#this is what childhood in pakistan felt like too

[i-eat-apple-people]

@jacq121 @instantfartbeard

an Iraqi gamer's beautiful review of Disco Elysium

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Sixty Six

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties <3

As always, the love for this version of them means the entire world. You're probably going to yell at me for this one too...and again, I deserve it.

-x-

Words: 2.1k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He still wasn’t used to the heat. The humidity was almost oppressive at times, making it almost impossible to concentrate. 

Emily had told him he’d struggle, her smile teasing as she bought him linen clothes he’d frowned at, the thin and floaty material a far cry from his usual sharp-edged suits. She’d said that he’d need them, that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t cope with the weather in Pakistan, and she’d been right. 

Everywhere he went he pictured her, imagined her pale skin slowly tanning, her dedication to sunscreen unlike anything he’d ever known. He imagined her hair curling in the humidity, the volume she hated but he loves slowly getting out of control. She seemed at home everywhere she went, always easily adapting to her surroundings, a hangover of her childhood he knows she hates. 

He missed her. He missed his family. The short phone calls and emails he exchanged with his wife were not enough. The pictures of the kids that she would send would make him ache, guilt and irritation he could only aim inwards blooming in his gut every time. 

He’d already been here for two months, and was already closing in on the original deadline he’d given his superiors on when he’d like to go home, but he knew that they wanted him here longer. Any conversation he had about him leaving, about the handover he’d already written up, was skirted around, his boss waving him off like they had months to go. 

He just wanted to go home, to kiss his wife, to hug his children. And he was close to just doing it anyway, consequences be damned. 

He blows out a breath when he hears his satellite phone ring and he lifts it from its holster on his belt, pulling up the antenna as he answers it, “Hotchner.” 

“Hotch, it’s JJ.” 

His heart drops into his stomach the moment he hears her voice, worst-case stealing the breath from his lungs. No one other than Emily had called him since he’d come here, the number was need to know, but he knew his wife had given it to her friend for emergencies. 

“JJ, what’s wrong?” He demands, his grip on the phone tight, his jaw clenched as he tries to reason with himself, trying to assure himself that he’s overreacting. 

JJ sighs, her voice soft, almost too kind as it comes down the line, “It’s Emily. There’s been an accident.” 

___

Two Days Earlier

Emily carefully pulls the door to the nursery shut behind her, grateful when she’s met with silence afterwards, Lily having finally fallen asleep. 

She yawns as she walks down the hall and towards the stairs, rolling her neck as she goes. Once she gets to the living room she frowns when Jack isn’t where she’d left him when she took Lily to bed, the TV paused on the movie she’d put on for him and his toys abandoned. 

She feels a moment of panic flash through her, the reality of balancing two young children by herself something she felt like she was constantly failing at. Before Aaron left for Pakistan, they’d take it in turns putting Lily to bed. When it was her turn, Aaron would make her a snack, a habit that had stuck from when she was still breastfeeding, and he’d watch a cartoon with Jack. When it was Aaron’s turn to put Lily to bed, Emily would snuggle with the little boy, her arm wrapped around him as she made sure he got some of her undivided attention. 

She missed having a partner in all of this, the reality of doing this herself wearing her down, her patience for her husband’s absence almost non-existent. She wanted him home, wanted to go back in time and tell herself to not let him go, to have him quit rather than deal with this. 

She knew she could cope without him, she had done for years before they met, but she didn’t want to. She loved having him with her, having his reassurance and love as her cornerstones, her already strong foundations she’d built alone made stronger by him, by their family. By the life they were building together. 

She had no interest in living life without him. 

“Jack,” she calls out, turning and leaving the living room as she looks for her stepson, “Where are you?” 

“In the kitchen,” he replies, and she frowns curiously as she follows his voice, relief washing over her when he sounds unharmed.. 

“What are you doing, honey? Are you okay…” she trails off as she walks into the kitchen, surprised by what she finds. 

Jack is sitting on the counter, one of the stools from the breakfast bar he’d clearly climbed on dragged over. There's a plastic Spiderman plate next to him with a peeled banana on it, the skin abandoned on the surface behind it. The banana has been torn into chunks, and she could picture him pulling it apart with his hands, the sticky residue he’d wiped onto his shirt the only evidence she needs. 

She smiles as she walks over to him and ruffles his hair, her smile getting wider as he leans into it, “I could have made you a snack if you wanted one.” 

“It’s not for me,” he says as he frowns, looking so much like Aaron it makes her ache, “It’s for you.” 

She feels her heart clench in her chest, the love she feels for this little boy wrapped tight around it like a vice, “What have you made me a snack for?” 

He shrugs, “Daddy always makes you a snack when you take Lily to bed,” he says as if it’s obvious, like it’s not the sweetest thing anyone has done for her in a long time, “I also made you some tea.” 

She snaps her head to where he’s pointing, panic that he’d somehow used the kettle overwhelming her until she sees the cup he’s talking about next to the fridge. There was no steam coming from it, and the tea bag was floating at the bottom, no hint that it had brewed at all, and she’d put money on him having used ice water from the fridge dispenser. 

She looks back at him and pulls him into a hug, adjusting her hold on him so she can lift him, placing him on her hip as she kisses his forehead, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, something that had become even more comforting to her since Aaron had left. She saw more and more of him everyday in Jack and Lily, their facial expressions and personalities giving her flashes of her husband. Tiny pieces of him that weren’t enough. 

“That’s so sweet of you, honey,” she says, kissing the side of his head again as she picks up the plate with the banana on it, “Why don’t you hold this and I’ll get my tea,” she says and he nods, carefully taking the plate from her, “And we’ll watch that cartoon together before you go to bed and we’ll share my snack.”

He frowns at her, tilting his head at her as she walks them back to the living room, “But I made it for you.” 

She kisses his head again, hoping she hides her wavering smile in the action, his endless empathy enough to tip her over the edge when she was at her best. 

“I know, but you can’t possibly expect me to eat all of this,” she says, smiling when he nods in agreement as she settles down on the couch. 

She drinks the freezing cold, flavourless tea and eats the half-mashed banana as Jack falls asleep against her, and she thinks it’s the best snack she’s ever had in her life. 

___

She was running late. 

She curses herself as she dumps her purse on the passenger seat of her car, and she groans when she sees the time. 

“Shit,” she mumbles to herself, pulling her seatbelt on as she dials the daycares number and turns on the engine, her phone on speaker as she abandons it on the seat next to her, impatient as she waits for the call to connect as she drives out of the Quantico parking lot. 

“Sunnyside Daycare, this is Alice.” 

“Alice, hi,” Emily says, breathing a sigh of relief, “It’s Lily Hotchner’s mom. I’m so sorry, a meeting overran and I’m only just leaving work, so I’m going to be late-”

“Mrs Hotchner, it’s fine,” Alice says kindly as she cuts her off, “Lily is currently playing happily and we’re here for another couple of hours. You’re fine.” 

Emily chuckles wryly and nods to herself, pulling the car to a stop at an intersection, the red light almost mocking her as it changes just as she approaches, “Thank you,” she replies, feeling calmer, “I always feel terrible when I’m late.” 

The meeting had been with Strauss of all people. She’d pulled her into her office just before she was due to leave, an expression on her face that let Emily know there was no arguing with her. At first, Strauss had simply asked her how she was doing, enquiring about Aaron’s absence in a way that felt almost uncharacteristically kind, although Emily was sure it was because the other women missed having Aaron as a buffer between herself and Dave. 

Then the conversation had taken a turn she really hadn’t expected. They’d had an interim Unit Chief of the Counterterrorism unit since Carson had been fired, but it had always been made clear that it was temporary until they found a suitable replacement. 

Strauss had asked Emily if she’d be interested in taking over the unit, citing both her specialism in linguistics, her work ethic and her robust record at the bureau. It had taken her by surprise, wondering how the woman who had once told her she’d never advance in the FBI was now offering her a promotion over people who’d been in the team longer than she had. 

She’d left without giving Strauss an answer, citing that she’d need to talk to Aaron, whenever she was next able to, before she could make any decisions. 

“No need to feel bad, Mrs Hotchner,” Alice assures her, “Lily is adorable, so we’ll never say no to a little extra time with her.” 

Emily laughs, her eyes flicking up to the red light as it changes to amber, “She is pretty cute, even if I do say so myself,” she says, smiling when the other woman laughs, “I’ll be about 30 minutes depending on traffic.” 

“See you soon,” Alice says and the call ends as the light turns green. 

Emily starts to drive, excited to see her little girl after a strange day at work, and wondering to herself if she’d get to call Aaron that night, if she could discuss the potential step forward in her career with the person whose opinion she valued the most.

She doesn’t notice the car that runs a red light on the other intersection until a second before it hits her. Time slows down as the metal of the car groans as it crumbles, loud scraping sounds as the passenger side where the other car hit disappears, taking the force of the other driver’s speed. She tries her best to control it, her hands tight on the steering wheel as the car spins. It must last only a matter of seconds, her head hitting the dashboard as she’s flung back and forth, held tightly in place by her seatbelt. 

When the car finally stops, she feels dizzy, the shouting outside the car, onlookers running over to help, sounds out of focus. Like it’s far away, trapped behind glass as she tries to move, a sharp pain from her right shoulder pinning her in place just as much as the crumpled metal around her. She places her left hand on her forehead and winces when she feels blood, her stomach churning as she pulls back and sees the grim red pattern against her skin, sinking into her finger tips and into the cracks of her nails, the cuticles torn open from anxiety caused by the absense of her husband. 

She starts to lose consciousness, shock setting in as people start to approach her car, and the last thing she thinks of is her family.

-x-

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[tigger8900]

All My Rage, by Sabaa Tahir

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Salahudin, the son of Pakistani immigrants, and Noor, who as a child was spirited away from the rubble of an earthquake in Pakistan to her uncle's residence in the US, have been best friends, practically family, since childhood. But everything is more complicated now, especially since Noor confessed she was in love with Sal. With their friendship all but eliminated, they've been cast adrift, Noor applying to schools that could save her from this town — and her uncle — while Sal struggles with the burden of running his family's motel on his own as his mother struggles with her health and his father turns to alcohol to cope. In between chapters of Sal and Noor's story, the story of Sal's parents Misbah and Tofiq plays out, following them from their arranged marriage all the way to the present day.

This was a difficult book to rate, because I really liked many parts of this story, but others just rubbed me the wrong way. I'll start with the good. I loved the exploration of the immigrant experience, how it examined the American Dream without romanticizing it and all of the different perspectives on assimilation versus cultural independence. I also liked how the women were centered in the story, shown to hold and obtain power. Khadija was my favorite!

I think my favorite part was getting to know our two lead characters, watching them struggle and make completely believable mistakes in the face of adversity. As much as I want to armchair quarterback their bad decisions, I don't know that I would've done any better at seventeen. All three points of view — Sal, Noor, and Misbah — were equally compelling for me to read, and I appreciated the in-universe explanation at the end for why we were being given the historical chapters alongside the present day.

As for what I wasn't so much a fan of, the modern day romance put me off almost immediately. I wasn't prepared for it from the blurb on the cover, and "best friends to lovers" is a trope I loathe, especially when the romance falls apart and you just ruined a perfectly lovely platonic relationship for nothing. This is very much a me problem, but it's worth mentioning since I can't be the only one.

I was also rubbed the wrong way by how the plot where Sal seeks alternate income to avoid closing the motel was written. I was fine with his initial decision(see: realistic bad decisions), but everything from after that up until the scene in the car with Noor felt like a bad after-school special. It was a little bit too carefully-concocted to demonstrate the consequences of Sal's actions, and didn't ring as true as the rest of the book did. After the scene in the car it felt okay again, but for a while there I was rolling my eyes pretty hard.

I think in the end I'm going to have to go with four stars, because the parts that I liked were incredible. It was just a few glaring things dragging it down for me. I would certainly pick up another book by this author, especially if it didn't have a romance in it.

[flyinglotus777]

Netflix’s Squid Game

SPOILER ALERT! If you are interested in watching the series, I HIGHLY suggest you do so. This article will be an overall synopsis and my review of the show. For an in-depth analysis of the symbolism of the show and ending, scroll down to the fourth to last paragraph.

The Netflix show, “Squid Game,” written and directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk is a phenomenal Korean drama centered around our victor, Seong Gi-hun, played by Lee Jung-jae. Contestants were recruited to play in a life or death competition due to their lack of luck, financial knowledge, and influx of impending debt they have accumulated throughout their lives. We first meet Gi-hun as he is down on his luck. Living with his elderly, overworked mother (which in countries outside of the United States is not strange nor uncommon) Gi-hun was a friend to gambling, but that toxic love caused him to be in debt to a gang of (what seemed to be) loan sharks. When luck finally strikes him on the race track, life simultaneously decides to take an excrement on his reality. His debt seekers catch him on his hot streak and involuntarily sign him up to be a participant in the Squid Game.

Similar to many other of the 456 participants, they all shared a common denominator of being in situations it seemed only money could fix. Upon arrival the contestants were asked to voluntarily sign wavers in order to participate in the game, while unknowingly risking their lives, for the opportunity to win 456 billion won (which would be roughly over $3.5 million in US currency). The challenges were mostly based on nostalgic childhood games, both based in the United States and South Korea.

Now I knew due to the explanation in the introduction of episode one that if any player were to lose, they would die. So during the first challenge of red light green light, when players were bulletly penalized for losing I was not surprised. After the game, the players decided to rally together and quit playing. The influence of the cash prize split the decision down the middle, leaving the old man, player 1, to be the final decision. To my surprise he actually chose to decline, freeing all of the players. During the voting, many players screamed at each other as to why they would choose to stay in the hell hole as other players responded that the outside world was not any better if not the same as the harsh environment they were already in. This reality struck many contestants as they returned back to their reality of debt, dependents, and for some bounty hunts, thus resulting in them returning to the game.

During the whole season, I was trying to find the purpose of these games. We knew why the participants felt motivated to play, but I wondered what was the purpose of having them fight for their lives in the first place. When the PlayStation faced soldiers forced the doctor (player 111) to dissect the bodies for organs to sell at the black market, at first I thought that it was what the original game maker wanted which I thought was genius. Soon to learn that it was actually a violation to a code of equality that was placed inside the arena applying to all of those who existed, soldiers and participants alike. Which struck me as odd due to the soldiers being able to tote guns and wear masks based on their own hierarchy and the participants being collectively isolated and given numbers as if it was a remake of the Stanford Prison experiment. Nonetheless many soldiers faced the same fate as the players, and my pondering would meet the solution come the finale.

Let’s discuss players. I only favored Gi-hun because he was the protagonist, but throughout the story he grew on me as his big heart prevailed through the madness. I knew Choo Sang-woo, the embezzling business man and hometown friend of Gi-hun played by Park Hae-soo, was a psychopath when I saw him in a fully filled bathtub with his suit on. Running from the police, in debt or not, that’s just as much of a red flag for serial killer tendencies as sleeping with socks on or having too thin and highly arched eyebrows. The episode that he crossed Ali, the father of one from Pakistan with the missing fingers, made me hate Sang-woo for the rest of the series. I was infuriated and frustrated with Ali for being that naïve to believe that they could escape the round as a duo, but understood his perspective since up until that point Sang-woo was a dependable, trusted ally to Ali. However after that episode I didn’t care who won, I was just ready for Sang-woo to die.

Kang Sae-byeok, the skeptical and beautiful warrior from North Korea played by Jung Ho-yeon, deserves her own paragraph. Along with her beauty, her presence and demeanor was so bad ass. She was thrifty and intelligent, as her talent being pick pocketing. I was waiting for her to just be so bad ass. As the punk disguised to be gangster, Jang Deok-su, pushed her around which seemed to be normal behavior between the two, I was ready for Sae-byeok to twist his arm, send a plunging round house kick to his nuts, and cut his snake tattoo right off of his face. Although her exterior was tough, her heart was made of malleable gold which we got to see as she opened up to her female companion during the marble challenge and sobbed from her loss afterwards. Although she was not the killer bad ass queen I had wanted her to be, I still call her a warrior because of her resiliency throughout life’s and the game’s many obstacles and her drive to provide her younger brother with a better life.

Thankfully Deok-su got what he deserved as Han Mi-nyeo poetically decided to take both of their lives during the glass challenge. “You said we would be together till the end,” she said before diving into her inevitable death with her short lived lover. Mi-nyeo was incredibly annoying as I would often pinch the inside corners of my eyes and scratch my eyebrows when she would appear. However that crazy bitch served justice, and I love her for that.

I was highly disappointed by the demise of the detective Hwang Jun-ho, played by the handsome Wi Ha-joon. I was rooting for detective Jun-ho, as I’m sure we all were, on his pursuit to find his brother. I was not surprised that his brother was Front Man, as I had suspected that his brother must’ve died or been apart of the game making due to his absence in real life and the current game. After discovering his brother was the victor of his year, to me it only made sense that he would be apart of the game enforcement. As we saw from Gi-hun, a normal life is impossible to live after experiencing something so traumatic as a series of death ridden children games. However I was saddened and surprised that detective Jun-ho was unsuccessful in closing down the whole operation. I mean the man was close to performing forced, aristocratic fellatio in the name of serving and protecting the law. I truly thought because he had gotten so far and was so close to exposing the operation that the only choice he had was to be successful. At last he was shot and killed by his own blood, the one he had been looking for; providing us with a cinematic and heart jerking ending to detective Jun-ho.

Lastly lets discuss the old man, player 001 named O Yeong-su, whom I also nicknamed Poppy during the series. Deceivingly innocent and weak, I genuinely liked Yeong-su throughout the game play. I thoroughly enjoyed his relationship with Gi-hun and saw him as a valuable player in most instances. I believe he was one of the main reasons that Gi-hun continued to lead with his heart. Gi-hun claimed that Yeong-su was the reason he returned to the games and later found out that Yeong-su was the reason there were games in the first place. The climatic episode of the marble challenge was when their relationship had been defined as “gganbu” (which is a term for trusted, close friends in Korean, as explained in the series), thus Yeong-su establishing a special place in Gi-hun’s heart. During the challenge, Yeong-su begins to have an episode of what we all assumed to be dementia as the arena they are playing in is designed like his old neighborhood and he abandons the game to take a trip down memory lane. Gi-hun screams in frustration at the old man to play with him only to end up losing in their even and odd game and resulting in deceit, tricking the old man to let him be the victor. Now if I was Gi-hun, I would’ve convinced Yeong-su to let me hold his marbles for safe keeping and let him have a fun time reminiscing on his life while he ran down the clock. Then when it was time, I would’ve turned in all 20 marbles just as Sang-woo did and went about my business. It would’ve only been right for the old man to forfeit as he was already on his death bed, or so we innocently thought. Before I get into the ending, I want to talk about the last match between Sang-woo and Gi-hun.

Finally, the last game to see who would be victorious in a highly anticipated game of Squid between Gi-hun and Sang-woo. It seemed as if it were a battle between good vs evil; Gi-hun representing a more benevolent side as he would often optimistically look to help other competitors and extend the kindness he had been shown versus Sang-woo who represented a more vindictive and ruthless side, determined to hurt anyone in order to receive his highly coveted and long awaited prize in an arena that erased any foundation of morals or ethics as soon as the light turned red. Luck was on Gi-hun’s side as he had the opportunity to play offense. With a cunning mind and a vengeance for Sae-byeok’s death, Gi-hun delivered a can of whoop ass to his opponent. As the saying goes, the good shall always prevail. Perhaps his heart was too pure as Gi-hun halted from crossing the finish line and offered Sang-woo a chance to live, thus forfeiting the prize money. Needless to say, I applauded when Sang-woo committed suicide as it was the only right thing to do in his position.

A year passed by and Gi-hun seemed worse than before. Physically his style was bummy wealthy, a look pioneered by Bill Gates, but mentally he was in shambles. How could you blame him? Gi-hun discovered that the responsible party for these horrendous events was none other than his ggangbu, old man Yeong-su. The biggest, jaw dropping plot twist of the entire series. As they were joined on Christmas Eve and Yeong-su on his death bed, they placed one final bet on an assumed to be drunken, homeless man who sat on the streets as it snowed and waited for help to arrive. Yeong-su explained how he actually wanted to help people and give his money to people who needed it, but wanted to do it in an “entertaining way.” As Gi-hun flared with outrage towards the old man for finding amusement in killing people, the old man rebutted using horse races as an example of people’s amusement. Yeong-su also said he participated in the games because it was more fun to play than to be a spectator, which I had noticed him treating the competition as if it were adult summer camp. I had just assumed since he was old, he didn’t care if he had died or not.

I think most people will think that this show was a metaphor about how money and rich people are evil. However I think it can be seen as commentary on society as a whole, not just the wealthy. Yeong-su says on his death bed that it’s a test of humanity, and asks Gi-hun if he still has faith in humanity after what he has experienced. Although money was the luring motivator to win the game, people still chose to return to the competition to escape their problems. Sure, money was apart of their problems as all of the players (excluding Yeong-su) were in debt, but that was due to choices that they had made. Whether it had been through embezzling, gambling, lack of luck, or financial ignorance, it was the people who had gotten themselves into those situations. Money doesn’t have a personal vendetta against anyone nor does it have an inherent quality of good or evil. Money is a neutral energy used to be exchanged for goods and services. It’s people who designate that energy to their humane or inhumane desires.

Leading to the next point of the wealthy and how they are seen to be evil due to having wealth. Although I do believe that there are some wealthy people who act as villains, money didn’t create the villain inside of them. Those people were going to behave maliciously whether they have money or not. The VIPs, who were spectating the finale of challenges, were tied to a bank devoted to the wealthy and gambled on the competitors who played (and most likely helped subsidize the events). We place judgement on them, but as Yeong-su said, people gamble on horse races. Although people are not animals and by my knowledge I don’t believe most or any horses die during these races, it is still the principle of watching an entity being tortured for amusement, which is not only confined to the wealthy population. When the concept of killing and tormenting living breathing beings for amusement is normalized within society, the lines begin to blur on who is okay to perform and who is not. Take the audience of this show for example, we all watched a show where hundreds of people were mercilessly killed for the desire of winning a cash prize for our own amusement, thus making “Squid Game” the number one show on Netflix at the moment. Although the show is fictional and brilliantly written, this Hunger Games concept is not new. We come in contact again and again with the idea of people who are disadvantaged given an opportunity to better their lives through inhumane means, including risking their own lives or actively sacrificing the life of another, and being spectators on the edge of our seats who can’t seem to look away. It is no different than a Roman gladiator match in a grand colosseum, which in modern day would be a MMA fight at the MGM hotel. We blame it on the rich who are ridiculed for creating these events, but at the end of the day it is the people, rich,poor, and everyone in between, who continue to still go along with it and to some extent desire it. Which makes me question, what does that say about humanity, and do I actually have faith in us? Although Gi-hun went through hell and back, he still remained pure of heart and used his wealth to enhance his life and those around him; proving that wealthy people can still be benevolent and desire righteous good. Similar to Gi-hun, the optimist in me wants to believe that there are still people in this world with good hearts, but I guess we just have to wait until the time comes to see.

Ultimately the show was phenomenal, and definitely sparked a desire inside of me to watch more Korean dramas. I don’t think the show will have a second season. Simply because I think the story line would be better cut off there, thus leaving the audience always wanting more. However if season 2 ever comes out, I’m ready for Gi-hun to take a Liam Neeson approach to ending the Squid Game and hopefully with a beard. Thank you for reading my article. I know it was incredibly lengthy. I have just finished the season after a 2 day binge watch, and have a lot of emotions and thoughts ruminating in my brain. Let me know what you think of the show and what you think of the article. Did anyone else notice the paintings of the games on the walls of the dormitory?

God bless.

[bopinion]

2022 / 31

Aperçu of the Week:

"How can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer's deadly toy?"

(Sting / Russians)

Bad News of the Week:

Nuclear Weapons. For decades, the epitome of terror. Even though it's often sold as a deterrent. As someone who grew up in Central Europe in the 70s and 80s of the last century, I know what I'm talking about. In childhood, I had to learn how to behave in the event of a nuclear attack. And in my youth I took to the streets against nuclear weapons - but "Petting instead of Pershing" did not really reflect the seriousness of the situation. And then the iron curtain fell. The "cold war" was over. But unfortunately not the end of the nuclear arms race.

Today marks the 77th anniversary of the terrible destruction of Hiroshima. It was the first and penultimate time in human history that an atomic bomb was actually used. With devastating consequences - for hundreds of thousands and for decades. Have we all lost this from our memory? Just because it wasn't reported on social media at the time, but only in the newsreels? That can't be true. That has to be not true. Because current history teaches us that there is still a problem. A fundamental one.

In the week that is coming to an end, the meeting on the "Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons" began in New York - as it does every five years. Unfortunately, lately rather a content-empty shell. For nothing new is to be heard from the five official nuclear powers - USA, Russia, China, France and Great Britain. The USA and Russia are modernizing their arsenals and accusing each other of violating control mechanisms. China is basically keeping its cards close to its chest. France and Britain are clinging to this dubious show of strength, as they do in the UN Security Council, in order not to lose even more geopolitical importance.

And then there are India and Pakistan as de facto nuclear powers, which are suspicious of each other - there, too, the "thanks" go to the United Kingdom. And Israel, which wants to use them to assert itself against perceived Arab superiority. Iran would like to have nuclear weapons, but is probably not yet ready. North Korea could already be further than it lets one sleep calmly. And when was the last time anything was heard from South Africa? Most recently, Russia actually seemed to be discussing the use of "strategic mini-nukes" in Ukraine - of all places, the country where the consequences of the Chernobyl meltdown are still being felt.

UN Secretary General António Guterres is once again living up to his role as chief moral prosecutor, saying the world is in a "time of nuclear danger not seen since the height of the Cold War." And only one misunderstanding or miscalculation away from nuclear annihilation. Only the final destruction of all nuclear weapons would be a safe way out for humanity. After all, all the theories about deterrence, nuclear sharing, and balance of terror barely conceal what this Pandora's box really is: a gun powder keg. And we're all sitting on it.

Good News of the Week:

With ever new, mostly specious arguments, Democratic U.S. Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia had held up the Biden administration's climate protection and welfare package. Officially, the last word was that he wanted to curb avoidable spending in times of inflation. In truth, however, he fears only for his own wealth, which is based on coal production. His power in the Joe vs. Joe game is simply based on the fact that without his vote there would be no Democratic majority in the Senate, which has otherwise rarely been so clearly divided according to party.

But now Manchin has abandoned his opposition in negotiations with majority leader Chuck Schumer. This has cleared the way for a package - albeit a much slimmed-down one - that includes $369 billion over the next ten years for investments in climate protection and energy security. Financed by closing tax loopholes for large corporations. So it makes twofold sense. And finally a success for this so far richly bruised presidency.

"Build back better," then, could also apply to Joe Biden's historically low approval ratings. Perhaps the upswing - if it comes - will come just in time for the midterm elections in November. And Republicans may not succeed in winning a majority in both chambers of Congress that would pave the way for Trumpism to win the 2024 presidential election - whether with the original or Ron DeSantis.

Personal happy moment of the week:

As a freelancer, I always have a hard time taking vacation. Because what I don't do, doesn't get done. And doesn't get any better. And doesn't bring any money. That's why it's always hard for me to switch off when I’m not working. These days I'm trying something different during the six-week summer vacations: I'll work three days a week as normal and then take a four-day weekend. My plan is that nothing will be left undone for more than 48 hours. And I could therefore manage to clear my head. Right now is the first of these long weekends. It doesn't quite work yet, but all beginnings are difficult. But I am on a good way. And that feels good.

I couldn't care less...

...that Russia's judiciary sees itself as independent jurisprudence. First, Ukrainian militias are labeled as terrorists in order to be able to significantly increase their sentences. A joke - but it's probably about demoralizing Ukrainian troops. Then US basketball player Brittney Griner is sentenced to nine years in prison for importing drugs. This means waping cartridges and 5 grams of cannabis oil that was prescribed to her by her sports doctor as a painkiller. A joke - but it's probably about making an example against the class enemy. And about leverage for a prisoner exchange. Jurisprudence? A Joke.

As I write this...

...the Voyager 1 spacecraft has already traveled 23.4 billion kilometers since 1977. And it's still sending signals. But these are recently only an incomprehensible gibberish, which NASA cannot explain. I can. Because I have seen the movie "Contact" by Robert Zemeckis with Jodie Foster and Matthew McConaughey. On the other hand - as the saying goes: the proof that there is intelligent life in the universe is that no contact has been made with us.

Post Scriptum:

Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi has visited Taiwan. As #3 in the U.S. political system, it was the highest-ranking visit in 25 years. Which was not officially on behalf of the government. And explicitly does not change the "One-China" stance of the US. So it was a pure PR action full of flowery words like "We stand by the side of every free people" or "It is important to show our solidarity." Beijing's announced reaction began immediately: sanctions against Pelosi personally as well as the freezing of virtually all bilateral discussion formats, including on climate, maritime security or transnational crime.

But above all, a gigantic military maneuver - with real ammunition, cyber attacks, violation of airspace, etc. Experts see it as an exercise to cut off Taiwan's sea lanes. Be it in an invasion to finally reunite the motherland or "just" to cut off trade, the country's economic lifeline. Combined with export restrictions from China itself, this would make the Western world feel its dependence on Far Eastern manufacturing. Again. Globalization and multilateralism only work if everyone goes along. Xi Jinping is currently being shown by Vladimir Putin how to put the "free world" in a bind. Let's see how far his hubris reaches.

[ask-pakistan]

Hey Pakistan, how do you feel about other Asian countries? Who is easier for you to make contact with? And are there those with whom you find it hard to get along? I live in one of them, and I am very interested in it! ⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝

*Batie:  Pakistani brethren or Brothers, or it could also mean Iron Brothers. I just find that Nickname for Pak specifically, kinda adorable :D haha

For the case of Saudi Arabia and Iran, it’s almost like a tug of war. When Pakistan’s relationship with Saudi worsens, his relationship with Iran gets better. When relations with Iran take a nosedive , then his relationship with Saudi gets better. Lately, the former is happening. Personally, i like Iran better because they are our neighbors and much history and culture is shared with them :)

As for Hindustan, there are honestly too many issues i could honestly write a book on it. So in the end i decided to grossly simplify Pak’s perspective on him. 

For Afghanistan, i decided to go a lot more softer on him because i felt the need to give him more positive attention. The situation in Afghanistan is very similar to what Pakistan was in a few years back. Obviously the situation in Afghanistan is a lot worser than what was going on in Pakistan. But as someone who’ve had multiple first-hand experiences in that heinous period during my early childhood, i can sympathize with what they have had to go through on a level. So i’m going to make my Pakistan have a soft spot for Afghan :’) so that he has someone who cares for him to a extent (but will never admit to it openly). Pakistan has taken in millions of Afghan refugees, so Afghanistan stays over at Pak’s place pretty often.

[falcqns]

an apostles redemption

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Grace Walker)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, family angst, mention of nuclear weapons and firearms, facial injury, mention of anxiety disorder and anxiety attacks, implied smut 

A/N: hope you enjoy!

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three |

Ragged Night 

When Grace awoke the next morning, August was not laying next to her, as she had hoped. When she sat up, shed noticed Kal wasn't in his bed either. She put on some socks, and headed down the stairs to find her husband and dog.

He wasn't in the kitchen or living room,  but the door to the basement was open, and Grace immediately knew where he was. He was in the gym.

She ventured down the stairs, and into the large home gym. August was wearing a grey muscle tank and red gym shorts, with his Adidas running shoes on his feet. He had his red boxing gloves that were monogrammed with the words 'The Hammer', a Christmas gift from Erica Sloane. He was aggressively punching the punching bag hanging from the ceiling, his AirPods blaring some type of heavy metal.

Kal was laid by the mirrors opposite August, watching his dad take out his energy on the bag. Kal's ears perked up when Grace walked into the room, and stood up to go and get pets from his mom, which alerted August that he wasn't alone anymore.

He turned his head and smiled when he noticed Grace. He took out his AirPods and placed them back in the charging case, before walking over to give his wife a kiss.

"Good morning, love," Grace said, as she wrapped her arms around her husbands sweaty midriff.  

"Good morning," August responded, as he took off his punching gloves.

"I'm going to make breakfast, so why don't you go and shower and we'll eat together?" Grace offered. August smiled. It had been weeks since he had had his wonderful wife amazing cooking.

"Sounds good to me, angel." He pressed another kiss to his wife's lips, before Grace led Kal upstairs with the promise of food. August cleaned up the gym from his morning workout, and headed up to their shared bathroom. He had wished Grace would join him, but he knew she didn't trust him enough for that amount of affection. August understood, and was going to do anything to earn that trust back.

He had a quick shower, and put on a t shirt that had Geralt of Rivia on it, from his favourite video game, The Witcher. He also pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants, and made his way down stairs, following the smell of bacon.

He walked into the kitchen but stopped in the doorway. Grace was stood at the stove, tending to their food. Harry Styles was playing from her phone, the sounds of 'She' echoing through their large kitchen. Two plates were sitting on the island, and there was a stack of books sitting on the same stool where he sat last night while Grace stitched him up. He walked over, and picked up the books, looking through them.

'What We Owe To Each Other , T.M. Scanlon,

A Treatise Of Human Nature, David Hume,

Groundwork in the Metaphysics of Morals, Immanuel Kant,

No Exit, Jean Paul Satre,

Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard,

Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle.'

Ethics books. He knew these books were in the house, as he gave them to Grace for her birthday. She loved The Good Place, and wanted to know more about ethics, so August bought her all the books mentioned in the show, and she had read them all. He knew he would have to read ethics books when he came home, but he didn't expect it to start so soon.

Before he could think about anything else, Grace turned around, and emptied eggs on both of their plates, and smiled at him.

"You look much better," She said, as she turned back to the stove to grab the pan with the bacon.

"I feel better, other than I'm hungry, and my face stings a little still." He said.

Grace placed the bacon on their plates, and walked over to the medicine cabinet. She grabbed the creme she had put on his face last night, and handed it to him.

"My hands are dirty from food, so just put this over the whole scar tissue area. It'll help it heal and help with the pain." He nodded, and did as he was told.

A few minutes later, his face didn't sting anymore, only a cooling sensation, which felt amazing.

They were sat at the breakfast booth, with Kal laying underneath, on their feet.

"August, I have to tell you something," Grace said nervously.

"What is it?" August replied, slightly afraid of her response.

"Sloane is coming over today, with Hunt and his team."

He immediately dropped his fork. "What? Why?"

Grace immediately recognized he was starting to panic, and she reached over and grabbed his hand.

"I'm doing it to help you. I'm going to sit them down, and I'm going to explain to them that you want to redeem yourself and that you will do anything to win back their trust."

August stood up to pace, which scared Kal, who nuzzled his head into Grace's lap.

"What if they shoot me?" He asked.

"You know that I don't allow weapons in the house, other than our shot gun. They are aware of that rule too, and will not be bringing any weapons. It's going to be fine, Auggie."

August felt his anger bubbling up. "How can you be so sure Grace? How?"

Grace stood up, got in his space, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She decided to ignore the face that he called her by her actual name. "Because, you're going to go into the basement and stay there. I am going to tell them that you are alive and willing to do anything to earn back their trust. I will tell them that they are allowed to be mad at him, but to at least allow you to try and prove yourself. I know that Ethan is going to be the first one to trust you. You need to be his friend."

August rolled his eyes, sighed, and then placed his bandaged forehead on to hers. "Okay," He agreed. "When do they get here?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to her cheeks, which make Grace blush.

Grace glanced down at her Fitbit. "It's only 8:30, they're not coming until noon, so we have a few hours. During that time I want you to start reading," She said, unraveled herself from August, and walked over to where the books laid.

"We'll start off with Scanlon. You don't have to read this whole thing today, but I want  you to read as much as you can while I go and get groceries." She said, handed him 'What We Owe To Each Other', and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she headed to the door to the backyard to let Kal out for a pee.

He nodded at her and took the book into the living room to begin to read, clearly not hungry anymore.

'We all believe that some actions are morally wrong. But when we claim that an action is wrong, what kind of judgement are we making? Judgements about right and wrong cannot be straightforwardly understood as factual claims about the empirical world or about our own psychology. Yet they do seem to make claims about some subject matter, claims which are capable of being true or false. Moreover...'

'God this is going to be a long few hours,' August thought to himself, as he began to read.

Grace finished eating, peeked into the living room where she saw her husband reading the book, and she smiled to herself. She grabbed her keys, and left the house. She made sure to lock the door behind her, so no one who wasn't invited could get in.

She religiously checked her security app on her phone to ensure Augusts safety, and to her surprise, he continued to read the book. She knew he didn't want to read moral philosophy and ethics books, but she also knew that he realized he had to if he had a chance to gain back not only her trust, but his country's as well.

She grabbed all the essential groceries she would need, as well as a few treats for August. She decided to reward him for his good behaviour, much like a child, but she knew that would work.

August did not have a good childhood. He was an only child, but his parents barely paid attention to him. His dad also worked in the CIA, and was killed when August was 8, just a day before his 9th birthday. His mother became distant and cold almost instantly, and told her little 8 year old that 'she had nothing, and no one left,' after her husband died. August tried to please her the best he could, but nothing he ever did was good enough for her. On his 18th birthday, he had had enough. He told her that he didn't appreciate that she was not a good mother to him. That nothing he ever did was good enough. That he always had to do hard physical labour, and wasn't able to enjoy his teenage years. His mother, on that same day, told him that she wished he had died instead of his father, as she could replace him, but not her husband.

August didn't  forgive her for many years, and he still fully hadn't. He talked to her on her birthday, and only to wish her a happy birthday. The only time she was proud of him was when he joined the CIA. He had joined to figure out who killed his father, and subjected him to so many years of abuse and neglect.

Once he found out his father had gone rogue and was killed by the IMF, he became angry, and shut himself off from everyone in his life. He became what the world see's today. The Hammer. The guy who gunned down every single Syndicate agent he came across. The man who almost wiped out India, Pakistan and China, with two nuclear bombs.

Sometimes Grace couldn't believe how different their lives were before they met. Grace grew up in a loving and nurturing household. Grace was the youngest of four, her older sisters Melissa and Julia, and her big brother Rick. Melissa had moved out before she was born, but Julia and Rick were still in school, and both living at home. The only trauma that she had experienced in her life was when Julia was kidnapped, and she moved in with her sister Melissa so her mom could focus on finding Julia, and she was only 6 years old. Her sister was found soon after and everything went back to normal.

She had noticed August had severe childhood trauma just 5 weeks into dating. It was the first time she had spent the full night with him, and he woke up in a cold sweat, and screaming. He was inconsolable for multiple minutes, and only when Grace got him water and rubbed his back, did he calm down. He told her a little bit about it, but only his fathers side, not about his mothers abuse. His mothers abuse came out when they were planning their wedding, and Grace kept bugging him to invite his mother.

'"She's your mother August! She has a right to come and see her son get married!'"

"That doesn't change the fact that her and I don't get along, and I don't want her ruining our day."

"Why? Why don't you get along? She's your mother, she loves you."

"NO SHE FUCKING DOESN'T! I HAVE NEVER, IN MY ENTIRE TIME OF BEING ALIVE, HEARD HER TELL ME SHE LOVES ME! THE LAST CLOSE TO 'I LOVE YOU' WAS 'IM GLAD YOU JOINED THE CIA TO MAKE YOUR FATHERS MEMORY PROUD'! SHE NEVER WANTED ME, BUT WAS FUCKING STUCK WITH ME AND SHE MADE SURE I KNEW THAT!"

Grace immediately stood up and enveloped him in her arms. She felt his head hit her shoulder, and his sobs began to spill out.

"It's okay my lovely. I love you. I'm sorry you went through that, but the beauty of being an adult is you can make your own family. It's going to be okay."'

He had never expressed himself like that before, and Grace knew that marrying him would have its challenges, and the challenge she was currently facing was the biggest of them all.

She wrapped up at the store, and headed home. While she drove, she attempted to figure out how she was going to explain to Sloane and the IMF that August deserved a second chance, when she didn't fully trust him again yet. Although, he had begun to prove himself worthy of her help, even in less than 24 hours.

Just before pulling into the driveway, she remembered she needed to check the mail. She drove to the mail box, and checked their slot. There were a few bills, other junk mail, a package from Amazon for Grace, and package from Julia, which was also for Grace.

Her and Julia had stopped talking after she got engaged to August, who Julia didn't trust. Every once in a while, though, she would get letters and packages from Julia on holidays, and sometimes it would be something to give to Ethan. She put the mail in the passenger seat of her car, and headed back to the house.

She arrived home, and August took a break from reading to help her with putting away the groceries. She managed to hide his treats from him, and locking them up in a a secret compartment she had installed in the pantry while he was in Kashmir. She felt that if he knew she bought those for him, he wouldn't earn it.

She gave August a hug and kiss, told him she was proud of him, and went to her office to work on a binder to help Auggie, the package from Julia in tow.

She made a book tracker, and even made assignments based on the books he'd be reading, and what he'd be learning. She would add more when and if Sloane told him what he needed to do. He had a long few months, or possibly years ahead of him, and he would need all the structure, support and love he could get. She thought about reaching out to his mother to let her know that her son was not dead, but decided to wait and ask August, although she knew what his answer will be.

Her gaze drifted to the package, and decided to open it. She ripped the tape off, and the folds popped open. On top was a letter, labeled with Grace's name. She opened the letter and read the contents.

'My angel Gracie,

I heard about August, and I'm sorry. I know I never trusted him, but that's not why I'm writing.

I've been in your place. Maybe not exactly, but I've lost a husband too. It sucks. I can't imagine the pain and heart break you are feeling right now, and I wish I could be there with you.

I was in Kashmir at the time, and he looked very determined. I know that's not what you want to hear, honey, but I thought it was important to tell you. He also gave me a letter to give to you, which I've included. I don't know what it says, I didn't read it. I want you to know I'm back in the States, at Mom's house. If you want to visit, or if you want us to come to you, we can. Just let Mom know, okay?

I love you sweet girl,

Julia'

Grace felt tears fall onto her cheeks. She didn't know what to think. Finding out her sister knew what August was planning should have made her angry, but it made her sad. She placed the letter down on the desk, and picked up the other letter, which was labeled 'Baby girl" which was August's name for her.

She opened it, and began to read.

'My sweet angel.

I love you, baby. I'm so sorry for what I'm doing, and I know it means I may never see you again, especially after you find out I did it. I don't want you living in a world that is this cruel. You have so much of your life ahead of you, and you deserve the best.

I won't be coming home. You will get everything. The house is paid off, the cars are paid off and there is several million dollars in our bank account, provided to me by the Syndicate and Lane.

They will not hurt you. They will not touch you. Sloane and I had an agreement that if I was to be disavowed or killed, you would be protected no matter what. Both you and I know that if anything were to happen, Ethan will do anything to make sure you stay safe.

I never wanted to hurt you, and I know I promised not to, but I have to do this. I love you with my whole heart. I wish I could have given you a family like you wanted, but I couldn't bring a child into such a world.

You will never forgive me, but let me tell you this.

Julia is here, and I will make sure she is safe. I will try to get her to come with me, but there's no promises. I understand she could never trust me, and never will. I never wanted to hurt you or your family. I'm so sorry my love.

I hope you have an amazing life, and find someone who can love you like I couldn't, and gives you what I couldn't. I love you with all I am baby, and you'll be the best mama ever, when your time comes. Give Kal all the treats for me, and tell him that his Daddy loved him.

Auggie.'

Grace had tears pouring down her face now. All he was trying to do was protect her, but he was doing it in the wrong way. She wished he could see the good in himself, but he just wasn't there yet. He would be one day though.

There was also a picture of Julia and her on the day she was born. On the back, in Julia's handwriting, said:

' You and me on the day you were born. You were so innocent. I prayed you would stay that way. The moment I held you I told myself I would never let anything harm you. You're so special to me, and I love you angel. You're my favourite sibling, but don't tell Rick, he doesn't know ;)'

Grace giggled, and placed the picture on Julia's letter. It was pretty obvious to everyone that being the youngest, Grace was the favourite to all her siblings.

Julia had also included some other pictures throughout her life, like Julia's grad from med school, Grace's high school graduation, and their trips to Disney that they took. Julia had included some Kashmirian snacks and a bracelet that was hand stitch-monogrammed with her name. She smiled at everything she had been given by her big sister. She didn't talk to her, so she treasured everything Julia gave her.

There was another letter. Grace opened it to find similar bracelets with Ethan and Ilsa's name on them, as well as a Virginia post card. On the back of the post card read:

' Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.'

Grace put that envelope to the side, knowing it was meant for Ethan and Ilsa.

Her phone buzzed beside her to let her know that Sloane, Ethan, Ilsa, Benji, and Luther would be arriving soon, and Auggie needed to get to the basement.

She rushed down the stairs, and headed straight to the living room.

"They're gonna be here soon, come with me, bring the book." She said. She grabbed the gun off of the coffee table where she had dropped it the night before, and she headed to the basement, with August tagging along behind her.

They went to the basement, and headed through the gym, to a false door, which led to their emergency bunker. August had this installed incase of a threat of a terrorist attack. Being they lived in Washington, they knew a large enough terrorist attack could and would put them at risk as well.

He sat down, and took the gun from her hands.

"I will open the door when it is time for you to come up. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR UNTIL I SAY SO. Okay?" She said, her voice shaking with nerves. August noticed this, and put the book down.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her body, and rested his head on hers.

"It's going to be okay, baby, alright? I'll be fine, you'll be fine, and if it all goes to shit I can get us out. You know that." He felt her nod, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, before she pulled away from him.

"I love you," She said.

"I love you too." He whispered, and watched her walk out of the bunker. He returned to his seat, and continued reading. He actually managed to admit to himself that he was liking Scanlon's book.

Upstairs, Sloane and the IMF team had just arrived and were sitting in her kitchen.

"Why are we here?" Hunt asked.

Grace took a deep breath and began.

"Before I begin, I need all of you to promise you will listen and not act without thinking about what I am going to propose greatly."

They all nodded in agreement.

She took another deep breath. "Okay. August is alive." All of their eyes widened, and Ilsa gasped but no one said anything.

"He is alive, and safe, and him and I would like to know if there's anything he can do to earn all of your guys's trust back. He is willing to do anything."

Everyone looked as Sloane, as her opinion was most important.

Sloane got very serious. "Yes there is. We do have a protocol to follow for rogue agents wanting to gain trust back again, but they have to request it in person, with proof that they are truly serious about it. Where is he currently?" She asked calmly.

"He is here." Grace said. "He came home last night. I would have called you but he had a large burn on his face, and a badly stitched forehead wound so I was more preoccupied with making sure he got fixed up."

Everyone nodded. They may not like or trust August, but as agents, they understood how important physical health was.

"Understandable. Bring him in, and we'll discuss it." Sloane said, and gave Grace a comforting smile, which let Grace know she wasn't going to pull any stunts.

Grace rushed down and got August, and headed back up. Grace saw Ethan's eyes darken in anger almost immediately upon August entering the kitchen.

August took a deep breath, ad began to speak. "I understand that you all probably hate me, and are angry at me, but I need your guys's help. I will do anything and everything to gain your trust back." He said, in a quiet tone of voice August had never used before.

Sloane was the first one to speak to him. "Walker, we are willing to help you, but you must do everything you are told. It's going to be a long few months."

August nodded. "I know. I'm already working to gain back Grace's trust, and she's helping me to be a better person, and as I said before, I am willing to do anything to gain that trust."

Ethan, Ilsa, Benji and Luther looked at each other, before they turned to August. "We'll help you too. I believe that everyone's capable of change, so we'll give you a chance," Ethan said. "But only one."

August nodded. "I understand." He looked up into Ethan's eyes. "Thank you." Ethan gave him a small smile.

They began to talk about what needed to be done, and how Grace was helping him. A few hours later, Ethan and Ilsa were getting ready to leave. Just before the headed to the door, Grace stopped them.

"I received a package from Julia this morning, and this was in it. She's back here, and she's safe." She said in a low voice to him.

Ethan smiled, and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Grace. If you happen to talk to her, let her know that I hope she's doing okay, and to stay safe. I appreciate you being able to make sure that she is always safe."

Grace smiled, and nodded. "She's my sister, and you're still my brother, wether or not you and Julia are together. It's my job," She said.

Ethan smiled, and gave her another hug, before Ilsa walked in from using the bathroom, and the trio said their goodbyes, before the door closed behind Ethan and Ilsa.

Grace ran up the stairs into her office and grabbed the letter. She headed back down to the living room, where she found Auggie reading. She took a seat next to him, making August look up.

"What's that?" August asked, and pointed to the paper in her hand.

"It's the letter that you gave to Julia to give to me, I got it in the mail this morning."

He put the book down, and turned towards her, his features portraying anxiety.

"And, um, what did you think?" He asked, nervously.

Grace smiled and looked at him.

"It made me cry. I know now all you care about was making the world a better place, but you were going about it the wrong way. You knew Julia would be there, but you wanted to make sure she was safe, all because she was my sister. It made me fall more in love with you," She said, tears coming to her eyes as she maintained eye contact with August.

August smiled, and reached a hand out for hers. Grace let him take it, and she ran her thumb on the back of his hand.

"All I ever want to do for you is to make sure you are safe, and you are happy." August whispered, and looked down to his lap, where Scanlon's book was laying.

"Auggie, I know. But I don't need you being taken away from me for the world to change. I read that manifesto, and yes, in certain situations, you must struggle before you succeed. But not the way you and Lane wanted to do it, honey." Grace said, quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry," August whispered, as tears started to fall from his eyes. Grace immediately looked up at the tone of his voice. Noticing his tears falling, she let the letter fall to the ground, and wrapped her arms around August, who sobbed into her shoulder.

"Auggie, shhhh, calm down," She said, as August's tears became louder and closer together. She ran her hands up and down his back, and whispered in his ear how much she loved him. a few minutes later, his tears started to subside.

Grace looked down, and saw his tired eyes begin to flutter closed. She sat up and lifted his head.

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't sleep yet," She began, brushing a few curls off of his forehead bandage. He groaned slightly, but opened his eyes. "I have to change your bandage on your head, and we need to put some more creme on your burn," She said, and helped August up.

He grumpily walked to the kitchen, and sat on a stool. Grace watched him as she gathered her tools, and laughed to herself about how child like he can become when he is tired.

She quickly took off the bandage, and looked at his stitches,

"They're healing, just slowly. They shouldn't leave too big of a scar, if a scar at all," She said. August nodded, too tired from todays events to talk.

She replaced the bandage and moved on to his burn. It was still noticeable what had happened, but it was healing. She gently lathered on the burn creme, and took a photo of his burn with her phone, in order to track it.

"Okay, baby, all done." She whispered to him. "You head up and go to bed, I'm going to put this away and let Kal out for a pee, and then I'll join you, okay?"

August smiled at her, and stood up. He wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Thank you, my love. I love you so much." He whispered into her ear.

Grace giggled and gave him a kiss on his lips. "I love you too, Snuffles," She replied, and used his nickname.

He gave her one last hug and kiss, and walked over to the stairs.

Grace began to clean up her medical supplies, and let Kal out for a pee. She walked into the living room, and saw the letter laying on the ground. She picked it up, placed it on the table. She then pulled out her phone and made a reminder to call her mom to talk to Julia and let her know what was happening and why she hasn't answered her lately.

She let the Akita back in the house, who went to his water bowl for a drink before heading up to the bedroom, where his dad was.

Grace made sure all the doors and windows were locked, and the alarm was armed, before she followed her boys.

"Kal! Leave Daddy alone!" Grace whisper yelled upon entering the bedroom, and seeing Kal nudging August with his nose for pets. Kal huffed at her, but then stalked over to his bed, immediately settling down.

Grace changed into her pyjamas, which consisted of one of August's shirts, and a pair of spandex shorts, before snuggling into bed with August.

She quickly fell asleep, and stayed that way until she was awoken at 5:30am by August shooting up from where he was laying. She rolled over and saw his shoulders shaking, his large hands covering his face. She shot up, and crawled so she was kneeling in front of him in the bed. She pulled his head from his hands, which forced him to reveal that he was crying and hyperventilating.

"What's wrong?" Grace said. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before running to the bathroom to get him a cup of water. She returned to his side, and placed the water down. He had a hand on his chest, and was hyperventilating to the point where Grace knew he couldn't breathe. She reached into his bedside drawer and grabber his 'bcalm' inhaler.

She bought him this inhaler after a particularly rough day at work, a few months previous.

He had come inside the house, and immediately walked up to where Grace was in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her, and began to breathe quickly. Grace, thinking he was just tired, gave him a hug, and continued to work on dinner when he released her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and followed Kal into the living room.

A few minutes later, as Grace was chopping up vegetables, Kal came running into the kitchen and began to bark and jerk his head towards the living room, before he ran back to August. Grace knew something was wrong, and followed him. She found August bent over on the couch, shaking, and his head in between his knees. Kal was nudging him, and attempting to get his face up unsuccessfully. Grace dropped to her knees in front of him, and lifted his head.

He looked up at her with pure fear in his eyes. His hands were on his chest, crumpled in his shirt. Grace immediately recognized what was wrong, and tried to calm him down.

'Baby, I need you to listen to me. You're okay, you're safe. Breathe with me." She said, and began to breathe calming breaths with him. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

They did that for a few moments, but his breathing barely calmed. She held her finger up in front of his mouth. "Pretend you're blowing out a candle, small, deep breaths."

August did as he was told, and his breath quickly slowed, and returned to normal.

Grace knew then that he had an anxiety disorder, but he had never gone to a doctor for it, and likely never would. She opted to educate herself on ways to help him, instead of forcing him into a situation where he wouldn't be comfortable.

She placed the inhaler up to his lips, and instructed him to breathe in. She removed the inhaler to allow him to exhale, before returning it to his lips. After 6-7 breaths, he was calm, and rested his head into Grace's neck.

"Here," Grace said. August lifted his head at her voice, and opened his mouth to drink from the cup that was presented at his mouth. He drank half the glass, before he wrapped his arms around his wife's waist.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Grace said in a quiet voice.

August took a few breaths, but began to explain. "I-I dreamed that Ethan didn't stop me in Kashmir, and Julia died. I was sent to prison. You visited me and told me how much you hated me, and wished you never married me. It scared me so much," He said, shakily.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here, I love you and you're going to be okay. You're safe." Grace said. She felt Kal's wet nose poking at her leg, and she looked at the dog. He had anxiety written all over his face, and knew he was scared for his dad.

Grace moved out of the way, and allowed Kal to climb up and put his large body where Graces once was. He rested his head on August's shoulder, and Grace put her hand on the back of his neck. August wrapped his arms around Kal a few moments later.

"Hey, buddy, daddy's okay." August whispered to the dog. Kal made a little whimper, but didn't move. After Kal was satisfied his dad was okay, he moved off, and settled his large body at the end of the bed. Grace laid down, and motioned for August to do the same. She wrapped her small body around his larger one, and they drifted off the sleep not long after.

Grace woke up before August the next morning, and allowed him to stay asleep. She walked into the bathroom and began to run him a bath. He was usually very clingy after an attack that bad, and she wanted him to feel calm, the way he calms her down.

She put a few drops of Lavender essential oil into the water, and Lavender scented bubble bath as well. Once it was full, she turned off the tap. She placed some fluffy towels on her vanity, and made her way to the closet. She grabbed sweats and a t shirt, as well as his superman boxers that he loved. Those were placed on top of his towels. She grabbed her laptop, so he could watch Netflix while he was in there.

Once everything was ready, she made her way back to her sleeping husband in the bed.

She knelt down beside him and began to run her fingers through his hair, gently coaxing him awake. "Auggie baby, wake up," She whispered. He groaned, but opened his eyes. Once his eyes landed on hers, his mouth molded into a smile.

"Good morning," He said, groggily. He reached out a hand and placed it on the side of her face, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth.

Grace leaned into his touch. "I ran a bath for you, follow me." She said. August smiled and got out of bed to follow his wife into the bathroom.

"It smells lovely, baby girl, thank you." He said, as soon as he entered the bathroom. Grace smiled, and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

"I have Netflix queued up on my laptop. I'll make us breakfast, and then I'll join you, okay?" She whispered in his ear. August nuzzled into her neck, and pressed a few kisses there, which made Grace smile. She missed his touch so much.

"Mmmm, sounds good." He whispered into her neck, which caused a shiver to run up and down her back.

She left him to get in the tub, and ventured down stairs. She made a quick breakfast of Eggo waffles, syrup and cold water bottles for the both of them. She made her way back up stairs, and found August settling into the tub.

Grace peeled off her clothes, knowing full well August was admiring her, which she loved. She got into the tub, settling herself in between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. She lifted the plank of wood she used to watch Netflix in the tub, and placed her laptop, and their food on it.

"What do you wanna watch?" She asked him, as she signed into Netflix.

"Mm, New Girl," He said quietly, and he ran a hand up and down her side, admiring his beautiful wife.

She put New Girl on, and settled back against August. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and began to pepper kisses on her neck. Grace moaned, and leaned back into his touch. Her hands ran up and down his thighs that had her body encased in his. August hit a particular spot that he knew would drive Grace crazy. She arched her back, and moaned out loudly. August felt himself begin to lose control, and removed his mouth from her.

"Why'd you stop?" Grace groaned out. "I was liking that,"

He chuckled. "I want you to trust me fully before we're intimate again. I don't want to make you feel like I'm being selfish."

Grace turned her head to look at him. "You won't baby. I love you, and miss you." She whispered.

August began to move his hands to her stomach. He immediately felt her body react to his, and that encouraged him to keep going. He removed his hands for a moment, in order to move the wood that had their food and laptop on it, to the ground where it couldn't be harmed.  

Grace turned around in his arms, and swung her right and then her left over his legs, so she was straddling him. She pressed their foreheads together, and moaned at the feeling of Augusts hands exploring her body. It had only been a week since the last time they made love, but somehow it felt like it had been a lifetime. Grace brushed her lips against his, and felt his hand slow to a stop. He reached up and enveloped her lips in a loving kiss. Her hands moved from his chest to his jaw.

His tongue swiped on her bottom lip, and she immediately allowed him to deepen the kiss. His right hand moved from her lower back, over her hip, her thigh, and then in between her legs, and Grace allowed her self to be lost in the pleasure.

For many minutes, time seemed to stop for the couple. Inside their little bubble, no one could harm them. No ethics reading needed to be done, no trust needed to be gained, and Kashmir never happened. All they felt was love, and passion.

As Grace rested her head on August's chest, she felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal. August had his right hand rubbing her back, and his left playing with her hair. She sighed in content, and tilted her head up at August. He smiled town at her, and gave her a kiss.

"That was amazing," August said. He noticed pure happiness on his wife's face. "I love you so much, I can't even believe it," He said, a stray tear falling from his welled up eyes. Grace lifted a hand and gently wiped it, being careful not to hit his burn area.

"I love you too. You've amazed me with how far you've come, even in just two days. I'm so proud of you, baby." She whispered to him. She noticed the tears escaping his eyes, and she knew that he was happy to hear her say that. That she was proud of him, that she loved him. Words he never heard from his parents.

She sat up and wrapped him up in her arms. "I'm proud of you. You make me proud to be your wife as every day goes by. You're so worthy of all my love. You're doing amazing," She whispered, tears came to her eyes, and she praised him over and over, meaning every word.

"I make you proud?" He whispered, clearly not believing her.

"Everyday angel. Marrying you was the best decision of my life." She said. Instantly, his sobs intensified, and his arms squeezed her closer.

She knew he needed to hear every word of praise she could give him, that he needed every kiss, hug, touch, and he needed her.

He may not be the perfect citizen, but Grace would be damned if she couldn't admit that he was on his way. And she would protect him, and guide him, until he didn't need it anymore. When that time came, she would stick by him, and love him.

[patriotsnet]

Did Republicans Riot After Obama Was Elected

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/did-republicans-riot-after-obama-was-elected/

Did Republicans Riot After Obama Was Elected

Undocumented Kids Are Saved By Obamas Executive Order Daca Which Would Put A Halt To Deportation For Those Whod Entered The Country Before Age 16 And Yet In A Bid To Get The Gop To Come Over To His Side On Immigration Reform The President Has Also Deported A Record 15 Million People In His First Term

A Family Caught in Immigration Limbo

When Belsy Garcia saw her mother’s number appear on her iPhone on the afternoon of June 15, she felt what she calls the “uncomfortable fluttering” sensation in her chest. She knew that daytime calls signaled an emergency. The worst one had come the previous year, when her sister told her ICE agents had placed their father in federal custody.

Garcia was attending Mercer University in Macon, Georgia, when her father was marched out of her childhood home. As an undocumented immigrant — like both of her parents, who are from Guatemala — she couldn’t qualify for loans. She financed her ­education through scholarships and a stipend she earned as a residential assistant. Now she wondered if her mother was calling to say her father had been deported, which might force her to leave school to become the family’s breadwinner.

But this call was different. “Go turn on the television,” Garcia’s mother said. “You’re going to be able to work, get a driver’s license.”

Onscreen, President Obama was announcing the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. Undocumented immigrants who had arrived in the United States as children could apply for Social Security numbers and work permits. Garcia qualified: Her parents had brought her to this country when she was 7 years old. DACA transformed her into a premed student who could actually become a doctor. “It was like this weight was lifted,” she says. “All of that hard work was going to pay off.”

In The Next Hundred Days Our Bipartisan Outreach Will Be So Successful That Even John Boehner Will Consider Becoming A Democrat After All We Have A Lot In Common He Is A Person Of Color Although Not A Color That Appears In The Natural World Whats Up John Barack Obama White House Correspondents Dinner

And Then There Were Three

The first woman to argue a case before the Supreme Court did so in 1880. It would take another 101 years for a woman to sit on that bench rather than stand before it. Even then, progress was fitful. Over the 12 years that Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg served together, their identities evidently merged; lawyers regularly addressed Ginsburg as “Justice O’Connor.” When O’Connor retired in 2006, she left the faux Justice O’Connor feeling lonely. Ruth Bader Ginsburg warned of something far more alarming: What the public saw on entering the court were “eight men of a certain size, and then this little woman sitting to the side.” They might well represent the most eminent legal minds in America. But there was something antiquated, practically mutton-choppy, about that portrait.

How many female justices would be sufficient? Nine, says Justice Ginsburg, noting that no one ever raised an eyebrow at the idea of nine men.

Seal Team Six Kills Osama Bin Ladenraiding His Secret Compound In Abbottabad Pakistan While Obama And His Top Advisers Watch A Live Feed Of The Mission From The White House Situation Room The Picture Of The Assembled Becomes The Last Supper Of The Obama Era

Poop Feminism

For me, it’s one moment. All the bridesmaids have come to the fancy bridal shop to see Maya Rudolph try on wedding dresses. This should be a familiar scene: The bride emerges from the changing room and … This is the dress! The friends clap. The mother cries. Everyone is a princess. Go ahead and twirl!

But when the bride emerges in Bridesmaids, almost all of her friends have started to feel sick. Sweat coats their skin. Red splotches creep over their faces. They try to “ooh” and “aah,” but it’s already too late. It starts with a gag from Melissa McCarthy, followed by another gag. Then a gag that comes simultaneously with a tiny wet fart. It’s the smallness of the fart that’s important here. It’s the kind of fart that slips out — a fart that could be excused away, a brief, incongruous accident. Women don’t fart in wedding movies, and women certainly don’t fart at the exact moment that the bride comes out in her dress. This can’t be happening. ­Melissa McCarthy blames the fart on the tightness of her dress. We breathe a sigh of relief.

Then sweet Ellie Kemper gags, and the sound effect is surprisingly nasty. Ellie’s face is gray. Melissa’s face is red. They look bad. They are embarrassed. How far is this going to go?

The camera cuts. We are above now. We look down from a safe perch as the release we have been anticipating and dreading begins. It is horribly, earth-­shatteringly gross. A woman has just pooped in a sink. The revolution has begun.

The Government Acquires A 61 Percent Stake In Gm And Loans The Company $50 Billion The Auto Bailout Will Eventually Be Heralded As A Great Success Adding More Than 250000 Manufacturing Jobs To The Economy

The Auto Industry Gets Rerouted

“The president was very clear with us that he only wanted to do stuff that would fundamentally change the way they did business. And that’s what we did. There were enormous changes. For example, General Motors had something like 300 different job classifications that the union had. If you were assigned to put the windshield wipers on, you couldn’t put tires on. And we wiped all that stuff out. We basically gave back management the freedom to manage, to hire, to fire. People stopped getting paid even when they were on layoff. We reduced the number of car plants so that there wasn’t so much overcapacity. So now, when you have 16 million cars sold , they’re making a fortune.”

Black Lives Matter Activists Are Arrested In Baton Rouge Louisianaprotesting The Murder Of Alton Sterling; More Than 100 People Are Detained In St Paul Minnesota Protesting The Murder Of Philando Castile

What Is the Point of a Quantified Self?

Melissa Dahl: The Fitbit was introduced at a tech conference eight years ago. It’s kind of incredible to realize that, before then, this idea of the “quantified self” didn’t really exist in the mainstream.

Jesse Singal: I feel like it’s the intersection of all these different trends: Everyone plays video games these days. You got smartphones everywhere. And people are realizing that solutions to the big problems that lead to sleeplessness and anxiety and bad eating — unemployment and income inequality and yada yada yada — aren’t gonna get solved anytime soon.

MD: That’s interesting, because all of this self-tracking is also, according to some physicians, giving people more anxiety! A Fitbit-induced stress vortex.

Cari Romm: It feels like productive stress, though. I’m talking as a recovered Fitbit obsessive, but it does make you look at Fitbit-less people like, “You mean you don’t care how many steps you took today?”

MD: Oh, God. I don’t care. Should I care? Sleep is the one thing I obsessed over for a while. Which does not really help one get to sleep.

JS: Do you think an actually good and not obsession-­inducing sleep app could help, though?

MD: There’s some aspect to the tracking idea that really does work. I mean, it’s just a higher-tech version of a food journal or sleep journal, right? Ben Franklin 300 years ago was tracking his 13 “personal virtues” in his diary.

JS: Would Ben Franklin have been an insufferable tech-bro?

Officer Darren Wilson Fatally Shoots Michael Brownin The St Louis Suburb Of Ferguson Sparking A National Protest Movement And Setting Off Unrest That Will Remain Unresolved Two Years Later

On the Triumph of Black Culture in the Age of Police Shootings

In the two years since Mike Brown was fatally shot by the police in Ferguson, and the video footage of his dead body in the street went viral, we have seen the emergence of a perverse dichotomy on our screens and in our public discourse: irrefutable evidence of grotesquely persistent racism, and irrefutable evidence of increasing black cultural and political power. This paradox is not entirely new, of course — America was built on a narrative of white supremacy, and black Americans have simultaneously continued to make vast and essential contributions to the country’s prominence—but it has become especially pronounced. And it’s not just because of the internet and social media, or the leftward shift of the culture, or black America’s being sick and tired of being sick and tired. In fact, it is all of these things, not least two terms with a black president. In the same way that black skin signals danger to the police , his black skin, to black people, signaled black cultural preservation. African-Americans didn’t see a black man as the most powerful leader in the free world; we saw the most powerful leader in the free world as black. This is what comedian Larry Wilmore was expressing at the 2016 White House Correspondents’ Dinner when he said, “Yo, Barry, you did it, my nigga.” It was a moment of unadulterated black pride.

Militants Attack American Compounds In Benghazi Libya Killing Us Ambassador Chris Stevens And Three Other Americans There Will Eventually Be Eight Congressional Probes Into The Incident

“I Know I Let Everybody Down”

“Before the debate, David Plouffe and I went in to talk to him and give him a pep talk and he said, ‘Let’s just get this over with and get out of here,’ which is not what you want to hear from your candidate right before the debate. We knew within ten minutes that it was going to be a ­debacle. We had armed him with a joke — it was his 20th anniversary, and he addressed Michelle — and it turns out Romney was expecting just such a line and had a really great comeback. And Romney was excellent — just free and easy and clearly well prepared and showed personality that people hadn’t seen before. Obama looked like he was at a press conference.

We had a meeting at the White House and he said, ‘I know I let everybody down and that’s on me, and I’m not going to let that happen again,’ and that was his attitude. We always had debate camps before, where we’d re-create in hotel ballrooms what the set would look like, and all of the conditions of the real debate. When we went down to Williamsburg, Virginia, for the next debate camp, he seemed really eager to engage in the prep. We had a decent first night. That was on Saturday. On Sunday night, Kerry, playing Romney, got a little more aggressive and Obama a little less so; it looked very much like what we had seen in Denver. It was like he’d taken a step back.

Scott Brown Is Elected Massachusetts Senatorturning Ted Kennedys Seat Republican For The First Time Since 1952 And Suddenly Throwing The Prospect Of Passing Obamacare Into Jeopardy

Plan B

“I’m talking to Rahm and Jim Messina and saying, ‘Okay, explain to me how this happened.’ It was at that point that I learned that our candidate, Martha Coakley, had asked rhetorically, ‘What should I do, stand in front of Fenway and shake hands with voters?’ And we figured that wasn’t a good bellwether of how things might go.

This might have been a day or two before the election, but the point is: There is no doubt that we did not stay on top of that the way we needed to. This underscored a failing in my first year, which was the sort of perverse faith in good policy leading to good politics. I’ll cut myself some slack — we had a lot to do, and every day we were thinking, Are the banks going to collapse? Is the auto industry going to collapse? Will layoffs accelerate? We just didn’t pay a lot of attention to politics that first year, and the loss in Massachusetts reminded me of what any good president or elected official needs to understand: You’ve got to pay attention to public opinion, and you have to be able to communicate your ideas. But it happened, and the question then was, ‘What’s next?’

Sheryl Sandbergs Lean In Hits Bookstores Making The Feminist Case That Women Should Be More Aggressive And Ambitious In Their Careers And Making Feminists Themselves Very Angry

The “Mommy Wars” Finally Flame Out

After decades of chilly backlash, we find ourselves, these past eight years, in an age of feminist resurgence, with feminist websites and publications and filmmakers and T-shirts and pop singers and male celebrities and best-selling authors and women’s soccer teams. Of course, as in every feminist golden age, there has also been dissent: furious clashes over the direction and quality of the discourse, especially as the movement has become increasingly trendy, shiny, and celebrity-backed.

Perhaps the most public feminist conflagration of the Obama years came at the nexus of policy and celebrity, of politics and pop power. It was the furor over Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, who gave a viral 2010 TED Talk about women in the workplace who “leave before they leave” — who alter their professional strategy to accommodate a future they assume will be compromised by parenthood — which led to the publication of her 2013 feminist business manifesto, Lean In.

It’s a lesson of the Obama era: One approach to redressing inequality does not have to blot out the others. Sometimes, attacking from all angles is the most effective strategy.

Texas State Senator Wendy Davis Laces Up Her Pink Running Shoes And Spends Ten Long Hours Attempting To Filibuster A Billthat Wouldve Imposed Statewide Abortion Restrictions

“The Concept of Dignity Really Matters”

“I was given an enormous degree of latitude. I did communicate with the White House counsel on occasion about high-profile cases, but it was much more in the nature of just giving them a heads-up, to calm any nervous feelings they might have. There’s only one exception to that, and it was on marriage equality, in the Hollingsworth v. Perry case in 2013. We were contemplating coming in and arguing that it was unconstitutional for California to refuse to recognize the legal validity of same-sex marriages. But we didn’t have to do it . And because it was a discretionary judgment, and it was such a consequential step, that was the one matter where I really sought out the president’s personal guidance. I wanted to make sure the president had a chance to thoroughly consider what we should do before we did it. It was really one of the high points of my tenure. It was a wide-ranging conversation about doctrinal analysis, about where society was now, about social change and whether it should go through the courts or through the majoritarian process, about the pace of social change, about the significance of the right at stake. He was incredibly impressive.

A Golf Summit Between John Boehner And Barack Obama Stirs Hopethat Perhaps The Two Parties Will Come To A Budget Agreement And Forestall A True Crisis Secret And Semi

A Grand Bargain That Wasn’t, Remembered Three Ways

“The president of the United States and the Speaker of the House, the two most powerful elected officials in Washington, decided in a conversation that they both had to try to make something happen. Maybe it would be the way it worked in a West Wing episode in a world that doesn’t work like a West Wing episode. That’s how it started — two individuals saying we’re going to try. I think they both shared a belief in the art of the possible, and they both did not think compromise was a dirty word.

When our cover was blown — a Wall Street Journal editorial came out saying that Boehner and Obama were working on this and attacking the whole premise — that was devastating. It resulted in Cantor being a part of the talks. Cantor and Boehner came in, and I think it was a weekend private session with the president in the Oval Office, and they were talking about the numbers. At one point Cantor said, ‘Listen, it’s not just the numbers. There’s concern that this will help you politically. Paul Ryan said if we do this deal, it will guarantee your reelection. If we agree with Barack Obama on spending and taxes, that takes away one of our big weapons.’ There were so many obstacles, some of them substantive — how much revenue, and what about the entitlements? — but there was also this overlay of ‘This is going to help Obama.’

Illustrations by Lauren Tamaki

The Obama Administration Unveils Its Plan For Regulating Wall Streetwhich Is Then Introduced In Congress By Senator Chris Dodd And Representative Barney Frank

MJ=JC?

Lane Brown: Michael Jackson’s death was a big deal for lots of obvious reasons, including the surprising way it happened and the fact that he was arguably the most famous person on the planet.

Nate Jones: He was an A-lister with an indisputable body of work; he was 50 years old, his hits were the right age — old enough that every generation knew them, but not too old that they weren’t relevant anymore.

LB: But it was also the first huge celebrity death to happen in the age of social media, or at least the age of Twitter.

NJ: MJ’s death came alongside the protests in Iran, which was when Twitter went mainstream.

LB: It also meant that so much of the instant reaction was to make it all about us.

Frank Guan: In a lot of ways, the culture prefers the death of artists to their continuing to live. Once an artist gets launched into the stratosphere, there’s no way to come down, and that permanence becomes monotonous. They run out of timely or groundbreaking material and the audience starts tuning out. At some point, their fame eclipses their art, and then the only way to get the general audience to appreciate them anew is for them to die.

LB: People seem to like the grieving process so much that even lesser celebrities get the same treatment.

Congresswoman Gabby Giffords Returns To The House Floor For The First Time Since Being Shot In A Massacre In January Casting A Vote In Favor Of The Debt

A Rare Moment of Unity

“I was doing intensive rehabilitation in Houston at the time but was following the debate closely, and I was pretty disappointed at what was happening in Washington. I’d seen the debate grow so bitter and divisive and so full of partisan rancor. And I was worried our country was hurtling toward a disastrous, self-inflicted economic crisis. That morning, when it became clear the vote was going to be close, my husband, Mark, and I knew we needed to get to Washington quickly. I went straight from my rehabilitation appointment to the airport, and Mark was at our house in Houston packing our bags so he could meet us at the plane.

That night, I remember seeing the Capitol for the first time since I was injured and feeling so grateful to be at work. I will never forget the reception I received on the floor of the House from my colleagues, both Republicans and Democrats. And then, like I had so many times before, I voted.

I worked so hard to get my speech back, and honestly, talking to people who share my determination helped me find my words again. I’ve been to Alaska, Maine, and everywhere in between. Best of all, I got back on my bike. Riding my bike once seemed like such a huge challenge. It seemed impossible.”

Miley Cyrus Twerks At The Mtv Vmassetting Off A Controversy About Cultural Appropriation That Soon Ensnares Seemingly Every White Pop Star On The Planet

• Karlie Kloss wears a Native American headdress and fringed bra at the Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

• Justin Timberlake is accused of appropriating black music when he tells a black critic “We are the same” after praising Jesse Williams’s BET Humanitarian Award speech about race and police brutality.

• DJ Khaled gets lost on Jet Ski, snaps the whole time.

• Two UW-Madison students snap their meet-cute as the entire student body cheers them on.

• Playboy Playmate Dani Mathers films and mocks an anonymous woman in the gym shower.

• A Massachusetts teen records the sexual assault of a 16-year-old girl. The video is later seen by a friend of the victim.

Prior To Going To War In Iraq Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld Optimistically Predicted The Iraq War Might Last Six Days Six Weeks I Doubt Six Months

What’s more, Vice-President Dick Cheney said we would be greeted as liberators by the Iraqi people after we overthrow Saddam.

They were both horribly wrong. Instead of six weeks or six months, the Iraq war lasted eight long and bloody years costing thousands of American lives. It led to an Iraqi civil war between the Sunnis and the Shiites that took hundreds of thousands of Iraqi lives. Many Iraqi militia groups were formed to fight against the U.S. forces that occupied Iraq. What’s more, Al Qaeda, which did not exist in Iraq before the war, used the turmoil in Iraq to establish a new foothold in that country.

The Iraq war was arguably the most tragic foreign policy blunder in US history.

In 2012 Republicans Predicted That Failure To Approve The Keystone Pipeline Would Send The Price Of Gasoline Sky High And Kill Large Numbers Of Jobs

Despite the fact that the Keystone Pipeline was not approved, the price of gasoline continued to drop below $1.80 per gallon, millions of new jobs were created and unemployment dropped from 8% to 4.9% by early 2016. The most optimistic predictions say that the Keystone Pipeline would only create a few dozen long-term jobs and would do nothing to lower the price of gasoline.

Eric Cantors Stunning Primary Loss Suggests No Politician Is Safe From The Rage Of The Tea Party Not Even The Tea Partys Canniest Political Leader

From Party’s Future to Also-Ran in a Single Day

On the day his political career died, Eric Cantor was busy tending to what he still believed was its bright future. While his GOP-primary opponent, David Brat, visited polling places in and around Richmond, Virginia, Cantor spent his morning 90 miles away at a Capitol Hill Starbucks. He was there to host a fund-raiser for three of his congressional colleagues — something he did every month, just another part of the long game he was playing, which, he believed, would eventually culminate in his becoming Speaker of the House.

The preceding five years had brought Cantor tantalizingly closer to that goal. In the immediate aftermath of Obama’s election, he’d rallied waffling House Republicans to stand in lockstep opposition to the new president’s agenda. In 2010, he’d helped elect 87 new Republican members, giving the GOP a House majority and making Cantor the House majority leader. He became the champion of these freshmen members, stoking their radicalism during the debt-ceiling fight and working to undermine Obama and John Boehner’s attempt to strike a “grand bargain.” His alliance with the ascendant tea party was strategic — it gave him leverage not only over Obama but over other Republicans who might also have had aspirations of becoming Speaker. It never occurred to him that the wave he was trying to ride might crash on him instead.

In 1993 When Bill Clinton Raised Taxes On The Wealthiest 15% Republicans Predicted A Recession Increased Unemployment And A Growing Budget Deficit

They weren’t just wrong: The exact opposite of everything they predicted happened. The country experienced the seven best years of economic growth in history.

Twenty-two million new jobs were added.

Unemployment dropped below 4%.

The poverty rate dropped for seven straight years.

The budget deficit was eliminated.

There was a growing budget surplus that economists projected could pay off our national debt in 20 years.

Republicans Predicted That We Would Find Iraqs Weapons Of Mass Destruction Even Though Un Weapons Inspectors Said That Those Weapons Didn’t Exist

The Bush administration continued to insist that WMDs would be found, even when the CIA said some of the evidence was questionable. As we all know, the WMDs predicted by the Bush administration did not exist, and Saddam Hussein had not resumed his nuclear weapons program as they claimed. Ultimately, both President Bush and Vice President Cheney had to admit that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.

Republicans Predicted That President Obamas Tax Increase For The Top 1% In 2013 Would Kill Jobs Increase The Deficit And Cause Another Recession

You guessed it; just the opposite happened. In the four years following January 1, 2013, when that tax increase went into effect, through January 2017, unemployment dropped from 7.9% to 4.8%, an average of more than 200,000 new jobs were created per month, Wall Street set new record highs, and the budget deficit was cut in half.

Over 5.7 million new jobs were created in the first two years after that tax increase. That’s more jobs created in two years than were created during the combined 12 years of both Bush presidencies.

In 2001 When George W Bush Cut Taxes For The Wealthy Republicans Predicted Record Job Growth Increased Budget Surplus And Nationwide Prosperity

Once again, the exact opposite occurred. After the Bush tax cuts were enacted:

The budget surplus immediately disappeared.

The budget deficit eventually grew to $1.4 trillion by the time Bush left office.

Less than 3 million net jobs were added during Bush’s eight years.

The poverty rate began climbing again.

We experienced two recessions along with the greatest collapse of our financial system since the Great Depression.

In 1993, President Clinton signed the Brady Law mandating nationwide background checks and a waiting period to buy a gun.

Apple Announces That It Has Sold 100 Million Iphoneswithin A Few Months It Will Overtake Exxonmobil As The Most Valuable Company In The World

Earthlings Gain a New Appendage

What if we had the singularity and nobody noticed? In 2007, Barack Obama had been on the trail for weeks, using a BlackBerry like all the cool campaigners, when the new thing went on sale and throngs lined up for it. The new thing had a silly name: iPhone. The iPhone was a phone the way the Trojan horse was a horse.

Now it’s the gizmo without which a person feels incomplete. It’s a light in the darkness, a camera, geolocator, hidden mic, complete ­Shakespeare, stopwatch, sleep aid, heart monitor, podcaster, aircraft spotter, traffic tracker, all-around reality augmenter, and increasingly a pal. At the Rio Olympics you could see people, having flown thousands of miles to be in the arena with the athletes, watching the action through their smartphones. As though they needed the mediating lens to make it real.

This device, this gadget — a billion have been made and we scarcely know what to call it. For his 2010 novel of the near future, , Gary Shteyngart made up a word, “äppärät.” “My äppärät buzzing with contacts, data, pictures, projections, maps, incomes, sound, fury.” Future then, present now. His äppäräti were worn around the neck on pendants. Ours are in our pockets when they aren’t in our hands, but they also sprout earbuds, morph into wristwatches and eyeglasses. Contact lenses have been rumored; implants are only a matter of time.

Let’s face it, we’ve grown a new organ.

Republicans Said Waterboarding And Other Forms Of Enhanced Interrogation Are Not Torture And Are Necessary In Fighting Islamic Extremism

In reality, waterboarding and other forms of enhanced interrogation that inflict pain, suffering, or fear of death are outlawed by US law, the US Constitution, and international treaties. Japanese soldiers after World War II were prosecuted by the United States for war crimes because of their use of waterboarding on American POWs.

Professional interrogators have known for decades that torture is the most ineffective and unreliable method of getting accurate information. People being tortured say anything to get the torture to end but will not likely tell the truth.

An FBI interrogator named Ali Soufan was able to get al Qaeda terrorist Abu Zubaydah to reveal crucial information without the use of torture. When CIA interrogators started using waterboarding and other enhanced interrogation methods, Zubaydah stopped cooperating and gave his interrogators false information.

Far from being necessary in the fight against terrorism, torture is completely unreliable and counter-productive in obtaining useful information.

In 2008 Republicans Said That If We Elect A Democratic President We Would Be Hit By Al Qaeda Again Perhaps Worse Than The Attack On 9/11

Former Vice-President Dick Cheney stated that electing a Democrat as president would all but guarantee that there would be another major attack on America by Al Qaeda. Cheney and other Republicans were, thankfully, completely wrong. During Obama’s presidency, we had zero deaths on U.S. soil from Al Qaeda attacks and we succeeded in killing Bin Laden along with dozens of other high ranking Al Qaeda leaders.

Game Of Thrones Arrives On Televisionwith An Assemblage Of Dragons Torture Nudity Incest And Despair A Show The Whole Family Can Enjoy

Explaining Kale

ADAM PLATT: Many things in Foodlandia, these days, have a political element to them, and if you want to emblazon a flag to be carried into battle, you could do worse than a bristly, semi-digestible bunch of locally grown kale.

ALAN SYTSMA: To eat kale is to announce you’re a person who cares about the matters of the day.

AP: The idea of kale is much more powerful than kale itself. In short order it went from being discovered, to appreciated, to being something that was parodied. Frankly, I’m all for the parody.

AS: The same thing happened to pork. Remember bacon peanut brittle? Bacon-fat cocktails? There’s bacon dental floss.

AP: Ahhh, bacon versus kale. The two great, competing forces of our time.

AS: Do you think one gave way to the other?

AP: What we’re really talking about is artisanal bacon, and the more sophisticated-sounding pork belly, made from pigs that were lovingly reared at upstate farms and fed diets of pristine little acorns. Bacon is the great symbol in the comfort-food, farm-fresh-dining movement, a kind of merry, unbridled pulchritude. Kale is the righteous yin to pork’s fatty, non-vegan yang.

AS: But pork has an advantage: People like the way it tastes.

AP: That’s a huge advantage, one that will hopefully see it through to victory.

[aboutcaseyaffleck]

BOSTON BY CASEY AFFLECK

October 25, 2020 For the record, what follows is nostalgia, false memories, and generalizations. But it’s all true. I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, across the Charles River from Boston proper. Cambridge was one of the most diverse, multicultural cities in America. It was a beautiful, colorful, vibrant place. People from all over the world lived there, all mixed-up together. It is the place I was born and will return to, God willing. It is the city with the smells and sounds and tastes and people I love the most. Despite how much I loved it, when I look at old photos, I often look like this:

I’m in the front in the blue shirt. My best friend was Michael, the tall kid in the red shirt, whose family came from Barbados. Through the middle school years, anytime we weren’t in school we were roaming the streets like Dickensian urchins.

In the ‘90s, Cambridge got rid of rent control. Families who had lived there for four or five generations were squeezed out. Now the city is gentrified; but when I was growing up there, it was scrappy and beautiful. It was mostly working people, except for West Cambridge—where wealthy families lived, where professors lived. Where Cornel West, Yo-Yo Ma, and the Governor lived. East Cambridge was working-class Portuguese families, butcher shops, funeral parlors, and tow yards. Cambridgeport, where I lived, was mostly poor, Italian, Black, Greek, and Irish families. North Cambridge had some big housing projects and the school where my mom taught fifth grade—in a gigantic cement structure called The Tobin School that felt like it was far away because I would have to take a train AND a bus to get there. In reality, it’s like three miles from where we lived.

This is me hanging out in her classroom:

As people and places evolve, the past always reveals blemishes unseen at the time. However, Massachusetts manages, as time unfolds, to be a place that was so often on the right side. Not always, but often enough that I am proud to be from Cambridge, Massachusetts, no matter what.

From Massachusetts came the first national publication denouncing slavery, America’s “first feminist”, and The Cambridge Woman’s Suffrage League, which formed in 1886. My high school had the first girl to play tackle football in that division. Cambridge voted-in the first openly gay African-American mayor in our country. Right now our mayor is a very popular and forward-thinking Muslim woman who immigrated from Pakistan named Sumbul Siddiqui. We have marvels of architecture, science, and tech. It was in Cambridge that the very first email was ever sent (and received). And every year the Red Sox stand up to the wealthier bullies from the Bronx. These are all things we are immensely proud of, but nobody is resting on these laurels.

I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not.

Luckily, the city’s history isn’t going anywhere, and it hasn’t lost all of its charms. It is a place best seen by walking. So just walk. It’s also seasonal. Different activities for different seasons. But if you can hoof it for a few miles do this: start at the Old North Church and go by Paul Revere House, through Faneuil Hall, by The Old State House through Boston Common, through the Back Bay, go left and pass through Roxbury, another left, and go through South Boston till you hit the water and go left till you hit the Children’s Museum. Sit down and relax. If you just want a path, walk that. Map it or wander around. The city is full of little back streets with lots of character.

MY BOSTON FAVORITES

When looking for things to do and see in the area, you can ask ten people and get ten different answers. You will get a long list of historical buildings, or you will get names of some of the country’s prettiest parks, or you will get pointed toward the campuses of some of the very best schools in the world. But for every Bunker Hill, there are ten other places you haven’t heard of. So I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not. The thing about Boston is you can miss all the best stuff, and you will still leave thinking it is one of the best cities on Earth. Have fun. 

Pinocchio Pizza, Harvard Square. I asked my son to describe it. He says, “the food is good but the vibe is fire, old school; whatever, just get a slice and sit on the ground. That’s why I like it.”  I have no idea why he wants to sit on the ground, but I guess that’s part of the charm of the place. We’re both vegan so we both scrape the cheese off and eat bread and sauce. That should tell you something.

Oleana Restaurant on Hampshire Street in Cambridge. Chef Ana Sortun is a baller. The food is Turkish inspired, and it is delicious. Always. Friendly people, pretty inside, and it is in a nice residential neighborhood. My dad lived in an apartment a few blocks away behind a Store 24 until he was evicted back in 1989.

Maharaja, Harvard Square. Incredible Indian food. And it has one of the only third-story views of Harvard Square.

Veggie Galaxy is great diner food. It is vegan. It has breakfast, lunch, dinner, milkshakes and other deserts. All day and all night food that is filling and really good.

Life Alive Organic will serve you the healthiest and heartiest meal you can find anywhere. It’s across the street from City Hall, the post office, and the oldest YMCA in the country.

Cantab Lounge, where my dad was a bartender, and then a janitor when he was too drunk to be a bartender. I drank six thousand ginger ales, sitting in the corner at a sticky table while he worked. Forever it was a bar for postal workers that opened at 10 am, where alcoholics ate hard-boiled eggs from jars that had been sitting on the bar top for two weeks. A couple of days after initially writing this, I got an email from the owner. It is being sold after tens of thousands of years. I don’t know why I care because I don’t exactly have any fond memories from the place, but seeing the brick-and-mortar of your childhood torn down is a kind of mid-life, coming-of-age moment. Life is change.

Darwins Ltd coffee shop and attached mini-grocer and sandwich spot. If you get a coffee and then walk west two blocks on Mt. Auburn St. you will discover on your right a nice little park with a fountain to hang out. It is called Longfellow Park. Or you can look to your left and you will see the Charles River, and you can stroll there.

Fomu for dessert.

Zhu Pan Asian Cuisine and True Bistro for good vegan food.

Newbury Comics is famous and cool. 

Million Year Picnic is for comic connoisseurs. They are both great. And they were both plagued by roving bands of middle school thieves in my day. The most notorious was named Mathew Maher. He is now a well-known theater actor on Broadway and appeared in the comic book movie Captain Marvel. But back then he stole shit.

Harvard Coop is the best place to browse for books. Especially the kids section. We spend hours there and nobody kicks us out.

After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages [from me] on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is my favorite museum in town, maybe anywhere. It was once her home and it features an indoor garden that is perfect. It also has a great collection of art from around the world.  Back on March 18, 1990, two famous paintings were stolen from the museum. As I remember it, a couple of guys showed up in the morning in police uniforms and the guard let them in. They tied the guard up and took a dozen paintings—Vermeer, Rembrandt, Degas—and vanished. The FBI never found them and never found the art. There are two plaques below two empty spaces on the walls to this day. On some days, classical musicians perform in random rooms while you walk around. You won’t want to leave.

Fenway Park. Greatest professional sports arena of any kind. I used to sell sausages in front of the Cask ‘N Flagon, a bar behind The Green Monster.

 It is the best baseball bar in the country. When everyone was in the park watching the game, and there was nobody buying food, I would go in and find a seat and watch the game with whoever I was working with; I have seen hundreds of games from every part of the park. After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

Plimoth Plantation is a living museum in Plymouth, which is 40 minutes from Boston. It is amazing. The actors working there are some of the best I have seen anywhere. If you are even mildly interested in history you have to go there.

Fresh Pond is where you can go running or biking. Two and a half-mile loop. 

Or you could hit The Emerald Necklace which is a great run that hits many of the best green areas, Franklin Park included. When we were young we would hop the fence and swim in the water. That isn’t done anymore ever, and everyone has grown up and leading better, more responsible lives.  

John Weeks Footbridge is a very pretty, very old, brick walking bridge that spans the Charles River. Watching the Charles Regatta from here is awesome. That is in the Fall. But it’s also great any night.  

The King School is a grade school not too far from there. It has maybe the best playground in the city. If you are there in the summer you can just walk on. When I was a kid, the King School is where a girl went who I was head over heels in love with. I finally got a shot at winning her heart in my early twenties and blew it.

Mount Auburn Cemetery is beautiful if you like that kind of thing. Lots of cool people are buried there, and the trees and stones are really nice. It’s a maze but just walk uphill. You will reach a monument with a great view of the city.

The American Repertory Theater puts on good plays. I grew up going there cause a friend of my mother’s directed many of the shows and could sneak us in the back. I wasn’t the adult making that decision; had I known better I would have scraped together the ticket price and supported the arts.

Boston Common is beautiful but you have to avoid all the shopping around it. If you have to shop go to:

NOMAD on Mass Ave in Cambridge is a store that you shouldn’t miss. In a world lost to chain stores and general homogenization of everything, Nomad is the real deal. Deb Colburn has been curating this place since I was ten. It is her store, and she has been trying to wake people up to folk art from around the world since Reagan was in office.

Bodega is a hidden high-end sneaker and casual wear store that must be entered through an unmarked door inside a bodega on a nearby side street. It’s cool how they have done it. Great presentation. Kids will like it.

KIDS ACTIVITIES

There are lots of things you can force your kids to do—things they won’t like the sound of at first, but will ultimately enjoy.

IMAGE CAPTIONS, LEFT TO RIGHT

On a rainy day, hop on the T and ride around town all day reading comics. Then stand outside in the warm rain (kids from LA don’t get this much).

Looking at murals. Cambridge has great murals everywhere. They are old and, incredibly, not vandalized. This one has been on this wall near the river since I was a kid. The child is mine and he is sick of walking around Cambridge.

If you feel like a pilgrim hit the gift shop at Plimoth Plantation.

Playing chess at Leavitt & Pierce Tobacco. You can inhale the scent of pipe tobacco without smoking it, and rent a chess set, clock, and table for $2 an hour in a beautiful old, wood-paneled shop with great ambiance.

Going to the oldest YMCA in the country.

Kayaking on the Charles River. You can get your kayak on Soldiers Field Rd. Take it east under all the bridges until you get to the inlet at Kendell Sq. It will all be clear. It will take about an hour.

Climbing the stairs at Harvard Football Stadium.

Reading books at the Harvard Coop.

NEARBY BOSTON

If you wanna go a little farther, go out to Gloucester for the day. Swim, eat, walk around, go back.

Whale watching sounds like a lame tourist trap but seeing whales up close will change the way you think about life on Earth.

You can take the ferry from Downtown Boston to Provincetown. It is a great place to visit or stay a few days while in town. Ptown is the eastern-most point on the continent. I might be making that up, but it’s close. It’s an arm that sticks out into the Atlantic. It’s really lovely there with a great vibe all around. You can’t have a bad time and everyone is super happy to be there. The beaches are all beautiful.  Sharks mostly only eat the seals and won’t come any closer to shore than two feet—but if you want to see a great white up close, we can make that happen.

Cape Cod has some great flea markets.  If you plan on spending time on vacation with your family you can find some essentials, like a medieval battle helmet, at the flea market.

SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

30 minutes on the local train line from downtown. Made famous by the Salem witch trials; a fun place to visit and walk around for about 128 minutes. Newburyport and Rockport lines, which depart from Boston’s North Station, stop at the Salem station. You can go into the homes of people who lived during the witch hunt.

The House of the Seven Gables, made famous by American author Nathaniel Hawthorne‘s novel The House of the Seven Gables, is a 1668 colonial mansion in Salem, Massachusetts named for its gables. The house is now a non-profit museum, with an admission fee charged for tours, as well as an active settlement house with programs for children. It was built for Captain John Turner and stayed with the family for three generations.

The Jonathan Corwin House in Salem, Massachusetts, known as The Witch House, was the home of Judge Jonathan Corwin. It is the only structure still standing in Salem with direct ties to the Salem witch trials of 1692, thought to be built between 1620 and 1642. Corwin bought it in 1675 when he was 35, and he lived there for more than 40 years. The house remained in the Corwin family until the mid-19th century and is located in the McIntire Historic District. 

A MECCA FOR ARTISTS

Lastly, for centuries, Cambridge has been a mecca for artists, especially writers. Here are some spots to see if you like that kind of thing:

The corner of JFK Street and 1390 Massachusetts Avenue. This is a good spot. Here is why: America’s FIRST PUBLISHED POET was a woman named Anne Bradstreet who died in 1672 and lived on this spot! It went through lots of changes, and 300 years later, by the time I was walking around, it became a great burger place called THE TASTY. In 1996 or whatever, The Tasty appears in the movie Good Will Hunting in the scene when Matt Damon kisses Minnie Driver. It might have also appeared in the film Love Story back in the 70s. I mix them up. Now it is a CVS.  God help us.  

The Longfellow House. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived at 105 Brattle Street. The great poet taught at Harvard and lived in the Georgian mansion from 1837 until his death in 1882. Before the author, George Washington used the house as his headquarters during the Siege of Boston. The house is open to the public, and it is where I had my eighth-grade graduation ceremony. The mayor attended and forgot the name of our school in his address to the kids. I heard people mutter that he was drunk. I can’t blame him. I had my first drinks hours before that ceremony.

71 Cherry Street, Cambridge. The woman considered to be American’s FIRST feminist, Margaret Fuller, was born and lived here.

Henry and Alice James lived at 20 Quincy Street. The house was knocked down in 1930 and the Harvard Faculty Club was erected there.

W.E.B. DuBois lived at 20 Flagg Street. The writer and pioneer of civil rights rented a room in this Cambridgeport home from 1890 to 1893. This is blocks from my childhood home. He was the first African American to receive a degree from Harvard.

Robert Frost lived at 35 Brewster Street. Frost, who attended high school in Lawrence, Massachusetts, lived in the West Cambridge home from 1943 to 1963.

T.S. Eliot lived at 16 Ash Street.

E.E. Cummings lived at 104 Irving Street. He was an innovator. He also wrote a poem about “Cambridge Women”. He lived at the Irving Street home from 1892 until about 1917.

Also you can find homes of the genius Nabokov and the great and beloved Julia Childs if you look around.

Source

[keplercryptids]

nonfiction LGBTQ+ books i read this year

i read a lot this year, and a good chunk of it was LGBTQ+ nonfiction. so i thought it might be nice to list what i read. as a note, many of these books deal with LGBTQ history in the United States. too often, mainstream US-centric LGBTQ texts focus on white middle-class cisgender folks, though I’ve done my best to balance that as much as possible with other perspectives. (that being said, if you got ‘em, i would LOVE book recommendations that tackle worldwide/non-white LGBTQ issues!)

Accessibility notes: Given the nature of the genre, there’s a lot of intense discussion re: homophobia and transphobia. Basically every book listed covers those things to some extent, and I’ve specified where there’s additional potentially triggering content. (If you have specific questions about triggers, please let me know!) also, some of these books are on the academic side. I’ve done my best to note when a book was very academic or when I found it to be more readable. (full disclosure on that note: I’m a college grad and voracious reader without any reading-specific learning disabilities, so my opinion may be different than yours!) as a final note, I was able to access most of these as e-books/audiobooks through my local library. I live in a major metropolitan area, if that gives you any idea of how easy it’ll be for you to find these books. I’ve noted when a book was more difficult to get my hands on.

History

Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World 1890-1940 by George Chauncey. As the title suggests, this book focuses on gay male communities in NYC pre-World War 2. Even with that limited scope, this is an important read to better understand gay male history in the early 20th century. Gay communities thrived in the early 1900s and this snapshot of that is really wonderful. This is definitely more of an academic read, but I highly recommend it. while it definitely focuses on white middle-class gay men, there was more discussion of poor and/or gay men of color than i had actually expected, so that’s nice. (CW for rape and sexual assault, homophobic violence and medicalization of homosexuality.)

Queering the Color Line: Race and the Invention of Homosexuality in American Culture by Siobhan B. Somerville. Finally, a book about queer history that actually talks about black people! I was expecting more of a history book, whereas this was more of a critique of specific novels, plays and movies of the early 1900s and was way more focused than i was expecting. don’t get me wrong, I majored in English lit so i’m super into that kind of analysis as well, it just wasn’t as far-reaching as I would have liked. Also, it’s very academic. (Only the print version was available at my library.) (CW for racism, mentions of slavery.)

Transgender History by Susan Striker. This book describes itself as an “approachable introductory text” to transgender history in the US, which I agree with. It’s a pretty short read given the enormity of the topic, so it doesn’t go into much detail about specific groups or events, but imo it’s a good introduction. Especially interesting to me was the information about where and when TERF ideology began. Academic but on the easier-to-read side. (CW for transphobia, gross TERF rhetoric, brief mentions of the AIDS crisis, police violence.)

Gay Revolution by Lillian Faderman. okay so, I gave this 1 star. it’s probably a good book if you know absolutely nothing about US LGBTQ history and want an intro, but a review on goodreads said that it should be called Gay Assimilation instead and i completely agree. Faderman focuses on white middle-to-upper class gay and lesbian assimilationists, often at the expense of radical queer and trans people of color. The latter is hardly mentioned at all, which is ridiculous given trans folks’ contributions to the LGBTQ movement. When radical people ARE mentioned, it’s often in a disparaging way, or in a way that positions the radicals as too extreme. Faderman constantly repeats the refrain that the fight for LGBT rights was “just like what black people did for their rights” without any addendum about why that is...not a good take. There’s no meaningful discussion of race, class or intersectionality. She lauds Obama as a hero for the gays and there’s a ton (I mean a TON) of content about how military acceptance + gay marriage = we won, or whatever. anyway, i wasn’t a fan, although many of the events and organizations discussed in this book are important to know just from a factual basis. (CW for all the stuff I mentioned, plus police violence, medicalization of homosexuality. it’s also fucking LONG so i recommend the audiobook, lol.)

Queer (In)Justice: The Criminalization of LGBT People in the United States by Joey L. Mogul,  Andrea J. Ritchie, and Kay Whitlock. This is “a searing examination of queer experiences--as ‘suspects,’ defendants, prisoners, and survivors of crime.” A frequently upsetting but super important read about how LGBTQ identities have been policed in the past, and currently are policed today. i wish there was more focus on trans folks, but other than that it’s a solid read. (CW for all the things you’d expect a book about policing and imprisoning LGBTQ folks to include: police and institutionalized violence, sexual assault, transphobia, homophobia.)

Stonewall by Martin Duberman. This book follows the lives and activism of six LGBTQ folks before, during and after the Stonewall riots. Note: Stonewall itself is only discussed in one chapter about 2/3 of the way through, the rest of the book dedicated to the six individuals’ lives and activism up to and after that point. It’s a history book with a strong narrative focus that I found to be a fairly accessible read. (CW for minors engaging in sex work and sexual predation by adults, sexual and domestic violence, police violence, drug and alcohol abuse, mentions of suicide.)

And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts. This is a HEAVY but really important read about the AIDS epidemic in the US, tracking the disease and the political/cultural response from about 1980-1985. It’s journalistic nonfiction, so although it’s a very long book I found it easier to read than more academic-y books. the only thing i really disliked was how the book demonized “Patient Zero” in quite unfair ways, but it was originally published in ‘87 so that explains part of it. I want to stress again that it’s heavy, as you’d expect a book about thousands of deaths to be. (CW: oh boy where to start. Graphic descriptions of disease/death, graphic descriptions of sex, medical neglect, republican nonsense.)

Memoirs, essays, etc

Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme edited by Ivan E. Coyote. i felt mixed about this one! i appreciated the different perspectives regarding gender and desire, especially since this anthology contains a lot of essays by people who came of age in the 60s-80s (so there’s a historical bent too). but some of the essays feel dated, at best, and offensive at worst. there was more than one instance of TERF-y ideology thrown in. probably 1/4 of the essays were really really great, and i’d still recommend reading it in order to form your own opinions--also, imo it’s useful to see where TERF ideology comes from. this book was harder to find, and i had to order a print version through interlibrary loan. (CW for a few TERFy essays. i read this earlier in the year so it’s possible i’m forgetting some other triggers, sorry!)

Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation by (editors) Kate Bornstein and S. Bear Bergman. Serving as a follow-up of sorts to Bornstein’s Gender Outlaw, this is a collection of narratives by transgender and gender-nonconforming folks. While not “history” in a technical sense, many of the writers are 30+ and give a wide array of LGBTQ+ experiences, past and present, that are important. I didn’t agree with every single viewpoint, of course, duh! But some of the essays were really powerful and overall it’s a good read. (CW for one essay about eating disorders, some outdated language/reclaimed slurs as to be expected--language is one of the main themes of the collection actually so the “outdatedness” is important.)

S/He by Minnie Bruce Pratt. A memoir published in 1995, focusing on Minnie’s life, marriage, gender identity, eventual coming out and relationship with Leslie Feinberg. i really enjoyed this one. it was beautifully written. there are many erotic elements to this memoir so keep that in mind. also was a little harder to get, and i had to order a print version via interlibrary loan. (i read this awhile ago and can’t remember specific triggers, sorry! if anyone knows of some, please let me know.)

I’m Afraid of Men by Vivek Shraya. A memoir by a trans woman ruminating on masculinity. it’s beautiful and very short (truly more of a longform essay), so it’s a good one if you don’t have the attention span/time for longer books. (CW for sexism, harassment, transphobia.)

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde. god, this memoir is gorgeous and is one of my favorite books of the year. it chronicles Audre’s childhood in Harlem and her coming-of-age in the 1950s as a lesbian. ultimately, this is a book about love and that resonates throughout every page. idk can you tell i loved this book so much??? (CW for child abuse, sexual assault, a friend’s suicide, racism.)

We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir by Samra Habib. suuuuch a good book! Samra writes about her life as she and her family arrive in Canada as refugees from Pakistan in her early childhood, onto her life today as a queer Muslim woman of color, photographer and activist. beautifully written and just such an important perspective. Only the print version was available at my library. (CW for child sexual assault, a suicide attempt and suicidal ideation, non-graphic mentions of domestic violence, racism and sexism.)

Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kababe. this is a beautifully illustrated graphic novel memoir about the author’s journey of discovering eir identity as queer. i related to a lot of it, which was great on a personal level, but i also think it could be a great educational tool for those wanting to know more about gender queerness (especially for those who prefer graphic novels!) (CW for gender dysphoria, descriptions of gynecological exams, imagery of blood and a couple pages depicting being impaled, some nudity, vomit.)

[children-s-homephotography]

The Most Beautiful Smiles of Masawat Trust Orphanage

This Orphanage was established 8 months ago in December 2020. It is run by the owner Miss Masawat and it is located in Bara Koh. The orphanage shelters 21 kids under the age of 18 and 3 caretakers. It is an independent organization since it was opened recently and is being helped through funds. 

I went to visit this orphanage to get to know more about the children and how they were living their lives. The living situation of the shelter was not what you would call hygienic and comfortable. The shelter had 3 small rooms with uneven distribution of kids in them. It was a sad reality check that these kids with smiles on their faces and scarred lives were still living in a place not good enough for them.  

I took a few gifts with me for the kids and the reaction I got from them was the most beautiful thing I ever experienced. The giggling, the smiles and the constant thank yous made me want to do more for them. The beautiful smile on the kid’s face can be seen in the above picture holding a teddy bear. 

“Sun is alone too, but still shines”

These kids dream of continuing their education and want to do something in their lives that would help other people and Pakistan. It is so inspiring to see these kids wake up everyday and enjoy their life to the fullest with the limited resources they have. They go to school, learn new things, play together and try to make the most out of everything.  

They really enjoyed the gifts and even learned how to make puzzles. It was such a joyous moment when they made the puzzles for the first time and felt accomplished. These kids came from different regions but one thing they all share is their pureness and innocence. 

In the Holy Quran (2:83) it is said:

“Be good to the Orphans and the needy, Speak nicely to people and help the poor”

“A smile that tells a million stories”

As a Muslim it is important for us to look after each other and help others in any way or form. 

Similarly in a Hadith Prophet Mohammad (P.B.U.H) said while putting His index and middle finger together:

“I and the Person who looks after an orphan and provides for him, will be in paradise like this” 

I was told that some of these kids were rescued from abusive and ignorant families in Balochistan, they try to get over the past and conceal it with their laughter and bubbly personality. They are very brave to overcome their past. Through this picture the sadness can be seen in the eyes, the harsh reality of this world. Small kids who lost their homes and their love ones and most importantly lost their childhood. 

Knowing the orphanage is only 8 months old and needs a lot of help in evolving into a place more comfortable for the kids. This can only be done by helping them through funds and support systems.

[onlineindus23]

ONLINEINDUS - Pakistan English News, Latest Pakistan News

Maybe the biggest and most inescapable issue in a specialized curriculum, just as my own excursion in schooling, is specialized curriculum's relationship to general instruction. History has demonstrated that this has never been a simple obvious connection between the two. There has been a ton of giving and taking or perhaps I should state pulling and pushing with regards to instructive arrangement, and the instructive practices and administrations of schooling and custom curriculum by the human instructors who convey those administrations on the two sides of the isle, similar to me.

In the course of the last 20+ years I have been on the two sides of training. I have seen and felt what it resembled to be a customary standard instructor managing specialized curriculum strategy, custom curriculum understudies and their specific educators. I have likewise been on the specialized curriculum side attempting to get normal schooling educators to work all the more viably with my specialized curriculum understudies through altering their guidance and materials and having somewhat more tolerance and compassion.

Moreover, I have been standard normal instruction educator who trained ordinary schooling consideration classes attempting to sort out some way to best work with some new custom curriculum instructor in my group and their custom curriculum understudies too. What's more, conversely, I have been a specialized curriculum incorporation instructor barging in on the region of some standard training educators with my specialized curriculum understudies and the alterations I figured these educators should actualize. I can disclose to you direct that none of this give and take between a custom curriculum and normal training has been simple. Nor do I see this pushing and pulling turning out to be simple at any point in the near future.

All in all, what is custom curriculum? What's more, what makes it so exceptional but then so unpredictable and questionable here and there? Indeed, custom curriculum, as its name proposes, is a particular part of training. It asserts its heredity to such individuals as Jean-Marc-Gaspard Itard (1775-1838), the doctor who "subdued" the "wild kid of Aveyron," and Anne Sullivan Macy (1866-1936), the instructor who "worked supernatural occurrences" with Helen Keller.

Extraordinary instructors show understudies who have physical, psychological, language, learning, tangible, and additionally passionate capacities that go amiss from those of everyone. Unique teachers give guidance explicitly customized to address individualized issues. These instructors fundamentally make training more accessible and available to understudies who in any case would have restricted admittance to schooling because of whatever inability they are battling with.

It's not simply the instructors however who assume a job throughout the entire existence of a specialized curriculum in this nation. Doctors and ministry, including Itard-referenced above, Edouard O. Seguin (1812-1880), Samuel Gridley Howe (1801-1876), and Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet (1787-1851), needed to enhance the careless, frequently harsh treatment of people with handicaps. Unfortunately, instruction in this nation was, as a general rule, careless and oppressive when managing understudies that are distinctive in some way or another.

There is even a rich writing in our country that depicts the treatment gave to people handicaps during the 1800s and mid 1900s. Tragically, in these accounts, just as in reality, the fragment of our populace with handicaps were regularly restricted in prisons and almshouses without respectable food, attire, individual cleanliness, and exercise.

For an illustration of this diverse treatment in our writing one requirements to look no farther than Tiny Tim in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol (1843). Furthermore, commonly individuals with inabilities were frequently depicted as scoundrels, for example, in the book Captain Hook in J.M. Barrie's "Peter Pan" in 1911.

The overarching perspective on the creators of this time span was that one ought to submit to setbacks, both as a type of submission to God's will, and in light of the fact that these appearing mishaps are at last planned to one's benefit. Progress for our kin with handicaps was rare as of now with this perspective pervading our general public, writing and thinking.

All in all, what was society to do about these individuals of adversity? Indeed, during a significant part of the nineteenth century, and from the get-go in the 20th, experts accepted people with inabilities were best treated in private offices in provincial conditions. An out of the picture and therefore irrelevant sort of thing, maybe...

Notwithstanding, before the finish of the nineteenth century the size of these establishments had expanded so significantly that the objective of recovery for individuals with incapacities simply wasn't working. Foundations became instruments for lasting isolation.

I have some involvement in these isolation approaches of schooling. Some of it is acceptable and some of it is slightly below average. I have been an independent instructor on and off over time in numerous conditions in independent homerooms out in the open secondary schools, center schools and grade schools. I have likewise instructed in various specialized curriculum social independent schools that completely isolated these grieved understudies with inabilities in dealing with their conduct from their standard companions by placing them in totally various structures that were in some cases even in various towns from their homes, companions and friends.

Throughout the long term numerous specialized curriculum experts became pundits of these organizations referenced over that isolated and isolated our kids with incapacities from their companions. Irvine Howe was one of the first to advocate removing our childhood from these gigantic foundations and to put out occupants into families. Lamentably this training turned into a calculated and down to earth issue and it required some investment before it could turn into a practical option in contrast to systematization for our understudies with incapacities.

Presently on the positive side, you may be keen on knowing anyway that in 1817 the primary specialized curriculum school in the United States, the American Asylum for the Education and Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb (presently called the American School for the Deaf), was set up in Hartford, Connecticut, by Gallaudet. That school is still there today and is one of the top schools in the nation for understudies with hear-able inabilities. A genuine progress story!

Be that as it may, as you would already be able to envision, the enduring accomplishment of the American School for the Deaf was the special case and not the standard during this time-frame. What's more, to add to this, in the late nineteenth century, social Darwinism supplanted environmentalism as the essential causal clarification for those people with handicaps who digressed from those of everybody.

Unfortunately, Darwinism made the way for the genetic counseling development of the mid 20th century. This at that point prompted much further isolation and even sanitization of people with inabilities, for example, mental hindrance. Sounds like something Hitler was doing in Germany additionally being done well here in our own nation, to our own kin, by our own kin. Sort of alarming and unfeeling, wouldn't you concur?

Today, this sort of treatment is clearly unsatisfactory. Furthermore, in the early piece of the twentieth Century it was likewise inadmissible to a portion of the grown-ups, particularly the guardians of these debilitated youngsters. Hence, concerned and furious guardians framed support gatherings to help carry the instructive necessities of youngsters with incapacities into the public eye. General society needed to see firsthand how wrong this selective breeding and disinfection development was for our understudies that were unique in the event that it was truly going to be halted.

Gradually, grassroots associations gained ground that even prompted a few states making laws to ensure their residents with incapacities. For instance, in 1930, in Peoria, Illinois, the primary white stick law gave people with visual deficiency the option to proceed when going across the road. This was a beginning, and different states did in the long run go with the same pattern. As expected, this nearby grassroots' development and states' development prompted enough tension on our chosen authorities for something to be done on the public level for our kin with inabilities.

In 1961, President John F. Kennedy made the President's Panel on Mental Retardation. Furthermore, in 1965, Lyndon B. Johnson marked the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, which gave subsidizing to essential training, and is seen by backing bunches as extending admittance to state funded schooling for kids with handicaps.

At the point when one ponders Kennedy's and Johnson's record on social equality, at that point it most likely isn't such an unexpected discovering that these two presidents likewise initiated this public development for our kin with incapacities.

This government development prompted segment 504 of the 1973 Rehabilitation Act. This ensures social equality for the handicapped with regards to governmentally subsidized establishments or any program or movement accepting Federal monetary help. Every one of these years after the fact as an instructor, I for one arrangement with 504 cases each and every day.

In 1975 Congress authorized Public Law 94-142, the Education for All Handicapped Children Act (EHA), which sets up a privilege to state funded training for all youngsters paying little heed to inability. This was another beneficial thing in light of the fact that before government enactment, guardians needed to generally teach their youngsters at home or pay for costly private schooling.

The development continued developing. In the 1982 the instance of the Board of Education of the Hendrick Hudson Central School District v. Rowley, the U.S. High Court explained the degree of administrations to be managed the cost of understudies with exceptional necessities. The Court decided that custom curriculum administrations need just give some "instructive advantage" to understudies. Government funded schools were not needed to amplify the instructive advancement of understudies with incapacities.

Today, this decision may not appear to be a triumph, and actually, this equivalent inquiry is indeed coursing through our courts today in 2017. Be that as it may, since its getting late period it was made

[kabhi-haath-pakad-k-tu-mera]

Saheli

A Raazi Fanfiction.

“Tumhara rishta Pakistan mein kyun hua ye sirf hum jante hein, Sehmat. Toh apni saheliyon ko batane ke liye koi munasib kahani soch lo.”

Translation :

“Only we know why you are being married away to Pakistan, Sehmat. So think up an appropriate story to tell your friends.”

Mitali knows something is off the moment Sehmat tells her that she is getting married and then leaving the country. She looks at her with wide eyes for a moment, almost hoping for her best friend to burst out in laughter and tell her that it was a joke, even if a very bad one. 

“Mitali?” Sehmat asks her, frowning slightly on not receiving a reply.

“But why?”

 She wants to hit herself with the largest tome she can get her hands on the next moment. That is not what you say to your friend two minutes after she tells you that she is getting married. You are supposed to congratulate her, maybe tease her and needle her for more information on her husband-to-be. ‘But why?’ Way to go, Mitali. She diverts her attention back to Sehmat, however, who is now blushing.

“Well …” she begins, then stops. “They’ve been talking of marriage for a while now, and now that our course is coming to an end, it won’t even hinder college.”

Mitali simply raises an eyebrow. “There has been talk of marriage for a while now? And you didn't tell me? Weren't you going to marry for love anyway?”

Sehmat ducks her head at this point but Mitali can see her cheeks turn a shade brighter. Her eyebrow arches higher.

“Sehmat?”

“Well… umm…” she looks up, sees her friend’s bemused gaze and looks back towards her hands toying with her pen. “We met a few months ago, when Abbu had held a party to celebrate his company’s successful expansion beyond the borders. He’s from over there, too. We’ve been communicating over letters since then. The topic of marriage was breached about a month ago.”

Mitali looks at her friend in wonder. Maybe she is a little hurt but more than anything she is baffled. She has known the girl sitting beside her since they were in third grade. Sehmat couldn't keep a secret to save her life. Even so, they told each other everything. How come she never told her about this? And how come she was going to simply leave for Pakistan after marriage and live as a housewife? 

Sehmat had plans for the future. Teaching had always been her passion. She wanted to open a school for the underprivileged children of Srinagar. Somehow the fact that she is getting married this early and giving up on her dream by her choice doesn't sit right with her. 

Her indecision about how she feels is more than a little apparent on her face, seeing which Sehmat scoots over and links her arm in hers. 

“I did mean to tell you, Titli, but somehow it never came up and I was so embarrassed, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Mitali finally gives Sehmat a smile, although her mind is still whirring. Titli. She doesn't remember the last time Sehmat had called her by her childhood nickname. She must look very upset then. She is still far from convinced, but for Sehmat’s sake she smiles.

They turn back to their books after that—they are preparing to give their final exams for their last year in college in a few days—but Mitali finds that she cannot concentrate on the text after all. It’s not like she can be blamed, anyway. This news has hit her like a freight train for some reason, and all of it completely different from what anyone would have expected. 

They have talked about things all twenty year old girls talk about before, and she knows that Sehmat had not had any intention of marrying anyone anytime soon (a voice in the back of her head says that she could very well have been lying but she ignores it). And being married into Pakistan? Sehmat is patriotic—the Khan family is patriotic—sometimes almost to a fault. If there was one thing about Sehmat’s potential grooms that she had been certain about it was that they would be Indian. But it is not so—Iqbal Syed is Pakistani. He serves in the Pakistani Army. And anyhow, she remembers quite clearly Sehmat telling her that she was going to steer clear of any and all boys for the foreseeable future not three weeks ago.  

Something is not quite right in this entire matter, even though she cannot put her finger on it. Sehmat has never contradicted her own self this dramatically. She doesn't know why, but she gets an ill feeling on thinking about this upcoming event, a feeling that makes her feel scared for her companion. 

~~~~~~~

Sehmat knows that she has done a really bad job as far as telling Mitali about her upcoming wedding is concerned. She can lie to a thousand and ten people but she cannot lie to Mitali—she knows her too well. She tries to keep beaming and blushing as a bride-to-be is expected to throughout the conversation but she can practically hear the gears turning in her friend’s head. 

It is quite clear that Mitali is not able to digest this idea at all. Sehmat doesn't blame her, really, she has shown no inclination at all to get married in the past few months, and then she comes up and says that she’s getting married. She doesn't think she has ever behaved or felt this out of character before. She has to admit she is more oblivious than a brick wall as far as men are concerned. It has always been Mitali who tells Sehmat that the boy she was talking to was, in fact, trying to flirt with her. They would always laugh over it later on.

“...Weren't you going to marry for love anyway?” She has to cover up fast, trying to not seem as out of character as she feels and says that she was practically being courted and didn't tell her about it. She cannot even look at her when she says this for the fear of being found out. Mitali is hurt, of course she is hurt. This girl knows her inside out and to keep something like this from her… 

She does finally seem to accept it, though or at least pretends that she has, and both of them bury their heads back into a book, although Sehmat isn't really reading. Mitali can tell something is wrong even when Sehmat is trying her level best to act happy and content and as if her entire universe has not been ripped apart. She feels honoured, somewhere inside, that she has Mitali for a friend. She wonders briefly if she should say more on the topic of her getting married but then decides against it, not wanting to lie again, and no more is spoken of it.

~~~~~~~~~

After their exams and then the graduation ceremony are over she gets to see Mitali only two weeks before she is to be wed. Mitali has been in Uttrakhand for the past month, visiting her grandparents, so Sehmat really doesn't have to cover up for the extra month she has spent in Delhi undergoing training, although when they finally do meet she wonders if it really is to her benefit. Training has changed her, she knows. She is not as carefree, not as oblivious, not as lost in a different world. More than anything Mir sahab has made sure that she is always in anticipation of an attack or of getting her cover blown. Mitali notices this the moment she sets her eyes on her, of course, and then takes her to a more sheltered nook of the house to ask her if she is truly okay. 

“You look terrible, Sehmat, as if you haven't peacefully slept in a thousand days. And you're quiet. Are you sure everything is okay?” Sehmat doesn't think she has ever felt such a rush of affection for someone. She is truly, eternally grateful to God for Mitali.

She manages to somehow convince her that it is all okay, not that she thinks that Mitali is convinced for even a single second, but she isn't exactly lying when she says to her that she has turned into a bundle of nerves due to the excitement and nervousness that is a part and parcel of getting married.

~~~~~~~~~

Sehmat really laughs out loud on the day on which she is to be wed when Mitali asks her if she really wants to do this, although she isn't quite sure if she is laughing at the audacity of the question or of the situation. It’s too late now to back out anyway. Still, she pretends to be happy all through the day and quietly sighs to herself when she is finally left alone in her bedroom—minutes before groom’s party is set to arrive—and allows herself to truly thank God for giving her such a wonderful friend, a friend whom she would probably never see after this day.

[good-times-with-theo]

Black Gold (Chapter Three)

Sydney Boutique Hotel; Sydney, Australia, 3:39 A.M.

Another day, another dollar, as they said. Australia was so uncomfortable with wearing suits and ties, as according to the UN and the Commonwealth of Nations dress code, so the second he always got home, he changed into his usual outfits. The outfits consisted of shorts, t-shirts, and savannah hats. Boots and socks, occasionally. Of course, since he was still trying to find a house for himself, he had to live in a hotel room by himself. The Australian States, or his kids, were all grown up and had their own houses. Mainly because they had the chance to go to college at a young age, unlike their father, who had to fight in both World Wars before even considering university so he could get a well-paying job to support his kids. That was well over 70 years ago now, and here he was: a broke college student trying to find a home so he can stop living at this cursed hotel. Australia sat down on his couch and grabbed his phone, immediately getting a call that was rather coincidental to when he always grabbed his phone out. He answered the phone, only to be greeted by a scream and then the line going dead. “What in the bloody..?” Australia muttered, looking at his phone to see who the caller really was. He felt his heart drop to his stomach when he saw it was from his older brother, New Zealand. What had happened? Australia quickly changed before heading outside, only to find his brother surprisingly okay. “Zealand? What even happened?” Australia asked worriedly. “I heard a scream and--” New Zealand couldn’t help but chuckle. “Australia. That was my Halloween voicemail. Sorry about that.”

“You can’t scare me like that, mate! Do you know how terrified I was?!”

“Haha, yeah, I know. Sorry. I’ll change it. Anyway, we have to go to the Commonwealth of Nations building. Again.”

Australia sighed in annoyance. He didn’t even bother changing back into his suit, mainly because he knew that doing such a task would just delay him and his brother from getting there on time. He got into the passenger seat of his brother’s car, which was a 2010 Ford colored in navy blue that their father had given New Zealand.

Commonwealth of Nations, London, United Kingdom; 7:19 P.M.

After a long drive to the airport, plus a 23-hour long flight from Sydney to London, Australia and New Zealand finally made it in time for the meeting. Of course, they had to stay with their parents until that Sunday, which meant that they would be in their childhood bedroom that they shared for about three to four whole days, plus today, making it five. “Ah, hello, Australia and New Zealand,” Brunei greeted them formally at the door. The two brothers greeted Brunei as they kept walking. Of course, due to Australia’s much taller height than his brother, he saw their father first. “What’s been going on?” Australia immediately asked. “Mom said that you left for London after America had a World War I bomb in his house, then you went missing for three days.” The UK sighed. “Yeah, I know. I went on a secret mission in Buenos Aires with Argentina to figure out certain fault lines. I just returned an hour ago, and now I have a meeting to attend despite my lack of sleep and energy,” the Brit replied, looking at his son.

“Well, what’s going on anyway? You know, with China and Southeast Asia?”

“It’s a long story. Basically, China’s power over the world has been increasing tensions within Asia, Europe, and even North and South America. Even Central America is starting to grow uneasy with China’s growing power. Though, little can be done to stop such a global superpower. The Middle East has been getting worse with the tensions, especially between Bangladesh and Pakistan. The two, once united as father and son, have been arguing due to India’s grip on Bangladesh. I’m sure you know of China’s intentions with the Philippines and North Korea. If not, then that’s a whole other story I’d rather not get into at the moment. In other words besides my own, the world is going on complete lockdown, and that’s all because of Russia and other OPEC members trying to gain Wyomingite oil for their own profits.”

Australia couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Though, China had the tightest grips on himself, his father, and Canada. The three had all been easily manipulated into thinking that China could do no wrong, even when he had been one of the reasons the Cold War even began back in the late 1940s. “Wow,” was all the Australian would say to such a situation. “Mr. UK, Mr. Australia,” Sri Lanka suddenly said to the two. “You’re both needed in Pakistan’s office immediately.” The two nodded, quickly walking to Pakistan’s office in the Middle Eastern section of the Asian Wing. They both hoped it was nothing serious, but who knows. They could both be in deep, deep trouble the second they enter that office.

After a 10-minute elevator ride from the Oceania and European Wings, the two swiftly made their way to Pakistan’s office, knocking on the door before entering. “Pakistan. You called us?” The UK asked firmly. “Yes, yes. Come in. The door isn’t locked,” Pakistan replied from the office. Australia walked in with his father. “What seems to be the issue?” Australia asked.

“Well, I called you two here specifically because of China’s tight, tight grip on us all. Firstly, with the UK. His grip on you is the tightest; always has been, always will be. If you disobey anything he says, your economy will collapse, and so will your nation.”

The UK visibly flinched at the thought. “I know. He also owns half of Australia’s land and helps with his economy as well, whilst he is merely your ally whom you have been having particularly horrid tension within recent years,” he said.

“I know, which is what I would like to acknowledge. His grip on Australia is almost as tight as yours, whilst his on me is hardly even considered a grip. Merely, I am just a puppet for his control. Australia must do everything China says, or else his economy will suffer greatly, but could possibly recover if Australia was forgiven by China for certain actions that he could possibly commit. For example, Australia could make propaganda about China’s communist government, which means that Australia is speaking out against a government that forbids such an act of treason against the Supreme Leader, or the dictator as many other democratic nations refer to them as. If that were to be the case of a situation, China could cut off all trade within Australia’s land, shut down factories, and stop network services, which could cause banks to close and many other tragic collapses in the government. The Australian stock market could collapse, and your own son would be in so much debt that he would never be able to pay it back,” Pakistan said.

Australia stepped a small bit closer to the UK. “Well, what about you?” Australia finally said with enough effort to speak once again. “What will happen if you disobey China?” “Simple,” Pakistan replied. “I will be executed in front of my daughters, Islamabad and Karachi, and my daughters will suffer greatly because of my own actions that were intended to be against China himself, or his government. I do not wish to die in front of my young daughters when even they cannot grasp the idea of death nor grief at such a young age.”

The UK sighed. “We need to deal with China before it’s too late. He could go to America next or even France. He could even reach U.S cities and states,” he said firmly. “He already has,” Australia replied quietly. “Georgia and a few other U.S States rely on China to live. He is their best trading partner. I mean, it’s better than who Louisiana trades with.”

“Who does that boy trade with?” The UK asked hesitantly.

“Saudi Arabia. One of the worst countries ever. He only asks for sand and weapons, which Louisiana, along with Uncle Scotland and a few others, are struggling to keep as their main exports to Saudi Arabia. Especially now since Riyadh, who is Saudi’s son, is now in charge whilst his father is in custody,” Australia answered. Now, it was up to those three to lead a revolution, whether they died in it, or died after it. They needed to break China’s control.

This is only because China is the reason as to why families are being ripped apart, why children are becoming orphans like Riyadh, and even why brothers and sisters are betraying one another for land, just like China had done to Taiwan during the Chinese Civil War.

It was their job to either save the world or let everyone become puppets to China.

Cape Town, South Africa; 5:24 P.M.

Even African countries had fallen prey to China’s manipulation. Well, most of them except for a few others. South Africa was one of them. He was the most famous of the African continent and knew exactly why. Though, he hardly spoke and had a rather formal nature to him, possibly because of the British influence on his country. “Greetings, South Africa!” Egypt said proudly, taking a formal bow to the man. “I’m sure you have heard of recent news involving our dear neighbors in the Middle East; Pakistan if I may specify.” South Africa looked up from his work. “Let me guess: China’s taken control again and is causing tension within Southeast Asia and the rest of the world?” He asked in a formal tone. “Good guess! A correct one indeed, Sir!” Egypt replied happily. “Well, I have come to inform you that the United Nations leaders have called you and Somalia to represent all of Africa. Of course, I envy you, but I do not wish to cause sabotage upon you nor our dear Somalian friend!” The two countries suddenly heard a car rolling up in the driveway. Somalia’s car. “Ah! Speaking of our Somalian buddy!” Egypt said with a bright smile, going to the door and letting Somalia in with a bow. “Greetings, Somalia, sir!” Egypt said proudly. Somalia just nodded and went to South Africa. “Hey. I’m sure our messenger here told you about the recent news and the calling of our presence for the representation of the entire continent, right?” Somalia said formally. South Africa nodded. “How will we represent 54 total countries on a supercontinent, though? All of them have different opinions, different claims, and even different ideologies,” he said. Somalia sighed. “I’m not sure,” he replied quietly. “We could ask all of them about the current situation and see which decision has the most. In that case, then we go with that.” South Africa got a pen, paper, and a clipboard. He quickly put the piece of paper on the clipboard and held his pen in his hand. “That’s the best option we have,” he said. “Egypt!” The South African said firmly. Egypt looked up from getting the mail. “Get one of the cars. One of the business ones. I’m sure you know which airport to take us to by now,” South Africa commanded. Egypt nodded, swiftly going out to the garage with a pair of car keys. After a few more minutes, the car that was perfect to arrive at the airport was in their driveway with South Africa and Somalia entering. Now, they had a long drive ahead of them to the nearest airport. A long, quiet drive with nothing but their thoughts.

Cape Town International Airport; 6:24 P.M.

The two countries were now waiting for their flight to Manhattan, New York, so they could attend the United Nations meeting they never thought would happen in their own lifetimes. “I can’t believe what’s going on… First, China’s manipulating everyone, now he’s causing nothing but tensions throughout the world? Soon enough, we’re gonna be hearing about Russia and North Korea’s relations strengthening into a global superpower relations rank,” Somalia said, looking at the news articles on his phone. “Yeah… It’s getting much, much worse ever since China’s population reached one billion,” South Africa replied. “And that’s mere because of the taxes in his own country. They’re high, and they’re giving him nothing but money to him and his government, yet he claims he cannot feed his own children nor his own brother. He also claims that the Hong Kong protests aren’t happening, even though protestors within his daughter’s own country have been getting beaten and arrested by Chinese police officers who work for China.” Somalia knew how serious the situation was getting, and what it could mean for the future of the world. Especially Africa. Most of the countries had some sort of trading route with China, but Somalia never knew if South Africa himself had ties with the communist. The PA System announced that their flight was boarding and the two stood up with their carry-on bags. “You got first class, right? I don’t want to be sitting next to a crying baby the entire flight,” Somalia said to his friend. “Of course I got first class. Who do you think I am, Central African Republic?” South Africa retorted, looking at Somalia. Somalia chuckled. “No, of course not. Besides, being rich is better than being poor. We can laugh in the faces of those poor imbeciles and watch their countries collapse into chaos, war, and even protests. Like Europe’s current condition,” the Somalian said, a proud grin on his face. South Africa fell silent as he boarded onto the plane. Sure, he was rich and kind of a snob, but that doesn’t mean he was rude and arrogant like many people thought he was. He always offered his help to the other countries of Africa, and even on other continents like Oceania and North America (even though North America didn’t really need his help anymore. Well, Mexico does but he prefers not to speak of it.) After they got situated on the flight, they were offered food and drinks, which the two politely declined for the first half of the flight. Oh, how they regretted it later. As they were flying over the Indian Ocean, they felt an unusual amount of turbulence. It caused people's carry-on bags to fall out of their compartments and spill all over the floor. “What’s happening?” Somalia asked nervously, looking at South Africa. “We have to jump out of this plane. It’s going down,” South Africa replied, only loud enough for Somalia to hear. Somalia was shocked as most people would be, but he nodded in agreement not a moment later, grabbing out the life jackets and raft from his carry-on bag. “I keep these on me at all times. I always come prepared,” Somalia said when South Africa looked at him weirdly. South Africa just nodded and they went to the back of the plane, opening the cargo door as some cargo fell into the Indian Ocean. “Push the life raft into the water after you get your life jacket on!” Somalia shouted over the roaring plane engines next to him and South Africa. They felt a jolt and the life raft suddenly fell out with Somalia still in it. “Somalia! Are you okay?” South Africa asked from the cargo door. “Yeah! I think,” Somalia replied. “Jump down! The boat’s drifting away too quickly for me to try and stop it with the ore!” Somalia then shouted up. South Africa took a running start and jumped into the life raft, landing on the boat safely. “Thank the Gods,” Somalia muttered. “You alright?” He then asked South Africa. “Yeah. I’m fine. What should we do now?”

“We wait until we see land. It’ll be a long, long drift to New York’s coast.”

“Okay. I understand.”

The two countries started their long journey to the United States coastal line. It would be a long, cold road ahead of them. But they had each other. For now.

Mexico City, Mexico; December 16th, 2019

Christmas was always hectic for Mexico. Of course, so was Mexico City, but that was normal for his capital. He had just gotten out of the local cafe shop when he was called by America. “Hola?” Mexico said as he answered. “USA, why are you calling me? Aren’t you busy with the current situation between you and OPEC?” America sighed. “I was, but then South Africa and Somalia washed up on New York’s shore. Now I have to take care of their injuries,” he replied.

“Let me guess; you called me so I could go over and take care of them while you deal with a possible third World War on your hands?”

“Yeah! That would be great! Could you come over right now if that’s possible?”

Mexico was a little concerned. He still had to finish wrapping gifts for his kids, and if he stopped, they could find them and it would no longer be a surprise. “USA, it’s almost Christmas! I cannot take care of them while I still have a family to care about!” Mexico said, clearly upset.

“Fine, fine, fine. When you’re done wrapping gifts, get over here. Or else I’m telling Argentina of what happened with you and Brazil,” America replied as he hung up. Mexico immediately knew he couldn’t let Argentina know how he actually broke his arm back in September. He quickly drove up to America’s border and got in, meeting America there.

“Wrapping gifts didn’t really seem that important after all, huh?”

“Oh shut it, you American idiot.”

Long Island, New York; 11:23 A.M.

“So what exactly happened? Do either of you remember anything?” Canada asked the two African countries. “I remember hearing that the plane was coming down, jumping out of the cargo door, and landing in this life raft,” Somalia replied. “Canadá, just give up already,” Mexico said, looking at the Canadian. “Somalia is the only one that can still be considered alive, whilst South Africa could die at any moment if we don’t get a blood transfusion in the next hour.” Canada just sighed, pulling a chair from the dining room table and sitting down, staring at the ground. “USA, you should call Switzerland. He’s the only doctor around for miles,” Greenland chimed in, looking at America. The American shrugged. “Does it look like I would have the number for that Swiss?” America said firmly.

“Well, isn’t he one of your closest allies, like that Italian?”

“What did you just say about Italy?!”

Canada grabbed America and made him sit down. “I know I have Switzerland’s number, so let me call him.” He then turned to America. “Don’t attack Greenland unless you wanna get on Denmark’s bad side. You know fully well how he can get if you attack his territory that is already beginning to melt because of your pollution.” He swiftly left the room, his snow boots clicking on the hallway floor as he dialed Switzerland’s number. “Hey, Switz? You got a moment or two?” The Canadian asked.

“Yes, why? Did America run out of medication?” Switzerland asked.

“No, no. America is fine. He’s been taking his BPD meds. It’s about South Africa. We found him and Somalia stranded on Long Island’s beach after New York called us, demanding we rush over there immediately.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Switzerland answered. “I’ll be right there,” he then said with a sigh. He then hung up.

Canada walked back out of the other room. “Switzerland is on his way. We can also assume that Austria might be brought over as well,” he said to the others. America visibly flinched at the mention of Austria, for Austria had been the person to approve of the oil heist. “I know you don’t want him to come, but I still want so save South Africa. He doesn’t deserve to die because of him trying to escape a crashing plane,” Canada then said. He then heard knocking and let Switzerland inside. “He’s upstairs in the guest room. Somalia is fine,” Mexico said to Switzerland, looking at him. Switzerland nodded, and Austria soon followed him upstairs. The Austrian felt America’s eyes on him the whole way. He was honestly nervous to be in the same house as someone whom he had tried to steal from. Now, they had to deal with not just the crisis, but two African countries found injured on American soil. That added more tension, and now European countries were beginning to get involved.

[i-llbedammned]

Children

Title: Children

Word Count: 939

Fandom: Avengers

Summary: Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff bond together about their past.

Reason Banned: Anti-war

A cradle.  To anyone else it would be the simplest, most innocent symbol of childhood but to Natasha it was a bitter reminder of things that could not be.  Most days it didn’t bother her, but after being around Clint’s happy life it stung just a little.  She didn’t even want a kid –not really.  The things that she would have to give-up, the years of shit stained diapers and gross grabbing hands, and the general feeling that someone would sneak cyanide into her kid’s lunch at school made that a realistic hellscape.  

But sometimes she wished that perhaps she had been born into a different sort of life that had made that a possibility.  She wouldn’t be her, not really, but sometimes she got so tired of being her and a weapon. It was exhausting, but it was the only life she knew.  These soft things, delicate things like the baby cradle in the room that she was currently standing around in were unpleasant reminders that not everybody had to live like she did and it brought up something inside of her that she did not like to bring into the public.

Shit, she internally cursed turning around, drawing her pistol out of its holster.  The barrel pointed right at a bewildered Bruce Banner, standing there with a turkey sandwich in a small plastic container and a bag of chips.

“Sorry, didn’t know anyone was in here.” Bruce began, quietly starting to back out of the room, averting his eyes.

“No, don’t go.” Her voice came out clipped, short as she forced away those open wound-type feelings along with her pistol, “Thought you were as assassin.  I could use some company.”

Bruce paused, taking a seat on the wooden rocking chair, “You hang out in Clint’s child’s room often?” he asked wryly.

Natasha smirked, “I try not to make a habit of it.  This was just the one place in the house that wasn’t filled with equipment.”  Unsaid was the fact that constantly being surrounded by monitors and guns was making her fall into some of her old habits. Why bother making human connections when you

The plastic container on Bruce’s lap popped open with a loud crackle.  “Yeah, it’s a bit much.  It reminds me too much of my time in the mountains of Pakistan.”

“Vacation?” Natasha tersely asked, intending for it to be friendly but it came out just a touch too hard.

A slight smile crossed Bruce’s face, making the lines on his face stand out, “I wish it was a vacation. I got wrapped up in a bit of a scuffle. The big guy found a base for some sort of mutant supremacists in the mountains and went to town.  Ended up fighting in an unwinnable war for a few years before I got lost in the mountains.  I had to run.  Not like the government was going to just let a weapon like me go without a fight.”

“Been wrapped up into a few of those myself.  It’s…not great.” Comfort always came oddly to Natasha, but she understood how he felt. You thought you were doing something great and it just got bigger and bigger ‘til it flew out of your control.

“Not great.  Your talent for understatement is really profound.” A jagged laugh came out of Bruce Banner, “And I ran from that war only to end up wrapped up in this one.”

Dust particles floated in the sunlight over teddy bears on the ground and Natasha watched them for a little, “Seems like no matter where we turn, there’s always another war to fight.”

“Almost seems pointless.” Bruce spoke, his temper rising and Natasha’s gaze flew up to watch him in fear. She knew what would happen if he got too angry, “After all these years, we should have made more progress towards peace.  I’m 46 and I’m still fighting the same shit battles I did when I was 20 but the names behind the people controlling it have just changed.  But the end result is still the same.  Soldiers like us fight, big men profit, and children-”  Bruce interrupted himself, his anger getting the better of him.  A khaki stain was over his skin and he withdrew, breathing hard and reigning that impulse to destroy everything in. Nat let the minutes pass without saying a word, half holding her breath in case she had to run.

Bruce quietly added in, “Children die.”

“Can’t say I disagree” Natasha confessed, “It’s been this way longer than I can remember.  It honestly makes me wonder if I ran from one cage to another.”

Bruce’s eyes softened, looking at her with sympathy, “I sometimes forget that you’ve been at this longer than anyone.”

Natasha began to pace, uncomfortable with people being sympathetic towards her.  She wasn’t a puppy dog that had been kicked, she was a weapon.  She sniped, “Yeah, well I can’t forget it.  It’s the one thing that keeps me fighting, keeps me trying to be better. Because I know what happens when the children don’t die but instead get conscripted to join the war.”

Bruce seemed unshaken by her jagged speech and continued to eat, “War is hell.  I know it is a cliché, but it’s true.  The only people that like it or those that haven’t fought in it.”

Natasha drummed her fingers on the edge of the cradle, “Ain’t that the truth.” She commented.  “I’m going to get a sandwich.  You made me hungry.”

And with that she left, trying to process a whole new wave of emotions that she just did not want to deal with today.

[modosphere]

About A Girl: Chapter Four

Lahore Fort Lahore, Pakistan 2044

As Ari stepped out of the car, she took in a deep breath of the warm, fragrant breeze. It smelt just as she remembered it; like jasmine, heat, and the faintest tinge of lingering chai. She’d spent so many evenings with her father on nights just like this one, sitting out in the garden and looking up at the clear, starry sky above them - regardless of which side of the border they sat on - and upon seeing it again, Ari couldn’t help her large, slow intake of breath.

Ari had purposefully stepped out of the car to face only one structure; Alamgiri Gate, the fort’s westernmost gate. The giant heavy-set iron doors, showing only slight scuffles and scratches that seemed more reflective of age than the angry protests gracing the Pakistani news, stood solemnly before her, tall and proud. The high archway, the deep set doors, the towers and turrets lining either side of the entrance… Ari smiled faintly, memories of her childhood overshadowed by what she knew stood waiting behind her.

Memories.

Exhaling carefully and trying to steel herself as much as she could, Ari slowly turned, her nails automatically digging into the flesh of her palms.

On the other side of the road, sat Hazuri Bagh - a square ocean of greenery amongst the clean grey roads. Brightly potted plants lined the gleaming white pavilion in the middle of Hazuri Bagh, which seemed to gleam amidst the gargantuan structure of medieval red stone behind it.

Just breathe, Ari told herself. As her nails dug further, a silly part of Ari’s brain idly wondered whether today was the day that she snapped them into pieces from the strain.

The rest of the brain, however, was already focusing on something else. Something important.

Badshahi Mosque.

It even sounded scary, though Ari wasn’t sure if that was because of her own… Associations, or a genuinely valid statement.

Badshahi Mosque; or, in English, the Imperial Mosque, an architectural icon of both the Mughal era and the modern region. Her grandfather had brought her and Bhaijaan as children, taking them on historical tours and filling their heads with facts, his face warm and proud as they’d stare at him in awe. She smiled to remember it; but it soon faded, as more recent memories took hold instead.

Every time she saw it again since, she expected it to be less imposing and yet every time, she was wrong. Maybe it was the faded red stone, hardened from the centuries; maybe it was the long, imposing walls running on either side of the external entrance, decorated with an array of turrets, outposts, balconies and archways. Behind them, Ari could see the glistening white domes of the inner mosque, even now, built in perfect symmetry with the external entrance - a solid square towering over the long, low walls on either side.

She hadn’t been back for years. Since…

Yes, she wanted to prove she could do more; be more, be her father’s daughter just as much as her mother’s in the cut-throat world of business. But this project had been important to her for other reasons; for those painful memories that she was currently standing there, fighting to ignore. To face her fears on her own terms and in her own way, without show and fanfare, without the unending applause her - sometimes overly, almost suffocatingly - supportive family would provide, if they knew.

It had been one year after the… Incident.

Automatically, Ari’s jaw clenched and she flinched, as she felt her anger surge at her own stupidity. She hated using that phrase. Incident. Like it was some trivial accident, some social faux-pas, not worth mentioning.

Even now, years later but somehow still only seconds away, Ari felt… Angry. Furious. Because what had happened to her wasn’t some silly mistake, better to be ignored. It hadn’t been that; and it hadn’t just been some… Random act of vicious crime, either. It had all been so much more complicated than that.

She’d last been here, in almost that exact spot, looking across Hazuri Bagh, one year after she’d been raped.

No fancy adjectives. No whispers. Ari hated that all, now more than ever. Rape. That was what it had been. Yes, it had been brutal, but what had happened to her didn’t need further… Dressing up, for it to be understood as a living nightmare.

Just that. A year after she had been raped.

That stupid, familiar lump began to rear itself in her throat for even thinking it.

She’d been with her Mamu Adam, joining him last-minute for one of his test match trips. He’d had some business to attend to in Islamabad and Lahore; though by then, Ari had understood that business really meant catching up with the rest of his fellow athletes. In fact, within those first few days, Ari had quickly understood that the only reason her uncle wasn’t travelling with his teammates, was because of her; at that time, Ari was still… Jumpy around most men, let alone strangers - even strangers who regarded her as extended family.

At the memory, Ari scoffed silently to herself. Comfortable around men - whatever that meant. She wasn’t totally convinced she was comfortable about people in general, though yes, men specifically too, even now.

At that time, though, she’d been… Considerably better than she had been so far; she’d also began to accept the gravity of all of the recent, significant events - not just the rape and the consequent fallout, but her trip to India with Raj and the secrets from it too. It had all finally begun to feel more… Comfortable.

Life had begun to move on. Slowly. It wasn’t really and even now, it still hadn’t - but she had began to accept that she was forever changed, no matter how hard she pretended to believe otherwise, and just how acutely aware others were of that, too.

They’d stopped off on the road for some fresh sugar-cane juice, with the very same view Ari was now looking at, when the call to prayer had rang out - and despite her uncle’s happy nattering, something she’d always enjoyed, Ari’s eyes had become fixated on the building before her.

“We can go inside, if you like.” Her uncle had said casually. He had always been more of a friend than an uncle; another big brother, wiser and consequently a different type of gentle to her own - an old man with eternal boyish charm, as her mother often said. “Or you can go on your own and I can wait here. Whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think people like me belong in places like that.” Ari had tried to joke - but the gnawing insecurity and belief in her words had shone through, her voice too flat and… Awkward, really, to be funny.

She’d felt, more than seen, her uncle frown. Almost four days into their journey and they still hadn’t spoken about what had happened to her in any real detail. Her uncle had been supportive, of course, in the immediate aftermath; but since then, they hadn’t spoken about it alone.

Ari had understood then, and even more so now, why. He had been respecting her boundaries, so carefully, too, the same kind and thoughtful person he’d always been. It felt to Ari that the more time passed, the more grateful and thankful she became to her Mamu for it. He’d been there for her in the same way he always had been and that constancy had meant more to her and still did, more than she could articulate.

But, back then, it had still been… Frustrating, too. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault. It was just that, no matter what the behaviour was, any behaviour that was accommodating was a reminder to Ari of how much had changed… And when she was already so acutely aware of it, everything else felt a little bit false and very stupid.

“Zarina, you’re more than what happened to you, even though I understand that you’re the only one who knows just how difficult and… Unlikely that may feel like right now.” He had told her firmly, allowing her to pointedly ignore his gaze. “And perhaps more importantly, what happened to you was… Absolutely not your fault and nor does it have any reflection on your character, aside from your behaviour afterwards just proving just how strong and brilliant you are - which are your actions, not anybody else’s.” Ari had nodded absentmindedly, almost sarcastically, still refusing to look his way. “What happened was… Vile and those-”

“Can I go inside?” She’d interrupted, not sure how she’d feel if she heard the rest of that sentence. She’d just known - or felt that she knew -  it probably wasn’t going to be particularly strong or graceful, for that matter. “Sorry.” She’d said, glancing over at him, immediately guilty for how he’d fallen silent. Mamu Adam had just smiled warmly, shaking his head. That’s okay. “Is it okay? If I go inside?”

“Of course.” He’d replied - and some of the tension in Ari’s shoulders had eased as he’d smiled, as if his last few sentences had never been said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Swallowing that stupid lump and acutely aware of the time that had passed since then, Ari remembered how she’d hesitated. How she’d hated that she had, but in that moment, had struggled, not knowing that it would soon become a pattern of hers - constantly teetering on the boundary between responsibility and a desperate show of an independence that she felt had now long since been stolen from her.

“… No.” She’d finally settled on saying, despite the nausea she’d immediately felt. Ari shook her head slightly as, even now, it resurfaced, as if it had never left - the fear, the disgust, the resentment, the shame. “I think I want to do this on my own. Can you wait here? Is that okay? I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be.” Her uncle had said, gentle but firm, before leaning against the car door. “You go and take your time. I’ll be right here and if you change your mind or need anything-” He’d pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “- you call me and I’ll be there in seconds. Deal?”

That was one of the first times the frustration had just… Webbed away, replaced with a surge of pure, engulfing warmth.

Ari rolled her eyes slightly as that, that part of the memory, was what made her eyes begin to prickle.

She’d slowly walked up to the doors of the mosque then, the heat burning through her clothes within a few seconds.

She’d read once, or perhaps heard her mother quote it - that people remembered feelings, not actual memories, not in the traditional sense. In this instance, it felt accurate; Ari could remember the path of damp, hot cloth her feet had burned on slightly, protecting her from the boiling stone beneath. The cloth was periodically drenched in cold water, but the heat meant it was never cold for more than a few seconds. She’d remembered her grandfather explaining it to her once.

She’d walked on her heels at first, to try and avoid the burning - but after a few awkward waddles, something had occurred to her.

What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d walked normally after that, the soft, sensitive skin of the soles of her feet pressed firmly against the cloth. It had felt good - even if she’d found her soles to be slightly red when she’d later retrieved her shoes.

The heat on her feet; the heat burning through her scarf and onto the back of her neck; the sweat, prickling down her scalp. If she closed her eyes, she was physically there. Back in time.

Dangerous, really.

She didn’t remember entering the mosque, either. She just remembered… Colours; the reds and beiges and golds, a haze of faded, regal colour on the floor and walls. She’d become trancelike. She’d felt… The same, somehow; something that had once been so majestic, so perfect and untouched, now faded and old and… Used, but still standing.

Tired and weary of everything and everyone, after seeing so much, but somehow still standing. And probably not for the lofty, optimistic reasons everyone assumed.

She remembered -

Oh, what does it matter? Ari thought to herself crossly, firmly yanking herself back to the present; the cool evening breeze, the whistle of the trees. One by one, she uncurled her tight, cramping fingers. That’s not the important part.

No, the important part had been her receding further into the mosque: away from the tourists, those praying, those whispering amongst themselves and revelling at the architecture; further and further away, through the open plans and into the distant, tucked away corners where the engraved and decorated walls were too damaged for people to focus on.

The important part was how she’d sat in a corner, in one of those few nooks and -

The tears that sprang in Ari’s eyes, thick, heavy and ready to fall, were sudden - but not surprising. As she blinked, Ari opened her eyes just in time to see a solitary floor hit the sand by her feet.  

Do it, she told herself angrily. Remember. What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d sat in a corner, curling herself into a small ball, clasping her hands in front of her and pretending to pray in case anybody walked by… Before hearing the words Allahu Akbar - God is great - loud and… Normal, as the call to prayer.

And then she’d broken.

Up until that moment, Ari’s comforts had been worldly; her home, her parents, her siblings and family, her friends - tangible, worldly things. But in that moment, Ari had become overwhelmed at something else; a realisation, an epiphany, almost - that at least one of the confusing, unidentifiable feelings she still felt about it all, was betrayal by the intangible. By beliefs she had taken for granted her whole life.

She’d felt humiliated and torn and abused by a deity who she’d never really thought about that much before - and that made her feel stupid, because - even more stupidly - she had felt another layer of guilt and failure that didn’t make logical sense.

Ari let her eyes wander - from the floor, to the mosque, to the sky and back again, pressing her lips tightly together as the tears continued to flow. Freely, now; and faster, too, as she remembered. How helpless she’d felt. How distraught as, with the prayer continuing musically around her, she’d felt like a gaping hole had been ripped through her entire body, leaving only the paper-thin edges that felt like they’d fly away in the breeze. How it had felt like she was drowning in the air, how she’d felt… Excruciating pain, all over her, how she’d sobbed so hard that she’d been shaking and pressing her scarf over her open mouth, to hide the wails she was too out of breath to fully create.

Everything, all of it; it had truly hit her then. Not just the… Awe at how one event would mark her, haunt her, forever… No. Not just that.

Everything.

She’d realised she was mourning for a part of herself she’d never noticed enough to appreciate; her innocence, her naivety. She’d thought, before then, that she understood the world. That she was cynical, even. That she… knew. That she at least knew things. Just things, things that she couldn’t describe individually, but that she understood well enough.

As her eyes had squeezed shut and hard, silent cries had wracked through her body and open mouth, she had realised she had known nothing. She had appreciated nothing. She had lost something precious - something mental, something that had been kind and forgiving and protected. Something that had been stolen.

Faith. Faith; in everyone and everything and that, no matter how hard or brutally she tried, she would never be able to get it back. And when faith was absent, so was the ability to hope for better.

Her rage and humiliation from her trip with Raj, the reasons for them, the memories she still sometimes had to pretend to not have in order to place one foot in front of the other. The mourning she felt for herself, for her family, for their lives beforehand. Her guilt and shame and disgust at being the root of it, of having the audacity to live through it and the horrifying realisation of what it meant to think that at all.

Ari bowed her head as her face finally crumpled, closing her eyes and feeling her shoulders tense in a bid not to shake. Behind her, she could hear her bodyguard talking to the young chauffeur - someone barely Kabir’s age, who still daren’t look her in the eye out of respect. She didn’t want them to see her like this. The guard, a man she called Chachu - the term given to an uncle on her father’s side - Abdul, out of respect, was someone her family had known and trusted for years… And, for that very reason, someone Ari couldn’t show weakness in front of. Someone she had to prove to herself she could control herself in front of.

Finally looking up at the mosque again, Ari adjusted her scarf, obscuring her face as more tears fell and dabbing at them softly, so as to not leave tracks on her cheeks.

Now, all Ari felt was… A deep, heavy sadness. A well of sadness where her hopes and faith and optimism had once been, even as a self-certified ‘cynic’; a deep, mournful sorrow, a mourning for the woman, girl she may have been without her traumas. Because it wasn’t just the rape; it was everything after it, everyone associated with it - whether to help her, or not -… Her entire life afterwards.

Taking a deep, slightly shaky breath, Ari subtly shook her head at herself. God, she hated it - how all of those feelings could just… Appear, even when she thought she was fine. How it marked the beginning of a hateful emotional spiral where it flooded her, even if she now knew - somewhat - how to handle it. How to brave the storm.

She was tired of braving them. Of having to.

It sounded petty in comparison, but Pixie’s wedding and the wealth of politics she’d been asked to manage was just that - another storm. Ari just felt too… Tired. She forgot, sometimes, that she was so, so tired…

That was why she had to keep going; to find another project, to push herself when she felt she was too far pushed. It helped her. It was productive now, it was her fuel. She kept busy, used that energy to exhaust herself into sleeping through any nightmares she may still have - nightmares she hadn’t had for a fair amount of time now, for that exact reason.

She made something new, marked another achievement, hit another milestone - something she could be proud of, to justify the poison constantly threatening to eat at her, always simmering beneath the surface.

And it had been working so well, that now she had to do it in places like here. Places that reminded her, not always in a bad way, but… That jarred her, places she’d run from before.

She didn’t want to brave storms anymore. Sometimes that meant standing in the eye of one, rather than constantly struggling to break away on the periphery.

That was the current theory, at least.

And it was just at that moment, as Ari stared up at the old mosque before her and pondered philosophy and the meaning of life… That she was rudely interrupted.

“It’s another Rishi Rich remix.”

Ari paused. What?

“From the club, yeah.”

… No, that was definitely from outside of her head.

Frowning slightly, Ari stared up at the mosque in confusion - which, for obvious reasons, offered no answers - before looking over to the car, finding Chachu Abdul and the driver looking equally lost.

That was when a heavy bass began to play - and when realisation dawned, as Ari turned slowly to the Fort behind her, incredulous. Surely not…

The music abruptly stopped - and, now sure it was coming from the Fort, Ari turned to the staff with fury.

She’d told them check the inside, to see if anyone was in there. Had it needed saying that they should knock?

Ari was just about to let a torrent of fury using only her eyes - something she’d inherited from her father, she was often told -, when as if on cue, Ari heard an engine coming from somewhere behind her.

Now what?

She turned just in time to see it - a dirty but new model Jeep, swinging around the corner from behind the Fort and parking abruptly in front of its doors.

Ari didn’t care that she was staring, or that she obvious. In fairness, she didn’t have to. She was Zarina Zafar. She could stare at whatever she wanted - who was going to tell her not to?

Even so, she couldn’t help how she… Recoiled slightly, her eyes wide from shock as - to her utter disbelief - a heavy dance beat began to play, over a tune that - whilst sounding completely ancient - sounded… Very familiar.

“Girl you got exactly what I need-” Ari’s mouth automatically began to mouth the rest of the sentence, her eyes wide in bewilderment as it did. “I ain’t gonna lie with you it’s where I wanna be-”

Ari knew this song. All of her siblings did. It was one of her mother’s favourite songs, painfully old, except… Remixed. Ari had watcher her mother and Kabir dancing to it in the kitchen the morning before her flight to Pakistan. Whenever Bhaijaan was around and it was playing, he and Kabir would pretend to be rappers from the 90s.

Now completely baffled, Ari shook her head slightly - and clamped here mouth firmly shut -, turning her concentration back to the car, just in time to see the doors opening.

The fingers, which had naturally uncurled, bunched back into fists again… And this time, not because of horrible memories.

No, this time Ari was just annoyed at having been so stupid.

They all headed for the doors without a second glance - all but one. One, wearing navy overalls tied at the waist and a slim-fitting white T-shirt covered in grease.

Oh, she really was thick.

Upon seeing her, a yellow stick of mango kulfi in his mouth, he paused - before raising his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised.

They stared at one another for a few moments. And then…

“Miss Zafar.” He called out loudly across the road.

As much as Ari wanted to storm across the road and scream obscenities, she… Didn’t. Instead, she tried to centre herself, remembering the mosque behind her.

“All of this drama for a sense of mystery? Is this how you do business?” She asked haughtily, deliberately in perfect Urdu - after all, they’d already spoken in English once before.

“You’re the queen of Hindustan, Miss Zafar.” He replied just as fluently - and Ari couldn’t help how her back straightened slightly and her eyebrows raised, at the perfect accent. It could almost rival her fathers - and he was from Lucknow, a city renowned for its elocution in India. Also - he’d said Hindustan. Nobody said that anymore.

He knew about her parents.

Which, yes, wasn’t shocking; everyone did. But to Ari, it confirmed her suspicions; that when they’d first met, the last time they’d seen each other, he’d known exactly who he was talking to.

And another thing… He’d said malika. That was an Urdu word, an Arabic derivative. It didn’t prove anything but… It was most likely he was a Muslim.

A million different alarm bells were going off in Ari’s head.

He shrugged. “I thought I’d stay one step ahead while I had the opportunity. Come in when you’re ready.”

“The last time I checked, queens don’t need permission.” Ari retorted, her voice dripping with disdain.

“As you wish.” He nodded, unfazed by Ari’s arrogance. Why isn’t he fazed? Most men would be trembling in front of her - or her insulted by her, at the very least. That was what always caused her so much trouble. She had tried to curb it since everything that had happened - but when taken by surprise, it became her default. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.” And with that - a lazy salute that Ari had to physically bite the inside of her cheeks to not roll her eyes at - he walked to the fort gates, left open for him by one of the other passengers.

It closed with a loud clunk, the music immediately muffled.

Somebody - she didn’t bother to check who - opened their mouths to speak, but Ari raised up her hand and began to count to ten. Maybe twenty today.

Maybe twenty five.

She’d known something was off. It had bothered her for weeks; the scruffy guy who had been waiting for her in the lobby, who’d stood tall and with his arms behind his back when she’d entered.

Reaching twenty five, Ari stormed back to the car, the door already open for her before she’d reached it.

“We’re going back to Islamabad and by the time we come back, I want to know everything about that man.” Ari told Chachu and the chauffeur sternly. The boy quickly nodded, closing the door after her.

Of course, she already knew something. She’d seen it crumpled in the arms of the overalls he’d had tied at his waist.

A badge. A regimental badge. He was goddamn army - and not Pakistani. Ari had lived in London long enough to recognise a British regiment badge when she saw one.

No wonder there was someone else pretending to be the face of the deal. Someone who was clearly a Pakistani male, but serving in the British army, had just bought one of the most important cultural and historical sites in the country.

The riots they’d been seeing now were nothing in comparison to what they would be if people found out.

And then there was the other thing. Before they were even driving away, the mosque falling into the distance behind them, Ari’s message to her father was already sent.

Really?? Was all it read.

Because on top of everything else? There was no way in Hell her father hadn’t known exactly who she was going to have to be working with.

*

Home of Danyal & Samara Zafar The Richmond Building, Chelsea, New York

“Pixie, this isn’t some Bollywood movie that’s going to have aerial views!” Samara huffed, trying to bite back her frustration as Pixie simply waved her hand. “Has this choreographer even factored in your stage? Half of the moves are going to be wasted and everyone else is just going to see twirling!”

“Well, you’re fixing it, aren’t you?” Pixie sighed, rolling her eyes. Mara shut her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. She wanted to lob her phone across the floor. “I told you, the choreographer was there as a back up because someone decided not to show up on time, if you have more work that’s a you problem-”

“It’s your wedding.”

“Exactly, so don’t screw it up.” Pixie said sweetly.

Dany - who had been sitting a healthy distance from Mara on the sofa, pretending to read something on his iPad - slowly began to scrunch up the Lindt wrapper next to him, next to the phone.

Mara shook her head. Really? Screwed up reception?

“Tell Danyal that didn’t work when we were five and it doesn’t work now.” Pixie continued. As Dany winced, Mara couldn’t help her look of long suffering. How was he so actually, completely useless?  “Now can you sort out this whole performance thing? I will not be embarrassed by you at my own wedding!”

Just as Mara opened her mouth to speak, however, Pixie’s face disappeared - and Mara was met with her own on her screen, of her scrunched up bun, glasses and dark circles.

This time, it was Mara who winced.

Sighing, she dropped the phone beside her and covered her face in her hands.

“You’re meant to be resting.” Dany said quietly, not looking up.

Mara glared at him.

“You’re meant to be my estranged ex-fiancee too and clearly-” Mara motioned with her arms to the apartment. “- that’s working out fantastically!”

Mara’s eyes narrowed as she saw Danyal fight his smirk. What a prick.

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it.” Dany sighed.

“Who else is going to? Me, the one on bedrest? What do you want, a round of applause?” Mara snipped, groaning internally to herself as she watched Dany - or, more specifically, his backside - saunter towards the door.

As much as she didn’t want to know it, he wasn’t wearing underpants underneath those loose-fitting sweats. He wasn’t. They dropped off the curve of his butt too well for him to be wearing any. It also didn’t help that they were silky and smooth looking, much how they made the curve of his butt look.

Mara gave herself a quick slap on the cheek. Get it together. Life wasn’t that dire that she was going to stoop to fantasising about her own husband.

Reaching for a carrot stick - Mara didn’t believe for a second Danyal had cut her fresh fruit and vegetable sticks himself -, Mara picked up her laptop again, looking at the dance routines the choreographer had begun to lay out. Who was this person? How did it even make sense? Did these people not know Pixie at all?

“No, I am not letting you do this again, I want to speak to her!”

Mara paused.

Had someone else noticed he wasn’t wearing underpants?

Before Mara even had time to dip her carrot into some hummus, there was a very small… Young girl? Woman? Honestly, Mara couldn’t tell - standing in front of her, wide eyed and looking a bit like a lost deer.

And with Mara being the truck that was about to kill her.

After a few seconds of blinking at one another - Mara really couldn’t tell if she was a teenager or not -, the girl finally let out a shaky breath.

“You’re here.” She said, swallowing loudly. Mara waved, once - and looked at Danyal as he appeared behind her, also looking like Mara was about to squish him. In all honesty, that was actually pretty likely. So much for all of that crap about being married… No, no no, Mara was going to keep her mouth shut until she knew what was happening.

Judging by the fact the girl in front of her was wearing more florals than Mara had ever worn in her entire life, including as a toddler, it was going to be an interesting story.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. The only florals she was wearing was some purple flowers stitched into a cream leather jacket. It was cute, actually. So were her black heeled boots. It was the ripped black jeans that were giving Mara mixed vibes.

“… Yeah.” Mara nodded, realising the girl didn’t have anything else to say. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, you can’t.” Dany said quickly - and Mara slowly took a bite of her carrot stick as the girl rounded on Dany like an angry squirrel. If they’d had sex - Mara tried not to bite too hard at thinking that -, how had she not broken? “Noori, come on, you’re leaving-”

“Noori?” Mara repeated gleefully, just as the girl - sorry, Noori - opened her mouth to let out a torrent of what Mara was sure was just super friendly chatter. “That’s a lovely name!”

Mara watched Danyal cringe, just as Noori’s face lit up with happiness.

“Do you really think so?” She beamed. Mara nodded politely, as Noori grinned and sat down beside her. Mara motioned for her to have a carrot stick - which she took happily. “Oh, thank you! You know, I was always super jealous of your name, I always thought it was way more glamorous than mine but when I met this idiot-” Mara bit back her laughter at how Noori’s entire face seemed to change, to glower at Danyal. “- I figured, well, your life has ended up pretty glamorous - I mean, on the outside, not so much the pretend marriage part-”

It was like Mara had been slapped.

From where stood, Danyal tried not to grimace. This… Was what he’d been afraid of.

“Sorry, who did you say were, why are you here?” Mara interrupted, no longer paying attention to Noori’s incessant chatter. How many people? How many people had this idiot gone around telling the truth to, just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut whenever he got his dick wet?

Also, had Noori seen Danyal in the same sweatpants he was wearing now? Because Mara would bet the only kidney she had left that he had been. She could guarantee that was how it had started!

“He didn’t tell you anything?”

Mara was getting bored now.

“If he had, I wouldn’t be asking. Though I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve fucked.”

Mara raised her eyebrows as Noori made a very loud gasping noise, just as Dany yelled “no” from in front of her.

“Really? Shock, that’s what you’re both going with?” Mara continued, her fists curled much too tight around her carrot stick. “Because if you’re going for cute-”

“Samara-”

“Shut up, this is all of your fault! You don’t say anything when you’re meant to…!” Noori snapped, before grabbing Mara’s knee. It took all of Mara’s restraint not to punch her in the face for it. “I - I would never, never ever, I only found him to find you-”

“I feel like this shouldn’t need saying, seeing as if I’ve said it before, but I haven’t cheated on you.” Danyal interrupted - and although his and Mara’s eyes only met for a second, there was a sincerity and indignation at such an accusation that made Mara immediately feel shamefaced. And then stupid for feeling that way.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t lied before.

“Will you shut up, this is not your moment!” Noori yelled. Watching her from a side profile, it hurt Mara to admit that she was… Pretty. Dark brown eyes, long dark hair. She certainly had nailed the no-makeup makeup look, which Mara still wasn’t totally confident on.

She also… Wasn’t totally dissimilar to Mara. Fair-skinned, dark haired, tall. She had bigger boobs than Mara did. Was that it? Was Mara not curvy enough?

You weren’t here, there’s that too, the irritating, Danyal Zafar cheerleader in her head reminded her.

Noori turned back around to face her.

“I’ve been trying to catch you here for… Months now, it took me forever to just get past the dumbass doorman.” Mara frowned as she realised what sounded… Strange; her accent. A mix of English countryside with an American lilt. It reminded Mara from the girls at boarding school.

Was that how they knew each other?

“Did we go to school together? You’re obviously younger than me-” Obviously. “- but the accent… Benenden’s?”

“Yes! I did, I just transferred to a sister school for a while, which is ironic, you know, because-” Noori laughed slightly as she let out a shaky breath, her grip on Mara’s knee tightening. “- well, because I’m your little sister.”

What?

That was what Mara had meant to say. Instead… Something slightly different came out.

“Fuck off.”

Noori’s face fell. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that, she’s just processing.” Danyal said quickly, taking advantage of Noori’s shock to gently pull her away from Mara by the shoulders. Mara stared at him, torn between being thankful at the gesture and wanting to tear his throat out for whatever connection he had to… Whatever the fuck was happening right now. “Look, I told you, we’re… Dealing with some family stuff right now, it’s not a great time-”

“No, but - but I’m not lying, it’s the truth! I swear!” Noori batted Danyal away, only to stand in front of Mara again. Was this some kind of scam? Because of the Zafar surname? Mara had… Kind of experienced things similar since the whole wedding mess, but it was more industry favours, not anything like this. This was soap opera bullshit. “My Dad is Suhail Abbasi. He works with Madeeha Kayani - or Maddie Kay, or whatever the fuck it is she calls herself these days - , he’s my Dad, so at the very least we’re half sisters and I’m not totally sold that heartless bitch isn’t my mother, too, which is a whole fucking thing anyway - which I guess you can relate to-”

Mara suddenly felt very, very dizzy - and as she dropped her carrot stick to grip hold of the sofa beneath her, she couldn’t help but look at Danyal with wide eyes.

Maddie Kay. Noori had known her mother’s new name was Maddie Kay; and Suhail Abbasi was her father’s - or, sperm donor’s - name. She’d seen it enough times on the millions of medical forms she’d signed during the transplant.

“Did he send you here? Does he want something again?” Mara meant to sound tough, but she wasn’t sold that it barely came out above a whisper. She felt sick. She could feel bile rising up in her throat and her head was starting to pound. You’re due your painkillers, that’s all it is. “Because if he has, I have - I have nothing left to give him, as if part of my body isn’t enough-”

“No! God no, he doesn’t even talk to me anymore, ever since he found out I wanted to know about you!” Noori said quickly. “I promise! I found out about you - I found about you just after your wedding, after you went to his office in London-”

Mara looked to Dany again.

Judging by the worry radiating off’ve him… This was legit. And as much as Mara hated herself for it, she knew he would’ve checked before ever even risking a random stranger barging into their home - or, the apartment she was staying it at least. This wasn’t her home…

“And this isn’t about money! I just - once I realised you were real, I - I don’t have any family and I just wanted… I just, I’m not here for a handout! And I know people must say that to you all of the time, but I told my idiot brother in law this already-”

“Noori.” Dany hissed.

“She’s already freaked out, what difference does it make now?!” So they knew each other. Well. Relatively. What if this isn’t all bullshit and they’ve still fucked? Noori fumbled around in her tassled handbag, before pulling out a sleek white box. “Look, I even bought one of those DNA tests, he made me do one before but in case you didn’t read the results-”

“You sent off my DNA without my consent?” Mara laughed, though not because she found anything funny. In fact, she was more relieved to have something to be angry about as a distraction than anything else.

“Well, actually, I did, I stole some of your hair from the bag of stuff you left behind on the morning you left him that you’re not meant to know about - oh whatever -” This was in response to Danyal turning an interesting shade of red - not too far removed from the colour Mara had turned, actually -, upon his secret being outed.

Mara decided not to think about Danyal keeping any of the things she left behind. After all, what was there to think about? It was just… Stuff. She needed her stuff for whenever she was pretending.

What Mara had turned red at, was the fact that Danyal had spoken to someone about the morning she’d left. Nobody knew about that - not really. But Danyal had been sitting here, talking to her… Long lost sister, about it all? If this was even true?

Wait. Age. If this was true (and judging by the sheer stress on Danyal’s face, matched with the immediate belief in it that stemmed from her internal Danyal Cheerleader… This bullshit really was true because, really, how could something so messy not be a part of Mara’s life?)… Was Mara a big sister? A little sister?

Was this ripped out of a Disney movie?

“How old are you?” Mara murmured, interrupting again and not particularly caring. Her head really was sore…

“I’m twenty, I’m three years younger than you. If both of our parents are the same, then the bitch fell pregnant when Dad came to see you as a toddler.”

Mara closed her eyes. What was even happening?

“Dad came to see me when I was younger?” She repeated. Noori nodded. “And what about you, if, if-” Mara looked at Dany again, who simply nodded once. Shit. “- this is true, then how did you end up with Dad?”

“I grew up hearing my Mum didn’t want me and left me at the doorstep, real Bollywood type stuff, but if it is Maddie, then the bitch didn’t want me.” Noori paused. “Sorry. I know she raised you - or says she did - I’m not meaning to offend you-”

“Anything less than bitch would be offensive, you’re fine.” Mara muttered, rubbing her temples. She had a sister. Or a half-sister. She supposed the DNA test results would give her more insight but - fuck, how was this even happening?

She was meant to be resting up. Relaxing, Dr Kaiser had said. Before falling headfirst into the cyclone that was Pixie’s wedding in Islamabad. Did it ever end?

Maybe this was her punishment, for returning to New York. For being stupid enough…

She and Danyal hadn’t spoken about what they’d said at the hospital. Now, in an odd sort of way, Mara was grateful to meet this brand new, long-lost younger sister, because it meant that they may not have to.

Mara heard a buzz.

“That’s the alarm for your painkillers, I think you should take two.” Dany muttered, immediately going for the box of tablets on the coffee table. As if she’d just noticed them, Noori frowned. “Here.” He crouched down beside her, tablets in one hand and glass in the other.

Under the pretence of pulling the tablets from his hand, Mara let her fingers grip onto Danyal’s slightly - and although she felt dumb at the strange thrill in her chest as his fingers squeezed hers, Mara began to splutter on her water slightly as she noticed Noori smirking at the action.

“I’m good, I’m good.” Mara muttered, waving Danyal away. He hadn’t seen Noori’s expression - and Mara pretended she hadn’t seen as Noori waggled her eyebrows at her. They weren’t on that level yet. Were they?

“What do you even need painkillers for? You’re not sick or anything are you - wait, you’re not dying are you?” Noori gasped loudly, as Mara winced. She really did… Fill up a room. “I have not just found you to find out - if she’s dying, Danyal Zafar-”

“I’m not dying, I’m just recovering from-” For a second, Mara hesitated. But then… What was the point? “… From transplant surgery. I gave Dad a kidney.” Mara tiredly looked to Danyal. “See, you’re not special. She didn’t know that either.”

“Transplant surgery? Why would you give that walking anus a kidney? Watching him drink like a fish as a kid only had its perks in knowing one day he’d die sooner!”

“Okay, Noori, that’s enough, Mara needs rest.” Danyal said firmly - and Mara couldn’t help the sigh of relief inside of her own head. “She needs some time to process and she’s still trying to recover-”

“And where am I meant to go? I told you at the door, I can’t stay at my friend’s any longer and I am not taking your money, or Dad’s-”

“What are you talking about?” Mara asked tiredly.

“Dad! It all makes sense now, why he’s being such a controlling little shit, he knows he doesn’t need me to not torture him slowly while he dies of liver cirrhosis anymore!” Noori snapped, before turning back to Danyal. “I’ve just met her, after all of this time and with no help from you, I am not giving that up-”

“Noori, I’m not asking you to-”

“Noori, shut up for a second!” Mara snapped - and although she instantly regretted it, the immediate silence took that away. “What’re you talking about? That you have nowhere to stay?”

“I was burning through the savings account Dad made for me, but he cut me off when he realised I wasn’t joking around. I’m almost out of money and he’s going to lock off my account unless I go back to London.” … That was not promising. “And no, see, I see the look on your face and no! I don’t want your money! Danyal already offered it when we got the DNA tests results back-”

Mara turned to her moron, stupid, softie husband. “You did?”

As if Noorie wasn’t even there, Dany sighed, his shoulders sagging in a sign of resignation that only Mara fully understood.

“She’s your sister.”

His butt really did look good today.

“- and I don’t want your charity, I just want to get to know you! And I know it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go back to London and have that asshole doing everything he can to make sure I never speak to you again and I do not want anybody’s charity, I just wanted to meet you and see you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted-”

But Mara was looking at Dany again.

He tilted his head slightly, his un-styled hair wafting slightly as he did. She’s your sister, Samara.

Mara slightly raised an eyebrow. Something you clearly knew about. She briefly glanced around the living room, before meeting his eyes again. This place? I don’t even feel at home here.

Dany rolled his eyes slightly. That’s your own fault.

“Noori, you can stay here.” Mara muttered. Immediately, Noori’s chatter stopped. Suddenly very interested in fixing her blanket, Mara glanced quickly at Danyal. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay with him! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s your home too, trust me, I know how he feels about it.” Noori laughed, placing a hand on Danyal’s shoulder - before her smile immediately disappeared, at seeing the automatic daggers that seemed to shoot out of her sister’s eyes. “I just mean - are you sure? Because I would… Love to stay and get to know you, but I don’t want to end up walking in as you too finally succumb to the sexual tension and get it on-”

“Noori!” Danyal groaned - and judging by the way his name flowed from his tongue in familiarity, he’d said it multiple times before.

“Yes, sorry! He’s so boring sometimes, I really hope it’s just the lovestruck thing - ow!” Noori stopped and Mara tried very very hard to pretend she hadn’t just seen Danyal elbow her.

They so haven’t fucked, Dany’s Cheerleader told her happily. He’s treating her like his own sister.

That was both a great and a terrible thing.

“I’m sure.” Mara told her - and, with slight surprise, realising she meant it. Annoyingly… Danyal (once again) knew her well. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped and even if by tomorrow we realise, for whatever reason, that we hate each other or none of this is true… Until then, you should know that whatever family you do have is around.”

It was strange, but - Mara felt… Warmth in her chest as she said, even at seeing the slow smile that began to spread across Noori’s face.

“Really? And we can get to know each other?”

“As long as you turn the volume down.” Mara nodded, watching in realtime as Noori trapped the squeal in her throat. Instead of speaking, she nodded emphatically. “Pack all of your stuff and bring it here-”

“I’ll call one of the drivers to help you.” Dany said, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes, thank you Bhaijaan!”

“Oh, now it’s Bhaijaan?” Dany huffed - and Mara was surprised at how she wanted to smile, knowing from Dany’s expression that only half of him was really grumpy.

“Yes, because now I’m verified family! Though if you want me to do another test, I’ll even leave my bag here and I can do it when we come back, I’m so excited-” Mara watched, eyebrows raised, as Noori dumped her bag empty - including the DNA sample box -, fishing out only a pair of keys and her phone. “I want to hug you, but is it too soon to hug you? I don’t want to hug you too soon and I also might cry if I hug you, but now I’ve said it, I might cry anyway-”

“You can hug me if you want to.” Mara said awkwardly, trying not to notice how Dany was smiling knowingly between them.

“Okay!” Noori said excitedly, before pausing. “But just so you know, I might cry anyway so I’m going to hug you and then leave so you don’t have to see all of it!”

“… Cool, sure.” Mara agreed - but before she’d finished her sentence, Noori was already holding her.

Mara had automatically tensed, worried about her scar and the impact of Noori’s excitement - but although Noori had been fast at the opportunity to hug her, it was surprisingly… Soft.

Soft and… Heartfelt.

For reasons she didn’t understand, Mara found herself blinking back tears as, still standing, Noorie leant down and placed her chin on Mara’s shoulder… And squeezed, gently but tight at the same time, burying her face into Mara’s shoulder. Over her shoulder, Mara watched as Dany’s smile - slightly teasing before - became something gentler, as instinctively, Mara squeezed Noorie tightly back too.

“Okay I need to go, this mascara isn’t waterproof!” Noorie laughed, pulling away - and Mara deliberately avoided eye contact, after catching a glimpse of the happy tears - at least… She thought, hoped, they were happy - that Noorie was avoiding to spill. “I’ll see you later - you will be here when I get back, right?”

Mara felt the tears almost come back again. It had been said so… Lightly. Like it was nothing, like it was a joke.

But Mara knew it wasn’t. If her - their - father was anything like she thought he was, anything like Maddie Kay, it wasn’t a joke at all. It would’ve been Noorie’s entire life, just like Mara’s.

“I’ll be here.” Mara promised solemnly - before remembering herself, remembering that she needed to get a grip, and smiling again. “We both will, go. Make sure you have everything.”

“Okay.” Noorie grinned - and, apart from grabbing Dany’s shoulder and letting out another squeal, disappearing to the front door. “See ya later, sis!” She laughed happily, before Mara heard the front door slam.

For a few seconds, Mara just enjoyed… The silence. You know. Before another long lost family member took the opportunity to knock on her door.

She’d always wanted more family - she thought she’d gotten it, albeit with terms and conditions, from the Zafars. But this…. This…

“I have a sister.” Mara said numbly.

“You have a sister.” Dany echoed.

There was another short pause.

“Wait, I have a sister and you didn’t think to tell me?” Mara’s voice began to shake with anger, as she finally looked up at Danyal again, her hands quivering. “What is your fucking problem with honesty?”

Dany’s eyes narrowed.

“You see, normally I’d ask you the same thing, except I feel like we had that discussion after you showed up without a kidney, which did kind of steer the conversation, Samara.”

Mara let out a frustrated growl. Maybe he was right.

Maybe.

A sister…