the other woman would want her to gain any positive ground, not if it meant upsetting Kyra.

Ori shrugged. "I consider you both my friends, and this is the best thing for both of you. You'll get the media to shut up, and she'll stop believing her own press."

"Her own press?" Bilba asked blankly.

Ori nodded. "She hears all the same news stories, and she gets all the pitying looks and all that stuff." She waved her hand as she spoke. The more excited Ori got the more animated she tended to get. "So she starts believing it, you know? Poor me and all that, and then she starts deciding it's fine for her to do stupid crap like hanging out with Thorin in here or going to lunch with him and so forth."

"You feel sorry for her," Bilba said, with a mix of surprise and resignation. She wasn't sure how to feel about that revelation. On the one hand it felt like a refreshing level of honesty. On the other hand, it felt like of course another Kyra supporter.

It also, just a little bit, felt manipulative.

Bilba was very, very familiar with manipulation. Her grandfather had the singular gift of being able to talk out of both sides of his mouth and appear completely genuine and sincere the entire time. Speaking to him was terrifying because she had no way of knowing if he was being straightforward or setting her up.

She'd been wrong more than once and always paid a heavy price for her mistake.

"I feel sorry for both of you," Ori went on. "It's an awful situation all the way around, and Thorin certainly isn't helping."

Bilba tilted her head ever so slightly, considering. Was that it? Was Ori trying to gauge what her feelings were about Thorin? The muscle deep soreness in her side was testament to almost getting Thorin killed, and now Ori was bringing him up and trying to see if Bilba would disparage him? Ori, who was married to Dwalin and sister to Nori.

Her stomach clenched, and Bilba's fingers dug into her knees. "I'm sure he's struggling just as much as the rest of us," she said softly. "His entire life was upended."

"So was yours," Ori groused. "At least he wasn't uprooted and sent halfway across the world from his family and friends, where everyone keeps treating him like some sort of old school villain."

Bilba made a non-committal sound and focused on the still frozen television screen. She had no idea what the "correct" response was and was too nervous to try and guess. Not when she now officially knew that Erebor had a Spymaster and that anything she said to Ori would undoubtedly make its way straight to him.

"In any event," Cerys said suddenly, breaking into the silence, "nothing is going to change overnight, and we did come in here to watch a movie, didn't we?"

"True enough, Ori said, slumping back against the couch back. "Movie tonight and then, first thing in the morning, we'll start work on reforming your image." She shoved an arm in the air, finger pointing toward the ceiling. "Starting at King's Landing with omelets!"

Bilba, who'd been in the process of sending Cerys a look of gratitude for changing the topic, felt her smile fade. She wanted to get out and go to college and work in the bakery and maybe see the ballet school but wanting to do it was a bit different than actually doing it."

Okay, a lot different.  

She'd be out in the open, surrounded by the public, who openly hated her.

Cerys put a hand over hers and she started. "It'll be all right, Your Highness," the dark-haired woman said. "Gareth and I will be there, along with plenty of security."

"Good palace security," Ori cut in. "Not like that asshole."

"No," Cerys growled. "Gareth and I will put together a team for you, one you can trust. If you ever feel uncomfortable you'll be able to turn to any of us on the team with complete faith." She leaned forward and flashed a grin at Ori. "Don't tell the Captain that I implied I was better at picking guards than he was."

Ori laughed. "Don't worry, I'm going to tell him to his face, from me."

She grabbed the remote as she spoke and started the movie playing again before retrieving her bowl of popcorn to munch on.

Bilba sighed and tried to focus on the movie and not think about the next day.

She wasn't entirely sure if she wouldn't have been better off having to deal with Kyra.

                                                     ***

"I hear there was an issue with your young wife last night."

Thorin frowned as the words registered and pulled himself away from the email he'd been reading on his phone. He'd slept poorly the night before and, while he'd managed to drag himself down to breakfast, he wasn't entirely awake yet.

He focused on his father. "There was a problem with one of the guards. It's been dealt with."

Thrain did not look convinced. "She certainly seems to attract trouble."

Thorin scowled. His father was referencing the mishap at the beach which he, as a matter of course, had been briefed on. "She's a dancer. She was practicing in the ballroom when one of the guards took it upon himself to accost her."

"She chose an odd time to practice," the king said flatly.

"I quite agree," Kyra spoke up from the other side of the table. "Rather inappropriate if you ask me."

"I did not," Thrain said. He continued to stare at her after he'd spoken, until an awkward silence had fallen. Kyra's face turned increasingly red and her hand clenched on her fork.

Thorin cleared his throat. "She can hardly be faulted for not being able to sleep. I've been known to walk the gardens late, and Frerin trains at all hours."

Frerin glanced up from his phone with a confused frown. "What?"

Thorin waved at him to go back to what he'd been doing. "Besides," he continued, still focused on his father, "aren't you the one wanting her to leave her room more often?"

The king grunted. "When I said that I meant in public, during the day, not scurrying about at night like a frightened mouse."

"In that case," Thorin said with satisfaction, "you'll be happy to know she's off having breakfast with Ori this morning."

Somewhat to his surprise, his father's scowl deepened. "She sits down to eat with your guard's wife before she comes to eat with her own family?"

"Perhaps she was concerned she wouldn't be welcome," Dis broke in from where she was struggling to get Kili to sit still for five seconds. On her other side, Fili had his nose buried in a book, other hand holding a fork a bit of egg impaled on it. Thorin was pretty sure it was the same bit that had been there five minutes earlier when he'd glanced at the boy.

"The irregularities have been corrected," the Thrain said, "and I've been more than patient in allowing her to 'settle in' as you advised."

Thorin grimaced. The "irregularities" his father referenced referred to Hadra and Dardren and the fact that they'd openly lied about the girl refusing invitations to meals. His father had virtually banned her from the table at one point, angry over what he saw as blatant disrespect.

He'd been ready to order the girl before him, but Dis had calmed him down, citing the fact the princess had been uprooted from all she'd known and married to a stranger in a foreign land. She'd suggested patience and, surprisingly, Thrain had agreed.

Or maybe not surprising. He'd always had a soft spot for Dis, not only for her loss of Vili but also the fact that she'd provided him with grandchildren.

Thorin's eyes caught on Kyra and saw her looking at him, wide-eyed. He knew she was thinking of how awkward it would be having her and Bilba there at the same time, across from one another.

He quite agreed but wasn't sure how to address it. Certainly, Bilba had the right to be there as his wife, but Kyra was family. He couldn't very well exclude her from meals, could he? Force her to eat alone while they all ate together?

"I want to see her when she returns," Thrain said.

The words registered and Thorin scowled at his father. "I have meetings scheduled for most of the day."

"I didn't say you had to be involved," Thrain growled. "Have the girl's guard alerted. As soon as she returns she's to be escorted to my office. I've gone long enough not meeting my new daughter-in-law."

"Fine," Thorin muttered. "I'll make sure she's sent up."

"Is she pregnant yet?" Thrain suddenly demanded, seeming to change topics without rhyme or reason. It was a common trait of his, and one that had more than once left some poor councilor or aide mired in confusion as they struggled to keep up.

Kyra sucked in a harsh gasp and the fork in her hand clattered onto her plate.

"No," Thorin growled. His hand, resting on his thigh, dug into his leg. He was already in a poor mood from the lack of sleep and the pain of his bruised ribs and his father wasn't helping. No doubt the man knew that and was using it to his own purpose. People who were tired and in pain were far easier to push, and once someone was pushed far enough they tended to reveal things they wouldn't have otherwise.

Some people anyway. Thorin had long grown used to his father and, while the man could certainly be irritating, it didn't mean Thorin would slip up and start babbling like an idiot.

"And why not?" Thrain asked. "Are you incapable of --"

"Father!" Dis had her hand over Kili's ears and was giving her father a pointed look. "Not in front of the children, please!"

Next to her, Fili was still staring at his book, but Thorin saw his eyes flick up a few times, showing he was listening but pretending not to.

Thrain muttered under his breath. "It's important Erebor have an heir as soon as possible."

"Erebor has three heirs," Dis said in annoyance. "Your grandsons, and youngest son in case you've forgotten."

Frerin was looking up as well, Thorin noticed, having actually put his phone down for once.

"The throne is passed through the oldest son," Thrain stated, placing his own fork and knife on his plate with a clatter. "There are many who'd challenge Frerin's claim, and even more who would challenge Fili or Kili. I want my legacy ironclad, and that will only happen if the throne passes through Thorin and his progeny."

Hurt flashed through Frerin's eyes and Thorin resisted the urge to yell at his father. It would do no good, it never had in the past and trying again would simply be a waste of breath.

His father, unfortunately, held a deep paranoia concerning the throne of Erebor. They'd lost it once and, now that they'd reclaimed it, he was deeply afraid of losing it again. He was forever taking steps that he felt would ensure the throne could never again be lost. Some of those steps made sense. Others, not so much.

Frerin reached for his phone again. Before he could grab it, Thorin caught his eyes and flashed him a reassuring smile. Frerin gave a small one in return before looking down at his screen.

Frerin knew their father loved him, just as he loved Dis and the boys. He did. He just sometimes had a tendency to let his concern for the throne override his concern for his family.

Realizing he'd lost his appetite, Thorin pushed his plate back and stood to his feet. They rarely stood on ceremony at the table, allowing them to come and go as they pleased. It was a fact he'd never been so grateful for before. As he stood he heard his father grumble under his breath, but the man made no attempt to stop him.  

He nodded toward Dis and the boys, received three smiles in return and headed out of the room.

As he reached the stairs, he heard hurrying footsteps and then Kyra was there alongside him. "Has he been harassing you like that all along?"

"More or less." Thorin sighed. "Here's hoping he doesn't dump that on Bilba. He can be intense and the last thing she needs is him demanding she provide an heir."

"Does he know?" Kyra said in a low voice. "That you haven't--"

Thorin shot her a dark look and Kyra snapped her mouth shut. The last thing he needed was for word to get out that he hadn't consummated his marriage. The media would have a field day with it.

They reached the top of the stairs and headed toward their respective offices. Kyra appeared ready to walk to his office with him so Thorin deliberately stopped outside of her office door, forcing her to stop with him. "I'll speak to you later."

She frowned. "Are you sure? If you need to talk--"

"I'm fine," Thorin said. He was not fine. He was in pain; he was tired and he was deeply irritated. "I'll see you later."

"Okay." She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. "I hope your day goes better."

Thorin nodded tightly and turned toward his own office.

He had a long day in front of him but, for the moment, there was only one thought on his mind.

Finding a damn aspirin.

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