#Expression of Intransigence

[xtruss]

The Shape-Shifting MAGA Hat! From An Expression of Intransigence To A Symbol of Triumph.

— March 25, 2025 | An Essay | Foreign Policy | By Megan DuBois

Andre Rucker Photo For Foreign Policy

On July 23, 2015, Just Over a Month Into His First Presidential Campaign, Donald Trump arrived in Laredo, Texas, to visit the southern U.S. border. It was hot, even for Texas, so Trump eschewed his standard suit and red tie for a cooler, more casual look: a jacket, button-down, khakis, golf shoes, and a hat.

“He came around the corner and we all went, ‘Oh!’” news anchor Dana Bash, who covered the event, recalled in a CNN article in 2017.

That day, Trump sported a white hat with his campaign slogan, Make America Great Again, in all caps and embroidered in navy blue. “I really remember it vividly because it was like, ‘Oh, of course, he’s the master marketer. Why wouldn’t he put it on a hat?’” Bash said.

It was the debut of the most polarizing accessory in recent history—that is, until the red-and-white version became available for purchase later that summer. In the tumultuous decade since then, the MAGA hat, as it’s become known, has evolved alongside Trumpism, from a fringe accessory to a universally recognized fashion statement. Along the way, as Trump has wrested control of the Republican Party, the MAGA hat has become a political force unto itself.

The original Make America Great Again hat worn by Donald Trump during a trip to Laredo, Texas, on July 23, 2015. Matthew Busch/Getty Images

No Outside Experts Were Consulted in the Design of the Iconic Red MAGA hat. Trump merely sampled a few fonts and colors before landing on winners. The choices were a bit obvious: red for Republicans, Times New Roman because it’s a default font.

But taken together, the hat represented a radical departure from the optimized political aesthetics of the time. Unlike most campaign merch, the hat was embroidered with a slogan instead of the name of the candidate. It wasn’t pegged to any particular year or election, which, in hindsight, feels like foreshadowing. It was un-designed, un-focus-grouped, lazy, loud. There were no tricks up Trump’s design sleeves.

The MAGA hat, like its creator, was initially written off by the media and political establishments. Many pundits were confounded by the fact that Trump’s campaign spent more on hats than polling in the early months of the race. A September 2015 New York Times article dismissed it as “the ironic must-have fashion accessory of the summer.” A June 2016 Esquire article posited that the hats “may well go down as the Trump campaign’s only lasting contribution to the political history of the Republic.”

But for many Americans, MAGA hats were a runaway hit. Soon enough, the official hats, whose purchase is legally considered a campaign contribution, were bringing in $80,000 every day—in effect covering most of the 2016 campaign’s overhead costs.

In those early days, the hat’s power lay primarily in its ability to offend, shock, and provoke. Some of its supporters seemed to take pride in the fact that, like its designer, the hat transgressed civilities and political correctness. For many of its opponents, however, the MAGA hat would forever be a visual euphemism for the racism, sexism, and xenophobia they saw Trump as championing.

Delegates wear MAGA hats during the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee on July 17, 2024. Jim Watson/AFP Via Getty Images

A Trump supporter wears an oversized MAGA hat as he waits for the start of a rally in Manchester, New Hampshire, on February 10, 2020. Drew Angerer/Getty Images

By the time Trump won in 2016, the hat had become so powerful that any resistance to his political agenda was insufficient without resistance to the hat itself. As Trump formalized his victory by adding a big, bold “45” detail to the hats, his opposition burned them at protests and knit pink pussyhats in droves to serve as an ideological counterweight.

During Trump’s first term, MAGA hats earned their reputation as a symbol of intimidation, worn by attenders of white nationalist rallies and school shooters alike. A controversial 2019 incident involving a white teenager in a MAGA hat filmed smirking at an Indigenous activist cemented the hat as the ultimate expression, depending on your perspective, of either empowerment or menace.

Just as Trump’s political ideology has changed and adapted as opportunity arises, so too has the hat. In Trump’s first term, the offerings expanded to include pink, rainbow, and even several different Halloween MAGA hats, as well as versions calling to make farmers and space great again. (This is to say nothing of the market for knockoffs, which has memeified the MAGA hat ad infinitum.)

In pursuit of a second term, the Trump campaign overhauled the MAGA hat into a bigger, louder, funhouse version of itself. The rectangular hats became taller overnight—square-shaped, with a stiffer, more structured face. A U.S. flag and “Trump 2020” were added on the side and back, respectively. While the original’s MAGA lettering was centered and proportionate to the size of the hat, on the new versions it was stretched to consume all available space, reading like a scream.

After Trump’s defeat in 2020, many wondered what would become of the hats. Typically, as reporter John Herrman noted at the time, when candidates lose, their merch is donated, recycled, or kept as keepsakes. “All of this relies, though, on the campaign actually coming to an end,” he wrote, before presciently asking: “What if it doesn’t?” Sure enough, as Trump supporters stormed the U.S. Capitol a few months later, MAGA hats littered the crowd.

During the interregnum that followed, the hats were an expression of intransigence among supporters, a message that four chaotic years of Trump’s rule had left their loyalties unchanged. Wearing MAGA hats also allowed Trump’s base to voice their support even as he made fewer headlines and public appearances.

In 2022, when Trump announced his intention to run again, he wasn’t wearing his signature hat. But at that point, he didn’t have to. The MAGA hat had taken on a life of its own.

His campaign went on to launch the “Little Red MAGA Hat,” a white hat decorated with an image of the classic red MAGA hat, styled almost like a museum exhibit. It was an indulgent piece of political merch; but for supporters, it paid homage to the hat’s symbolic evolution. Once an instrument of tribalism and trolling, it had become an object of respect, even reverence.

As the 2024 race heated up, the standard MAGA hat was reinvented once again with bold colors, an increased price tag, and “45-47” on the side—the hyphen implying, perhaps, that Trump never stopped being the legitimate president during Joe Biden’s supposedly stolen term.

U.S. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene wears a triumphant variation of the hat during Trump’s speech to Congress on March 4. Allison Robbert/AFP Via Getty Images

Today, That “47” Is No Longer A Campaign Hope But Reality.

After his reelection, Trump’s success cannot continue to be seen as fringe or surprising; it’s mainstream. And as stigmas against Trumpism have softened, the MAGA hat has lost some of its shock factor. Though many on the left still have a Pavlovian aversion to it, the hat is no longer as universally taboo or transgressive as it once was. A Washington Post article from last November documented the uptick in MAGA hats in Democratic enclaves, where victorious Trump supporters “are feeling newly emboldened to wear their beliefs on their heads.”

In its first decade, the MAGA hat has shape-shifted from an instrument of provocation to one of intimidation, from an expression of intransigence now to one of triumph. It’s a reflection of the changed meaning of Trump’s own presidency—his shift from hostile insurgency to newfound hegemony. To wear a MAGA hat today feels more like bragging than before; it’s a trophy wielded with confidence by members of the winning team. The slogan on a newly released official hat—“Trump was right about everything!”—reflects as much.

The breakout hat of this era belongs to its breakout political actor: Elon Musk. His signature Dark MAGA hat has stripped many of the original’s most Trumpian features and reimagined them in a supervillain’s likeness. The classic red and white is now a sleek black and gray. Certain versions use a font that has been likened to one associated with Nazis. Sometimes, in lieu of “45-47,” the side of the hat says, “Never Surrender.”

The MAGA hat is an accessory to Musk’s political power in the truest sense of the word. Throughout history, one of the primary purposes of hats has been to shield the wearer from the elements. True to form, Musk uses the MAGA hat as political shelter under which he can pursue his own ambitions with a clear symbol of Trump’s blessing. The visual shortcut spares the Republican Party from difficult conversations about whether Musk’s actions align with its values or serve its long-term interests. So long as something is done under the guise of making America great again or the shadow of a hat that says as much, it is fit for purpose.

Trump throws MAGA-Esque Hats that read “Save America” into the crowd at a rally in Wilmington, North Carolina, on September 23, 2022. Allison Joyce/Getty Images

At 10 years old, the MAGA hat is more powerful and pervasive than ever before. Its iconography has transcended borders and become a symbol embraced by political movements and leaders far beyond the United States. Anyone hoping to ingratiate themselves with or oppose Trumpism has few options for doing so that don’t involve the hat. For instance, in late January, Ontario Premier Doug Ford’s defiant “Canada Is Not for Sale” hat went viral as a rebuttal against Trump’s antagonism.

But this playbook—hats as the answer to hats—is tried and tired. Biden’s anti-MAGA victory hat aged poorly. The Harris-Walz camo hat was the accessory of the summer, but it was not enough to compensate for an unpopular establishment candidate. Even the pussyhats, popping up at protests once again, feel less like an expression of resistance than a bleak reminder of the political problems that remain unsolved a decade later.

Trump’s opponents have yet to form any meaningful opposition to his second term of rule. For those interested in undertaking such a task, I’d recommend thinking bigger than a hat this time around.

A scarf, perhaps?

— Megan DuBois Is An Assistant Editor at Foreign Policy.

[novlr]

How to Write Defiance: A Quick Guide for Writers

Whether they're standing against authority or resisting the status quo, the actions of defiant characters can add layers of depth to your story. Here are some quick tips on how to effectively write defiance in your characters.

Behaviour

Question authority and break rules

Don't easily back down from challenges

Rebellious and do the unexpected

May appear stubborn to others

Don't easily conform to norms

Value their independence and freedom

Resilient in the face of adversity

Assertive and direct

Courageous in the face of danger

Act based on their principles and beliefs

Interactions

Direct and stand their ground during disagreements

Don't shy away from tough conversations

Don't let others manipulate or control them

Not afraid to express their opinions

May challenge others' viewpoints during discussions

Stand up for what they believe in

Protective of those they care about

May be argumentative or confrontational

Don't give in easily during negotiations

Can be inspiring, encouraging others to stand with them

Body language

Head high with a strong posture

Serious or determined expression

Maintain steady and direct eye contact

Use expansive, open body language

Do not shy away from physical confrontation

Cross their arms to show resistance

Move with purpose and determination

Not easily intimidated by the physical presence of others

Clench their fists when frustrated or angry

Adopt a challenging stance

Attitude

Not easily swayed by popular opinion

Confident in their own abilities

Persevere no matter how tough the situation gets

Believe strongly in their cause or principles

Refuse to be victims

Unruffled by criticism or opposition

Disregard rules they don't agree with

Risk-takers who often choose difficult paths

Value transparency and honesty

Can come across as proud or arrogant

Positive story outcomes

They may succeed in overturning an unjust system

They can inspire others to stand up against injustice

They achieve their goals through sheer determination

They may help someone break free from oppression

They can contribute to a significant societal change

Negative story outcomes

Their defiance can get them into trouble

They may alienate themselves from others with their behaviour

They can face severe consequences for breaking the rules

Their relationships may suffer due to their stubbornness

They can be misunderstood and labelled as troublemakers

Helpful Synonyms

Rebellious

Nonconformist

Contrary

Dissident

Contrarian

Unruly

Insurgent

Uncooperative

Unmanageable

Mutinous

Intransigent

Insubordinate

Recalcitrant

Resistant

Obstinate

Obstreperous

Noncompliant

Indomitable

Unyielding

Fractious

[michanvalentine]

So, I started my second playthrough as Astarion. Partly because I wanted to try romance with Shadowheart (I'm not sure I would have succeeded with the vampire available at the camp, lol), partly because I wanted to understand Astarion's character even more deeply. Fortunately, having already played the game I'm going significantly faster (and therefore my husband probably won't ask for a divorce). At the moment I don't want to talk about this second experience of mine, but only express some of my reflections regarding the character of Astarion. I certainly won't say anything new, but bear with me, I'm of a certain age and I only finished the game recently! xD

Astarion: It's not fair, darling, I wanted to be the only one holding knives to other people's throats!

Browsing the web I often read that Astarion is evil. I think instead that judging him is all too easy, if we consider his vulnerabilities. And yes, that's exactly what it's about: vulnerability. Because Astarion doesn't have the means to defend himself or approach the world in a way that we would consider healthy. For example, Tav/Durge could easily take advantage of him and Astarion would let him do it, which is uniquely sad (spare me, I only saw it on YouTube, I would never dream of doing something like that to him). As much as he tries to disguise it with his charm and his sharp tongue, Astarion is a victim. At the beginning of the game he still thinks and acts as if he had never left Cazador's pleasure chambers, despite the freedom he has gained. One of the very first things he does is prostitute himself for Tav/Durge's favor, hell! And if they wants, Tav/Durge can act towards him as a surrogate master who decides for him (what he can or cannot eat, whether or not to bite the perverted blood merchant, etc); and, again, Astarion will let them do it, because he is used to it that way. And when things go differently, he is surprised and doesn't know how to react. Astarion knows nothing else. He is literally incapable of anything else. Cazador himself says it, in a truly chilling way. Because it's damn true. And sad. In the mind of the abuser, the one who created and shaped him, it is clear as day: without a figure to refer to, for better or for worse, Astarion does not know what to do with his life. Not anymore. Not after Cazador made him his obedient puppet. For 200 fucking years. In fact, Cazador is certain that without the presence of Tav/Durge (the alternative) Astarion will return home to him. Even if it means sinking into a nightmare again. Or even die. Because Astarion has nothing and no one out there for him. And it's such a real concept that it breaks my heart, because even in real life abusers scorch earth around those who are unfortunate enough to end up in their clutches. So that they can never escape from them.

Astarion: I mean... five minutes ago I was in the kennel... and now I have to save the world without even a bit of therapy?!?! Of cooourse, what fun!!!

Yes, Astarion was once a magistrate. And no, not a corrupt magistrate; there is no evidence of this in the game and as far as I know the old concept for his character has been discarded. On the other hand, I have the clear feeling that he was a rather severe and intransigent magistrate, yes, which may have led him to the tragic night of the attack by the Gur. In any case, the person he once was is dead and buried. Cazador took it. Eradicated in 200 years of torture and replaced with another existence: the vampiric one. And we know well what the rules of vampiric society are: Vellioth passed them on to Cazador and Cazodor to Astarion. So the magistrate (with all his wealth of experience) is no longer a part of him that Astarion can appeal to extricate himself from the complexity of the situations he suddenly finds himself experiencing, free from the control of his master. The boy doesn't even remember what color his eyes were anymore! And that's why he is completely defenseless. And scared. Even the possibility of finally being able to decide causes him deep anxiety.

By defenseless I mean that he does not have the skills (or at least a shred of self-esteem) to manage relationships or situations in an adequate and healthy way, let's be clear. Therefore on many occasions he acts or reacts (and it is how he behaves, let's underline it, not what he is) selfishly or even cruelly. Often just to give himself a tone and not always feel miserable as usual.

So I wonder if someone who has just begun to live again, to rediscover the world and himself, can be called evil. At the end of his quest Astarion himself will declare in front of his tomb that he must figure out who he is and what he wants. So the Astarion we met at the beginning can't be the real Astarion, right? It cannot and must not be the Astarion on which to base an objective judgement. Not to mention that being evil and performing evil acts are two completely different things. Wyll is a good guy, yet he made a deal with a devil, for example. In extreme situations even the kindest and most sensitive person in the world could find themselves carrying out controversial actions. None of us will ever know what we are capable of, for better or for worse, until we find ourselves in similar situations.

If we then consider the context in which the character of Astarion moves, I wonder more about why there is such a stir. In Faerûn killing, threaten or deceiving are the order of the day. For everyone, including heroes. Lady Ailyn is literally a beacon of hope, a demigoddess daughter of a good deity, yet she can be terrifying. The way she punishes the wicked is inhumane, violent. Outraging the body of the downed enemy is not a good deed. It even goes beyond punishing the evil one in question. For us in the real world it is a crime punishable by law. For her it's a personal matter, of course, we know this from her story. So why can't Astarion enjoy violence and blood? He is a vampire, he cannot eradicate certain instincts. And it's great to hear him say it in his own voice, point out the hypocrisy and the double standards: "It turns out no one actually cares about murder, as long as you murder the right people." And after 200 years of impotence, tasting power and enjoying it seems to me at least the least. Of course, it's not a good thing when it comes to bending others to your will. But, as stated, carrying out an evil action (or boasting about it, because Astarion often barks and doesn't bite) does not necessarily mean being evil.

Astarion: I see you there, stumbling. Pathetic. Leave room for the professional, who better than a rogue can move lightly on the thin line between good and evil?

I think that saying Astarion is evil is completely flattening his character. People are not that simple, nor are circumstances or where we come from. At the beginning of the journey he behaves like an asshole, yes, and exceeds in his base instincts which he must learn to control. But he is willing and able to learn and that makes all the difference in the world. Of course this depends on Tav/Durge, on the player himself, the only one who can show him another way. Or not.

I also add another consideration; and I get involved too because I'm human and not a saint. In living everyday life we ​​are much more similar to the character of Astarion than to the classic hero. In small things, of course, we mind our own business, we try to avoid trouble, we compete with others to achieve a goal to the detriment of competitors, we don't risk our lives for complete strangers, at most we call the police; effectively letting someone else deal with it. All this while having a normal life, without having to fight for survival. We lie, we talk badly about someone behind their back, we hurt the people around us. Then maybe we'll apologize... but I'll tell you a secret: Astarion is also capable of doing it! So I wonder if sometimes it's so easy to be so hard on him because in him we see the worst traits of human beings, our worst traits. The ones we reject. Just as Astarion is harsh towards those who share his same fate, because: "I just... I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn't need to know my shame."

To top it off, the game and interactions change depending on how the player approaches their adventure. The choices I made in my heroic playthrough probably led me to see a part of Astarion that was decidedly human and not very monstrous. And despite my heroic (and rhetorical, lol) acts, his approval was always pretty high. Let's say I had fun defeating him with my patience, unconditional trust and so much kindness. I will never forget his line at the brothel: "Eugh, dont' be so nice to me! It makes me want to be nice back." Priceless.

[almostwisegalaxy]

The Intransigence of Silence_2

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: So far away_ Martin Garrix x David Guetta

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Enjoy y'all ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

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

The Next Day

Y/n entered the studio the next day, her stomach in knots. Each step felt heavier than the last. She had spent the night replaying their exchanges, searching for meaning in the intensity that consumed her every time she locked eyes with the actor. She knew he was right: she could no longer ignore what burned between them.

Yet, she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t just a young actress trying to make a name for herself; she was his student, under his guidance. And he… he was everything she wasn’t. Powerful, experienced, unattainable.

When she arrived, he was already there. He stood facing a row of mirrors, hands in his pockets, looking distant. But as soon as he noticed her, his gaze darkened slightly, betraying an inner turmoil he struggled to hide.

“You came,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving her.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

A heavy silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t the usual silence of their mentor-student dynamic. It was something else—something deeper, more fragile.

They began rehearsing. The actor, true to form, corrected every movement, every inflection. But y/n could feel something had shifted. He was still demanding, but his critiques seemed less biting, more measured. She felt his gaze on her—not as a mentor assessing a student, but as a man observing a woman.

She tried to focus on her role, but her mind was elsewhere. She caught him glancing away several times, as if he were struggling to maintain a distance.

Finally, as she performed a particularly intense scene, he abruptly interrupted.

“Stop.”

Y/n straightened, her breath uneven. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed his arms, hesitating. Then he spoke, his voice quieter than usual:

“You’re acting like you’re afraid. Afraid of what? Me? Yourself?”

His words hit her like a blow. She looked down, unable to respond.

“Do you want to know why I told you to drop this role?” he continued, his voice hardening slightly. “It’s not because I doubt you. It’s because you’re not ready to face what it demands. You’re brilliant, y/n, but you’re still fragile. And this world—” He paused, searching for the right words. “This world will destroy you if you show yourself to the public before you’re strong enough.”

She looked up, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And you, sir?” she asked softly. “Do you think you’re not part of what could destroy me?”

He flinched but didn’t answer immediately.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted at last, his voice barely audible. “Maybe I’m your worst enemy in all of this. But if I had to choose between breaking you a little to make you stronger or watching you fail because I did nothing… I’d always choose the first option.”

Y/n felt a wave of conflicting emotions rise within her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tell him she didn’t want to be his project, his creation. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t just that.

“And what if I don’t want to be strong on your terms?” she whispered.

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers, his expression unreadable.

“Then tell me, y/n. Tell me what you want. Really.”

She remained silent, frozen under his intense stare. Part of her wanted to tell him she wanted to run, to be free of him, of his hold over her. But another part, deeper and more honest, knew she wanted something else entirely.

Finally, she replied, her voice trembling:

“I want you to let me make my own choices.”

The actor stepped back slightly, as if her words had struck him. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward again, closing the gap between them to almost nothing.

“Then make a choice now,” he murmured. “But know this—if you stay here, if you keep following me, listening to me, challenging me… there won’t be any boundaries left. Not between you and me.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. He was so close, yet he made no move, spoke no further words. It was up to her to decide.

She could have walked away. She could have ended it all. But instead, she took a step forward, closing the last bit of space between them.

They stood motionless, the tension between them almost unbearable. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and brushed her face—a gesture both tender and hesitant.

“Y/n…” he whispered, as if warning her, but he said nothing more.

She closed her eyes, letting her breath sync with his. And for the first time, she felt like she had taken back control. Not over him, but over herself.

When she opened her eyes, she said simply:

“I’m staying.”

And this time, it was he who looked away, defeated.

---

She had barely spoken the words when he gently, yet firmly, took hold of her. One hand slid behind her neck, the other brushed her arm. The kiss was everything they were: intense, controlled, yet overflowing with a passion that had been suppressed for far too long. There was no hesitation, no awkward uncertainty. It was as though all the tension that had built up had finally found its release.

Y/n found herself suspended in that moment, her mind flooded with contradictions. But when he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze, she saw in his eyes a humanity he had always tried to conceal.

"I can’t turn back anymore, y/n," he murmured. "And neither can you."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head, almost regretfully.

"You need to understand—if you choose to stay, there’s no going back."

She didn’t need to think. Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were clear.

"I’m staying."

From that moment, their relationship changed. During rehearsals, they were still mentor and student, the palpable tension between them hidden under a veneer of professional rigor. But when they were alone, in the shadows of backstage or after long sessions of work, the boundaries disappeared.

The actor, usually a master of self-control, occasionally allowed brief moments of tenderness to slip through: a hand brushing hers under the guise of giving advice, a look that lingered a second too long. Y/n, on the other hand, felt a newfound strength. She was no longer just under his influence. She had gained a certain equality in their strange dance.

But their secret was fragile. Other actors began to notice something had changed. Whispers grew louder, more insistent. Yet neither y/n nor the actor let the rumors destabilize them. Their bond, though discreet, seemed unbreakable.

A few months later, the film y/n had auditioned for—and that the actor had forced her to abandon—was finally released. It was a disaster. The reviews were ruthless, criticizing the lack of depth in the performances, the weak script, and the absence of chemistry between the lead actors.

In the studio, conversations revolved around this failure. Some of her former colleagues now looked at her with envy, as if her absence from the fiasco had suddenly validated her place among them.

The actor observed all of this in silence. One evening, as they were alone after a long day of rehearsals, he placed a newspaper on the table in front of her. On the front page was a scathing review of the film.

"Did you read it?" he asked calmly.

Y/n nodded, avoiding his gaze.

"I don’t feel any satisfaction, if that’s what you’re wondering."

He leaned against the table, arms crossed.

"This isn’t about satisfaction. It’s a lesson."

She looked up, intrigued. He continued:

"Do you see what happens when you rush into something to prove something to everyone except yourself? It’s not about talent. It’s about timing, about preparation."

Y/n remained silent for a moment, absorbing his words. She knew he was right. But deep down, another question burned within her.

"And if I had been ready? If I’d gotten the role? Would it have changed anything?"

The actor stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, he knelt down to her level, so they were eye to eye.

"I never stopped you from taking that role because I doubted you, y/n. I stopped you because I knew it wasn’t worthy of you."

She felt her eyes well up, but he gently placed a hand on her knee—a gesture that seemed to say, No tears, not here.

"One day," he added, "when you’re ready, it’ll be you the critics praise. Not because of me. Because of you. And on that day, you’ll understand why I pushed you this hard."

From that moment, their relationship entered a new phase. The actor became even more demanding, but also more invested. He poured himself into every detail of her training, pushing her further than she thought possible, but never breaking her.

Y/n, for her part, grew in confidence. She no longer saw him just as a mentor or a man she admired, but as an ally—someone who believed in her even when she doubted herself.

But lurking in the shadows of their connection was a persistent tension. They had crossed a line, and though they tried to conceal their relationship, they both knew the day would come when they would have to face the consequences of their choices.

For now, they moved forward together, united by a complex mix of ambition, desire, and mutual respect.

---

Their relationship had imperceptibly, but undeniably, changed. The actor remained true to himself: demanding, distant in the eyes of the world, but with a softness that surfaced when they were alone. Yet, he never made overt gestures—no grand declarations or romantic promises. His affection was visible in the details: the way he held her a moment too long during a correction, a lingering glance, or a murmured phrase that hung in the air long after he’d spoken it.

Y/n, for her part, felt overwhelmed. She never knew how to respond to these stolen moments: the thrill of a hand brushing hers, a quick kiss in the shadows of a hallway, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to unravel every thought she tried to hide. She continued to address him formally, clinging to it as a fragile form of control over something that felt so unstable.

One evening, after a late rehearsal, the actor offered to drive her home. They were alone in his car, enveloped in a charged silence. The city blurred around them, but all she felt was the warmth radiating from him—so close and yet so distant.

When he stopped in front of her apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t move. Y/n, hesitant, opened the door, but his hand firmly stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned to him, surprised. His gaze was steady, burning, yet unreadable.

“You can’t keep running away,” he said softly, almost reproachfully.

She furrowed her brow. “Running away? I don’t understand.”

He sighed, and then, suddenly, he leaned closer. His kiss was intense, full of the tension he had been holding back for weeks. Her hands instinctively found his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. When he finally pulled back, she was speechless.

“Stop addressing me so formally,” he murmured, his voice husky. “You’re not a stranger to me anymore, y/n.”

She blinked, trying to compose herself. “It’s… a habit.”

“Change it,” he replied, his tone commanding but his gaze betraying a certain tenderness.

After that night, something shifted between them. The kisses became more frequent, though always fleeting, almost stolen. When they were alone in the rehearsal room, he would sometimes surprise her, pulling her close just to brush her lips with his before resuming his role as her mentor as though nothing had happened.

Y/n felt disarmed by these moments but clung to them nonetheless, unable to deny the effect he had on her. He never told her he loved her, but every gesture, every look seemed to scream it in his place.

One day, while she was rehearsing alone, he entered without a word. He stood watching, arms crossed, until she stopped, flustered.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

She averted her eyes. “I’m not nervous.”

He approached slowly, a faint smirk on his lips. “Then why do you still refuse to speak to me informally?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her.

“No excuses. Just… say my name.”

She flushed deeply. “Actor.”

He nodded, satisfied. Then, before she could say anything more, he kissed her again—this time slowly, savoring every second.

They began spending more time together away from the studio. A hidden café tucked in a quiet alley. A late-night stroll through the city. One day, he took her to a nearly deserted park where they sat in silence, simply sharing each other’s presence.

He had a way of touching her—not possessively, but protectively. A hand on the small of her back as they walked side by side. A strand of hair tucked behind her ear, his gaze burning when she looked up at him.

One evening, after one of their outings, she murmured, “I still don’t understand why you chose me.”

He frowned, clearly displeased. “Stop. It’s not about choice. It’s you, y/n. You, and nothing else.”

She didn’t respond, but that night, she fell asleep with his words etched into her mind.

Their relationship was discreet but had taken root. The actor, despite his usual cold demeanor, showed flashes of warmth that only y/n saw. He teased her occasionally, but his words always carried a truth that touched her deeply.

“You’re much stronger than you think,” he told her one day after she nailed a particularly difficult scene.

She lowered her eyes, but he tilted her chin up with a finger. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you. Believe me, y/n.”

She nodded, unable to reply. But in her heart, something shifted.

Their days became intertwined with tender gestures and stolen moments. She was slowly growing accustomed to calling him by his name, though it still felt awkward. He, on the other hand, seemed to take subtle pleasure in watching her soften.

One night, as they shared a late dinner in a small restaurant, she caught him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he replied, a faint smile on his lips. “Just you.”

And in those moments, y/n knew she could never go back.

---

After months of relentless effort, y/n finally landed a role in a big-budget series. It wasn’t a lead role but a pivotal character integral to the storyline. The role demanded a complex emotional range and a magnetic presence, and y/n knew she had to give it her all.

To her surprise, the actor approved without hesitation. When she shared the news with him, he fixed her with his piercing gaze, and for the first time in a long while, a genuine smile lit up his face.

“Good,” he said simply, but his voice carried pride. “This is the right role. One that will challenge you, but also make you shine.”

In the following days, the actor became more involved in her preparation. There was no longer any restraint in his encouragement, though his critiques remained just as sharp.

One evening, after a long rehearsal session, he looked at her intently. “Do you know what I admire about you, y/n?”

She looked up, surprised by the question, but didn’t answer.

“Your ability to turn fear into energy. Even when you think you’ve reached your limit, you keep digging deeper. That’s what makes you unique.”

His words warmed her heart, and a new wave of motivation surged within her.

Their relationship, already intense, became even more intimate. There were fleeting gestures—a hand brushing her arm as he passed by, a rare but genuine smile when she nailed a scene.

They spent more and more time together outside of rehearsals. The actor, usually reserved, slowly opened up to her. One evening, after a particularly productive session, he took her to a quiet, hidden restaurant, far from prying eyes.

“Why here?” she asked, intrigued.

“Because it’s peaceful. And you deserve to breathe.”

They dined in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with mutual understanding.

As they stepped out, he suddenly stopped under a glowing sign. Y/n looked at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

He leaned slightly toward her, his eyes burning with emotions he usually kept so well hidden.

“Stop being so formal with me,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent.

She flushed, looking away. “It’s a habit…”

“A habit I hate,” he replied softly, but with an intensity that made her heart race. “When you’re with me, be yourself. Not some polite version.”

She nodded timidly, but the moment stayed etched in her memory.

When filming began, y/n poured all her energy into the role. The scenes were demanding, but she knew this was her chance to prove she belonged in this world.

Though the actor wasn’t directly involved in the production, he often visited the set to support her. He stayed in the background, but she always felt his gaze on her, watching intently.

One day, after a particularly challenging scene, he waited for her outside.

“You did well today,” he said, placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her heart racing under his touch.

But he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he let it slide to her cheek, gently guiding her to meet his eyes. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?”

She bursts into tears. No one has ever expressed such emotions to her. She takes refuge against his chest, serving him tightly against her.

Their connection grew more palpable, almost tangible. They didn’t talk about their feelings, but their gestures spoke volumes. A stolen kiss in a dark alley after a long evening of rehearsals. A quiet walk in a deserted park. A fleeting exchange of glances while working together.

One night, as they sat in y/n’s small apartment, he kissed her gently, almost hesitantly, as if to ensure she wanted it as much as he did.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, “you drive me crazy sometimes.”

She laughed softly, resting her head against his chest. “You’re the one saying that?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone serious. “Because you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”

When the series premiered, y/n was praised for her performance. Critics highlighted the depth she brought to her character, and her name began circulating in the industry as a rising star.

The actor watched her progress with a mix of pride and admiration. But he didn’t shower her with unnecessary praise.

“This is only the beginning,” he told her one night after a particularly successful premiere.

“I know,” she replied, a confident smile on her lips.

But this time, she knew she could face anything. Because he was by her side—not as a mentor or a guide, but as an equal.

---

y/n had come a long way since her role in the series. Offers were pouring in—interviews, magazine covers, proposals for new roles. She had become one of the most sought-after actresses of the moment. Yet, despite the whirlwind of success, there was one constant through it all: the actor. He was always there, always quietly in the background, but never too far away.

That night, there was a premiere he had to attend, a prestigious event for the release of his new film. He was the star of the evening, the headliner. But it wasn’t the spotlight he was seeking. No, his eyes searched the crowd endlessly, looking for a particular face.

y/n was there, radiant in her simple but elegant black dress. She seemed different—not in appearance but in the energy surrounding her. She was confident, independent, and it shone in every movement she made. The actor watched her from afar, a profound sense of pride swelling within him. He had always known she had incredible potential, but what he saw that night exceeded anything he had ever imagined.

For the first time, he didn’t mind not being the center of attention. He was content to simply observe y/n, like a lucky spectator, marveling at how she captivated the room with her mere presence.

The evening came to an end, and the two of them found themselves alone in the actor’s car, the road nearly deserted under the starry sky. The city lights sparkled through the windows, but inside the car, everything felt calm. The silence between them was now comfortable, imbued with a softness that hadn’t existed before.

y/n, tired but happy, stared out the window. The night had been a turning point for her, and though she had savored every moment, she felt moved by the actor’s presence, as if the evening wasn’t complete without him.

When they arrived at her apartment, y/n hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. Something in the air felt different tonight. She stepped out of the car, thanking him with a simple smile, and headed toward the door. But before she could close it behind her, she felt pressure against it. The actor gently stopped her from shutting it.

He stood there, just behind her, but the space between them felt immense. He stared at the ground for a moment, as if searching for the right words, before finally meeting her gaze. His eyes, usually so controlled, betrayed a mix of intensity and vulnerability.

“You know…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Tonight, I saw an incredible woman shine under lights that didn’t even do her justice.” He paused, as if each word needed to carry the weight of his feelings. “And I realized how lucky I’ve been to see you grow.”

y/n stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected this moment to be the one where everything changed, but looking back, she couldn’t deny what had been building between them.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and the world seemed to freeze around them. “I love you,” he finally said, the words falling slowly between them, like a confession that had been held back for far too long.

y/n felt her knees weaken, as if that simple admission had lifted some of the weight she had been carrying for so long. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with emotion, unable to respond immediately. But she didn’t need words. Her hands rose on their own, finding his.

Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her—a soft, almost tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepened into something more fervent, more intense. It was as if all the months of waiting, all the unsaid words, had found their release in this silent yet profoundly meaningful moment.

He followed her inside the apartment, without another word, but none were needed. The actor sat on the couch while she prepared to relax after the long evening. He watched her every movement, every gesture, as if trying to memorize every detail.

When y/n finally settled beside him, he took her hand gently, without urgency. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice sincere. “But I didn’t know how to say all of this before.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart overflowing with conflicting emotions. “Neither did I,” she admitted before turning her face to him with a shy smile.

“You’ve changed a lot. You’re stronger now,” he continued.

“No,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with truth. Their relationship had evolved, and she now knew that, despite all the doubts and struggles, she was ready to move forward with him—not just as a mentor or a protégé, but as something more, something real.

He pulled her gently toward him, kissing her once more, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate. There were no barriers left between them, no unspoken words to hold back. The boundaries of their relationship had dissolved, and they were no longer two individuals separated by roles. They were simply themselves, together.

---

That night, the truth of their feelings was finally laid bare in the form of a kiss and the simple yet profound words they exchanged.

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

Tag List:

@elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[marta-bee]

News of the Day 4/30/25: 100 Days In

Paywall be gone.

That's the good news. Today will be Trump's 100th day in office, and there's a tradition in American politics of taking stock of the new presidency. So there's a lot of new polls and to describe them as "not good" is an understatement. He's actually got the worst approval rating of any president 100 days into his term. The next-worst number? Trump in his first administration.

Paywall free.

.... and there's the other shoe, I'm afraid.

But there is little sign that this disgruntled public is ready to turn to Democrats instead. Approval ratings for Democratic leaders in Congress are even lower (27% approve, a record low for the party in CNN polling back to 2008) and nearly half of adults (46%) say they disapprove of leaders from both parties. The top two Hill Democrats — House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer — are also underwater in favorability (20% favorable to 27% unfavorable for Jeffries; 17% favorable to 44% unfavorable for Schumer, his worst rating in CNN polling back to 2017). Gregory Victorianne, a 65-year-old Democrat from Los Angeles who took the poll, expressed frustration with his party’s response to Trump’s return to office. “The Democrats need to wake up. They need to put this man in check, put this party in check and let us know in real time what they’re doing so we can stay on top of it and fight and take control of the House, the Senate and the White House again.”

While I think a lot of Dems are finding their voice and more creative ways of getting it heard, when you talk about like well-known Congressional Dems, that megaphone is really all they have. They're too far out of power, Republicans are too intransigent, and Trump is just too dictatorial and outrageous in his approach. They need better tools to fight him than they have. Pair that with a public that's scared, angry, and hungry for immediate change, being told the people who are supposed to fix this can't do much about it is damned frustrating and apt to leave you feeling abandoned. Even when it's true.

The only solution I have is to cultivate an awareness of what's actually being done to push back. Even in small things. So let's run with that. Specific examples of what Dems and other members of the pro-democracy crowd are doing, and more analysis of Trump's awful poll numbers. Because we all could use a little candy.

Democratic Resistance to Trump

What have the Democrats achieved in Trump’s first 100 days?

Trump Barely Defeats Challenge to His Tariff War in Senate (X)

Nineteen states sue Trump over school funding threat (X)

Trump’s Tariffs Prompt Wave of Lawsuits as States and Businesses Fight Back (X)

Michigan Democrat files articles of impeachment against Trump

The Rev. William Barber arrested in Capitol Rotunda after praying against Republican-led budget (X)

House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries, Sen. Cory Booker host a sit-in on Capitol steps over the GOP budget plan (X)

Who best reflects values of Democratic Party? It’s not Kamala Harris, poll says (X)

D.C. and 24 states sue over Trump cuts to AmeriCorps. Here’s what to know. (X)

‘Won’t have anywhere to hide’: Democrats are eager to pick apart the GOP megabill (X)

Van Hollen Makes Personal Appeal to Trump to Return Deported Immigrant (X)

Boston vows to stay 'safe for everyone' despite new executive order targeting sanctuary cities (X)

How California Sanctuary Policies Are Faring Under Pressure From Trump (X)

Trump can’t withhold funds from ‘sanctuary’ cities, federal judge says (X)

Civil Servants Push Back

Top NIH scientist speaks out, says research was ‘censored’ under RFK Jr (VIDEO)

Civil rights lawyers leave en masse as Justice Dept. mission shifts. Civil rights division director Harmeet K. Dhillon has redirected her staff to focus on combating antisemitism, anti-Christian bias and what she calls “woke ideology.” (X)

Corporation for Public Broadcasting sues Trump after he tries to fire board members

Individuals and Other Institutions Pushing Back

US army suspends commander after Trump and Hegseth portraits flipped to face wall

Elite Universities Form Private Collective to Resist Trump Administration (X)

What it takes to make courage contagious. As we have seen lately, publicly drawing a moral line inspires others to hold it. (X)

No new autism registry, HHS says, walking back NIH director’s claim (X)

After criticism, HHS reverses plan to cut funds for a landmark study on women’s health (X)

Wisconsin judge arrested by FBI 'stood up' for her community, state lawmaker says

Unions, local governments sue to block Trump administration’s workforce cuts (X)

The White House threatens sanctuary cities in another EO, but courts are skeptical

To my husband, Mahmoud Khalil: I can’t wait to tell our son of his father’s bravery

Jewish Student Says Mahmoud Khalil Protected Them More Than Columbia (X)

Young Men Are Already Souring on Trump (X)

After Pro-Israel Crowd Assaults Woman, Protesters Rally in Brooklyn (X)

Donald’s No Good, Horrible Awful Poll Numbers

Are things falling apart for Trump? About 100 days in, the signs are almost uniformly negative for the second-term Trump project. (X)

Trump’s 100-day approval rating at historic low compared to predecessors: ‘He has broken his own record for being the worst’ (X)

Four Perspectives on Trump’s Weak Poll Numbers. It’s not easy to burn this much good will so fast, and it doesn’t usually get any easier from here. (X)

100 Day Poll: Trump and Harris Voters Say They Would Not Change Vote (X)

How Americans describe Trump's term so far in 1 word: POLL (X)

Only about half of Republicans say Trump has focused on the right priorities, AP-NORC poll finds

Trump lashes out against "fake polls" as his approval ratings sink (X)

Fact-checking Trump’s claims at 100-day rally in Michigan (X)

[figural]

. . . Foucault’s analysis of power might just as easily be understood as offering an analysis of freedom, insofar as entire social worlds exist as subjugating fields that are reliant upon our freedom to acquiesce to them. This, as Andrew Johnson puts it, is to foreground the question of how and why “society colludes, effectively policing itself.” Why, if power can only be exercised over free subjects, do we freely allow ourselves to be judged according to norms, to have our actions channelled toward certain behaviors?

This problem, of “why people freely bind themselves to power,” looks analogous to the thorny problem of voluntary slavery that so vexed modern philosophical and theological articulations of freedom. In suggesting that “the relationship between power and freedom’s refusal to submit cannot, therefore, be separated,” Foucault argues that the “problem of power is not that of voluntary servitude (how could we seek to be slaves?).” This seemingly easy dismissal of the problem belies the indeterminacy of being always already thrown into an agonistic interaction between “the recalcitrance of the will and the intransigence of freedom.” This is to say, our capacity for freedom is always already a renunciation of freedom insofar as we freely bind ourselves to power. But in so binding ourselves we are never truly enslaved since power is itself productive of freedoms since power never fully determines. In part due to this, voluntary servitude animates Foucault’s account even in its dismissal, since power effectively forms the complex web through which freedoms are articulated.

For example, in the context of “mechanisms of power” that subjugate individuals, Foucault states that critique is the “art of voluntary inservitude.” In the context of a heterodox account of the Kantian Enlightenment, Foucault argues that the order of things is constituted by man, rather than God or a sovereign state; second, and relatedly, that there is a limit to knowledge that is imposed by us. Taken together, Foucault demonstrates that humanity comes into being through this analytic of finitude. With man taking the place of God, Foucault follows Kant’s position against the rationalist tradition that articulates a relationship between man and the laws of the world, knowledge of which is limited by our position within “the great table of beings,” since those limits are also understood to be “decreed or imposed by man.” However, as far as Foucault is concerned, whilst Kant’s project of finitude is the condition of possibility for man taking the place of God, that project requires completion such that all forms of sovereignty are abandoned, including the epistemic and normative sovereignty at work in Kant’s claims to universal validity. In Society Must Be Defended, he further describes the move towards normalization against “a juridical rule derived from sovereignty but a discourse about a natural rule, or in other words a norm.” Law as the expression of sovereign power is thus submerged and internalized within modernity’s “code of normalization.”

It is in this context that critique becomes the art of voluntary inservitude precisely because the possibility of challenging mechanisms of power cannot call upon an external sovereign. Kant has already shown us that critique must be self-justifying. Here, Foucault tells us that we cannot appeal to that which lies outside of us because we are immersed in networks of power that provide the conditions of our subjectivation and in turn the conditions of critique—so in effect, there must be nothing outside to which we can appeal. The question of freedom that is exercised through its renunciation is found in the suturing of the domain of power:

[The] carceral network does not cast the unassimilable into a confused hell; there is no outside . . . . In this panoptic society of which incarceration is the omnipresent armature, the delinquent is not outside the law; he is, from the very outset, in the law, at the very heart of the law.

The subject is embedded within this interplay of critique and subjugation. But as such, the racial slave “marks-off” the domain of the social even where the slave cannot be exteriorized either spatially or temporally. For example, in The Subject and Power, Foucault states that

Where the determining factors are exhaustive, there is no relationship of power: slavery is not a power relationship when a man is in chains, only when he has some possible mobility, even a chance of escape.

Foucault expands on this point in an interview “The Ethics of the Concern of the Self as a Practice of Freedom”: 

power relations are possible only insofar as the subjects are free. If one of them were completely at the other’s disposal and became his thing, an object on which he could wreak boundless and limitless violence, there wouldn’t be any relations of power. Even . . . when it can truly be claimed that one side has “total power” over the other, a power can be exercised over the other only insofar as the other still has the option of killing himself, of leaping out the window, or of killing the other person . . . if there were no possibility of resistance (of violent resistance, flight, deception, strategies capable of reversing the situation), there would be no power relations at all.

Here slavery is articulated as the nexus of total incapacity and a totalized power that necessarily exists outside of the domain of power itself. Slavery is here moved outside both death and even suicide (which is to say that the slave’s suicide cannot recuperate the biopolitical). This articulation of slavery as total incapacity appears close, then, to Saidiya Hartman’s articulation of slavery in terms of the “fungibility of the commodity [that] makes the captive body an abstract and empty vessel.” It is in defining slavery as complete domination that must have been surpassed for entry into the domain of power that both servitude and inservitude cannot collapse into slavery. Since “slavery is not a power relationship,” for Foucault, we are subjugated insofar as we are not slaves. Servitude cannot also be slavery since our insertion into civil society—even where we are subjugated—requires us to always possibly operate against mechanisms of power in its critique. So, racial slavery is the conduit through which Foucault’s carceral world becomes possible through its necessary voiding. In order to be a subject, one cannot be or have possibly been, a slave. 

Thus racial slavery becomes the unthinkable conceptual armature that Foucault depends upon for the coherence of freedom across the board, marking out both the domain of freedom and subjectivity through the slave’s fungibility. Civil society—even where this is articulated through complex networks of policing and normalization—relies on the spectral presence of racial slavery as impossibility for the subject of power. In the process of emptying-out the world of slavery, Foucault therefore not only buries the mass of Atlantic systems of contracts, trade, and people, but draws upon that buried slavery to enact the limits of the possible domain of the human world. It is the marked evasion of racial slavery that comes to be constitutive insofar as racial slaves necessarily exceed the world they are called upon to demarcate.

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

You should see me in a crown

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

“In regione caecorum rex est luscus,” Guildford quips back with a smile. In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king. 

“I think you mean ‘regina est lusca’,” she corrects.

But his grin only widens. “Glad to see becoming Queen hasn’t gone to your head if you’re still correcting my Latin.”

She raises her brows, “and you’re still in need of correction.”

(Really just an excuse to write some throne room smut. Guildford shows off his language skills with full marks on the oral exam!)

Jane watches as the sun sets through the stained glass windows to the west, wishing she could see an end in sight to this Council meeting. Party planning meeting, really - what had started as an actual meeting about her sudden disbanding of the Kingsland Guard and easing of the Division Laws had taken a strange turn at the reminder of her upcoming coronation.

Suddenly, everyone had an opinion. Many of those present still remembered the spectacular coronation of Henry the VIII, and the somewhat lesser occasion of her cousin’s. All had an endless supply of advice to offer her, which had taken the better part of the last several hours. 

Jane finds she doesn’t care one whit about the sodding menu, or the music, or really any part of the ceremony that isn’t her plan to draw Mary’s treachery out into the open - with a little help from her surprise guests. But she can’t exactly discuss those plans here.

At the far end of the throne room, she spots Guildford leaning against the doorframe, watching her try to hide her growing annoyance at her intransigent cabinet suddenly transformed into experts on floral arrangements - on which they are equally as uncompromising. Despite the smug expression with which he watches her field their advice, she can’t remember when she’s ever been so happy to see her errant husband. He must have come here straight from the stables as he was still in his leather doublet and trousers.

She stands from the throne with finality.

“I think that’s enough planning for one night, we can resume our discussions on the morrow.”

A spirited debate over whether the inclusion of rosemary would be a warm remembrance of Edward or too funereal, thankfully ends at her rise. But still, no one makes a move to leave.

“You are dismissed,” she tries, barely holding herself back from shooing her Councilors from the room.  

Jane remains standing as they all file out of the room to the last man, finally leaving her alone with Guildford. She hadn’t been able to speak with him since he had helped her to decipher Mary and Lord Seymour’s letters the night before - and then there was the matter of their near kiss in the stables. But for once he looks nearly as pleased to see her as she does to see him, and so she decides that now is not the moment to tell him of Mary’s attempted regicide, or her newly developed plans to bait her into another attempt. He will only try and talk her out of it. So she simply smiles as he makes his way toward her.

“The crown suits you,” he nods to her as he nears the throne, where she still stands on the slightly raised dais, leveling her gaze with his. 

Jane reaches up to straighten the heavy circle of gold and jewels, expertly matched with her green and blue dress by her mother. She had only put it on to try and gain back a little of her authority as she faced down her Council. Now she feels a little silly about wearing it, and the ridiculous debate he just witnessed.

“It actually did start as a real Council meeting,” she tries to explain. “But I don’t know which is worse - arguing with a bunch of obstinate old men over the backwardness of our Division Laws, or debating the merits of peacock versus porpoise on the menu.”

“Well, that all rather depends on whether one considers peacock to be meat or poultry,” Guildford puts on his best impression of the Earl of Wiltshire. Apparently he had been listening for some time. It must be later than she realizes.

“Please don’t start that again,” she begs. “But you’re right, that was actually worse. I think I might actually be reaching a few of the younger Councilors on the Ethian issue.” 

“In regione caecorum rex est luscus ,” Guildford quips back with a smile. In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.  

Jane freezes. Even though he means to mock her, she sometimes forgets that while her husband might be equal parts ill-mannered and pigheaded, underneath it all he is in fact highly intelligent. And - rather unfortunately - almost nearly as charming as he thinks he is. But she won’t admit that the reminder of her husband’s ability to spout Latin aphorisms - or crack elaborate ciphers - still does something to her as it had at their first meeting. 

And so she pulls herself together as best she can, putting on a mask of indifference to the effect his words have on her. 

“I think you mean ‘regina est lusca ’,” she corrects.

But his grin only widens. “Glad to see becoming Queen hasn’t gone to your head if you’re still correcting my Latin.”

She raises her brows, “and you’re still in need of correction.”

“How about this one then? Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo .” If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise hell. 

Fuck. That’s even worse. She can feel her body tensing in expectation of…something. Another battle of words, perhaps? Jane will never admit she enjoys matching wits with her husband on occasion. Even if she still craves a different kind of confrontation.

“Virgil, not bad. Carmina vel caelo possunt deducere lunam ,” she counters his Aeneid with the Eclogues. Songs can lead even the Moon down from the Heavens - not a perfect retort but at least it mirrors the reference to the heavens, and it comes from a far less widely read source. Guildford:1, Jane: 2. “Your pronunciation has improved at least,” she allows.

“I’m no polyglot, though I’ve often been complimented on my skilled tongue,” he winks back at her, bringing an immediate flush to her cheeks. 

Her mind immediately jumps to the oft-visited memory of their two shared kisses, both all too brief - the way his warm hands had cupped her jaw as his tongue sought hers. Skilled indeed.

His smirk tells her he notices her blush, but he has the good grace not to comment on it for once. “Did you know, that first night that we met, I thought to myself - what kind of woman visits a tavern just to correct a man's Latin?” 

This, at least, she can handle. Debating their respective faults is well-worn territory between them.

“And I wondered how I managed to find the most insufferable prat in all of England.” 

The corners of her mouth tilt upward to show she’s merely in jest. After all, they’ve both had to deal with Lord Seymour lately. Still, she counts it as a victory, sitting back on the throne and crossing her arms over her chest looking very pleased with herself. Jane ignores that this posture unintentionally presses her breasts up against the bodice of her gown, but she doesn’t miss the way Guildford’s eyes glance down.

“In all of England, really? London, maybe,” he concedes. “Neither of us was at our best that night. Any chance you’ve reconsidered that first impression?”

“A queen must be unwavering,” she replies, feigning a royal countenance. Her crown tilts a little against the engraved wood behind her as she tries to look down, her nose at him, but Guildford’s standing far too close.

He slips even closer. One booted foot steps up onto the dais, bending at the knee so he can lean further into her space. His arms go to either side of her, gripping the throne’s armrests and caging her in. Her breath catches at his sudden nearness.

“Then perhaps I shall tell you more about my first impression of you,” he offers. 

“Oh?” She attempts to feign indifference, still trying to act the part of the Queen regnant - even as the heat of his body and the smell of warm leather reach her, leaving her feeling a little lightheaded. “Remember that any disparaging remarks could now be considered treason.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks, his face nearing hers. “In fact, when I saw you walking towards me I thought you looked like a woman in desperate need of a good shagging. Or at least a very thorough tongue lashing.”

His words are delivered with a wink and she can’t help the blush that reaches her cheeks, her whole body growing warm with the weight of his words. Jane tries to keep it together.

“I seem to remember already receiving a tongue lashing from you over my - what was it again? My amiability?” Her voice nearly squeaks at that last word, but she makes it through.

“Not that kind of tongue lashing, Your Highness.” 

Guildford’s nose does that little scrunch that it always does when she’s being particularly obtuse, and her face heats further at the realization of what he means, as well as the intimate inflection of her title. That last part sends a little shivery zing down her spine. Guildford’s probably already guessed the effect it’s having on her, the bastard.

“And what made you change that impression?” She barely manages to get out.

“Who says I did?”

And it’s true that Guildford has made no secret of his desire for her - it’s her wishes that have always halted them. But with the imprint of Mary’s fingers still around her throat, she finds she really doesn’t want to stop whatever is happening between them right now. Who knows when she’ll ever have the chance again? Jane catches Guildford’s dark eyes glancing down at her lips and pushes all thoughts of doubt from her mind.

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot,” she commands

“Happy to serve, Your Majesty,” he smiles back, leaning in.

And promptly drops to his knees.

Her mind blanks a little at the sudden sight, eyes widening and lips parting. What on earth was he doing? Jane realizes she’s asked the question aloud.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He smirks before bringing his hands to her knees, sliding the fabric of her skirts upwards. Surely he doesn’t really intend to…

“What if someone comes in?” she stammers, but doesn’t stop the press of his hands upwards.

“That’s half the fun,” he winks up at her.  “But don’t worry, they won’t see much,” he assures before ducking beneath her skirts. Jane doesn’t even think of halting him, still too stunned and more than a little aroused by the thought of it..

The first touch of his warm hands to the backs of her knees has her inhaling sharply, the sound echoing loudly in the empty hall. With those same hands he pulls her to the edge of her seat, spreading her thighs to accommodate broad shoulders between them, and she barely catches herself from falling back against the throne.

It occurs to Jane that beneath her heavy damask skirts, she’s completely bare but for her chemise and stockings. There’s nothing to impede him. He could just…

Instead, she feels the faintest press of lips, the slight catch of his stubble against the side of her right knee though the silk. And how had she never realized before that her knees were this sensitive? His hands run soothingly along the backs of her stockings until she’s able to slightly regain her balance, reaching out to grip at ornate armrests. And then she can feel his hands moving inward to press her knees further apart, bringing a fresh wave of heat spreading beneath her skin and down to her pool low in her belly. 

As his hands grasp at her thighs, she feels strangely aware of the cool weight of his wedding ring gliding across her skin, the rightness of its presence. She glances down at its mate on her own left hand. And then her whole world narrows to the feel of his hot mouth traveling up along her inner thighs, the dragging lips and the slight rasp of his jaw along the sensitive skin there. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation, drawing in little shaky breaths as she imagines the flushed trails he leaves behind. 

The sudden hard edge of teeth biting into the softness of her thigh has her nearly jolting out of her seat. Guildford immediately soothes the sting with his tongue. Jane gasps at the feel of it, surprised at her enjoyment of the slight edge of pain mixed with the pleasure of his lips and tongue. Not hearing any protests, he repeats the gesture, a bare inch away from the last mark, and she can feel him practically growling into her thigh as he sinks his teeth a little harder into the skin there. Jane lets out a shuddery moan at the feel of it, skirting just the edge of too much. 

Showing uncharacteristic mercy on her, Guildford continues his journey upward, delivering gentler nips and sucking kisses along the soft skin. She can feel herself half trembling, winding tighter and tighter as he nears his goal, her sex already slick with want. He’s so close…

But just as he nears, Guildford suddenly switches to her other thigh, repeating the same maddening treatment until she’s practically keening. Jane already feels like she’s vibrating out of her skin and he’s still so far from where she actually wants him. She shivers as soft curls brush against the already over sensitized skin of her right thigh as he works his way up the leftmost. Each bite draws out another hiss of pleasure followed by a moan as he sucks what’s she sure is an additional bruise along the still unmarked skin. 

Finally, finally , he’s delivering a final nip to the top of one thigh and then he pauses there, breathing deeply. She shudders at the feel of warm breath against her cunt as he breathes out again. Her thighs try to press together at the sensation but are halted by Guildford’s strong shoulders. His hands pull them even further apart, as his face presses closer. Her clit is already throbbing as he noses against her curls, and she practically shouts when his tongue finally drags over her, tasting her.

This time, he doesn’t tease, lapping into her immediately, parting her with his tongue. Her face heats at the wet sound of it, muffled as it is by her skirts, but she doesn’t pull away. His tongue strokes broadly at first before delving into her folds. He swiftly finds her clit, alternating little flicks and flutters of his tongue followed by suckling at the little bundle of nerves until she’s writhing in her seat. 

“Guildford, ” a steady stream of moans and his name pours from her lips every time he gets something just right.

His tongue travels further down, dipping into her entrance. She’s only ever had the touch of her own fingers there before and the soft heat of his tongue as it presses into her nearly has her bucking her hips against him. She can feel him chuckle at the aborted twitch of her hips as she tries to restrain herself, but the inward glide of his tongue does nothing to help. 

And suddenly, she can’t stand not being able to see any of what is happening beneath her skirt, wanting desperately to see his face as he pleasures her, and tangle her fingers in his dark curls.

“Guildford, wait…”

He halts immediately, drawing back from beneath her skirts to search her face for any indication that this is too much for her. But Jane merely sucks in a breath at the sight of his own face, flushed pink and glistening with sweat, all the way down his throat to what she can just glimpse of his chest between the vee of his shirt. His curls are in complete disarray. And worst of all that vexing mouth of his is now red and shiny from what she blushes to realize is her. Jane aches at the sight.

“I wanted to see you,” she confesses.

Guildford’s face lights up at her words, apparently having thought she meant to reject him once more. With a sharp burst of fondness that surprises her, Jane reaches out to take his face in her hands, running her fingers along his relieved smile. He presses into her fingers, turning his face to kiss at the center of her palms. With one of her hands she reaches up to press back damp curls from his forehead, soothing along it. With the other she glides it back to tangle in his soft curls as she had been so desperate to just moments ago, unconsciously drawing him toward her.

His pleased expression curls into a grin. “If anyone walks in now they might get an eyeful.”

And she can see exactly what he means. Her skirts are bunched around her thighs - which are now covered in lines of pink and faint bruises - her stockings barely holding on. But in between them is Guildford, flushed even pinker and on his knees before her. She should be embarrassed but all she feels in this moment is powerful.

“All they’ll see is you serving your Queen,” she retorts, and doesn’t miss Guildford’s shudder at her words.

Her hands slide deeper into his curls to grip at the locks, delighting at the sight of her husband’s eyes nearly rolling back, his lips parting at the slight tug. An even stronger pull has him moaning, but still grinning up at her. Jane laughs. Neither one of them has ever been good at giving in.

Still, he goes willingly as she guides him back to where she’s aching. It takes them a moment to rearrange her gown so that it’s out of the way but then he’s pressing back in, tongue picking up just where it left off. 

Where it left off was driving her slowly insane, the delicious in and out of his clever tongue. Still keeping a firm grip on his curls, she guides him back up to her clit when it has started to feel neglected, and he’s quick to wrap his lips around it, swirling his tongue around her. His eyes flick up to meet hers and she gasps at the intensity of his gaze.

His tongue moves down to dip into her again, and at the slight tease of it she tightens her grip to press him deeper. Guildford groans, eyes briefly slipping closed at the sensation and she can feel the sound vibrate through her. Jane suddenly wants more.

With one hand she keeps hold of him, pressing him into her, while the other shifts to run through his wild curls, occasionally scratching at his scalp with blunted nails. Each motion draws out a new little noise from her husband and she feels them all reverberating shiveringly through her cunt. His tongue is practically fucking her now, and she can feel her hips trying to match his rhythm.

Jane tries to stop herself, but Guildford’s hands run soothingly along her outer thighs, petting at her hips and encouraging them to rock back, riding against the thrust of his tongue. Like this, his lips and nose occasionally bump against her clit, but it’s not quite enough.

“I need…” she starts, not sure exactly what she intends to say.

Thankfully Guildford seems to guess at it, the way she’s tilting her hips against him. His right hand abandons her hip to wrap around her thigh and slip between them. Like this he’s able to press his palm against her belly, thumb slipping down to slickly circle her clit in time with the motion of his tongue, leaving her trembling above him. In Guildford’s dark eyes she can read how much he wants this too, how lost he is in her pleasure, in his adoration of her.

Her hands can’t stop running over any part of him she can touch - his hair, his shoulders, his jaw - and he hums his pleasure at each touch deep within her. The sensation is almost too much as her hips buck helplessly against him, legs shaky with effort. She can feel her inner walls clenching with each plunge of his tongue inside her, her whole body thrumming with need. 

“Guildford, ” she breathes out.

She can feel what must be her own name moaned into her as Guildford clutches roughly at her hip, pressing her into his fingers and mouth as he drags her screaming over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure flows through her as the muscles of her core tense and release with the continued onslaught of his tongue, the ceaseless press of his thumb against her clit. When it finally gets to be too much, he eases her down from it, gentling his tongue and fingers until she only feels soft little kittenish licks and the shuddery tremors that follow. 

Eventually, she draws him back from him, huffing out a giggle as he wipes his face on the edge of her gown. Guildford raises himself up on unsteady legs to press his lips to hers, mouth still slick with her release. Her body gives one last little tremble at the taste of herself on his tongue. She never wants to stop kissing him, but eventually they have to break apart for air. 

“Thorough enough for you, Your Majesty?” Guildford asks rather breathlessly, reaching up to straighten her crown where it’s tipped forward.

“Full marks for pronunciation,” she laughs.

He winks back at her.

“You can correct my Latin anytime.”

[adropofhumanity]

"No ceasefire no vote". That's the message the people of Hackney sent to their elected officials at a rally demanding divestment from the pension fund pot that has been directly tied to Israeli settlements that exist in breach of international law.

As Sunak has declared a general election for 4 July 2024, even as Palestinians in Gaza face genocide and a daily onslaught of violence people have a choice, about making it expensive for politicians to treat human life as expendable.

Two candidates we know of standing against injustice and intransigence in the face of inhuman oppression, are @leannemohamad running against Labour MP Wes Streeting in Ilford North, and @andrewfeinstein who is running against Labour MP Keir Starmer who has publicly expressed support for the Israeli government to commit Crimes Against Humanity.

The choice is yours

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

21st November- Fr. Martin's Reflections/Homilies on Today's Mass Readings for:

Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time (Luke 19:41-44): ‘He shed tears over it’.

And For

The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Matthew 12:46-50).

Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Luke 19:41-44 Jesus sheds tears over the coming fate of Jerusalem.

As Jesus drew near Jerusalem and came in sight of the city he shed tears over it and said, ‘If you in your turn had only understood on this day the message of peace! But, alas, it is hidden from your eyes! Yes, a time is coming when your enemies will raise fortifications all round you, when they will encircle you and hem you in on every side; they will dash you and the children inside your walls to the ground; they will leave not one stone standing on another within you – and all because you did not recognise your opportunity when God offered it!’

Gospel (USA) Luke 19:41-44 If you only knew what makes for peace.

As Jesus drew near Jerusalem, he saw the city and wept over it, saying, “If this day you only knew what makes for peace– but now it is hidden from your eyes. For the days are coming upon you when your enemies will raise a palisade against you; they will encircle you and hem you in on all sides. They will smash you to the ground and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another within you because you did not recognize the time of your visitation.”

Reflections (8)

(i) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

It has been said that to love someone is to have one’s heart broken. When someone we love suffers or dies, our heart breaks, and we give expression to our breaking heart in tears. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem. His tears were tears of love. He loved the people of this city; he wanted what was best for them, as love always wants what is best for the beloved. He wanted them to know the peace which his message could bring them. However, he foresaw that the rejection of his message, of himself, by the leaders of the people would bring suffering and death down upon the whole city. Their leaders failed to see that God was visiting them and speaking to them in and through Jesus, God’s beloved Son. They failed to recognize their opportunity when God offered it, in the words of the gospel reading. The Lord continues to weep today when those whom he loves fail to take the path to peace and happiness that he calls them and prompts them to take. He lived, died and rose from the dead out of love for all men and women, so that they would follow in his way, live by his truth and so find peace, that fullness of life which he so desperately desires for all. The gospel reading suggests that the Lord is often powerless before our refusal to accept his love and allow our lives to be shaped by his love. All he can do is weep. Whenever we find ourselves weeping over situations where violence and suffering prevail, because of people’s refusal to live by the gospel message, it is the Lord who is weeping through us. However, the Lord rejoices over us, declares us blessed, whenever we allow him to work through us to bring the light of his love into the darkness of our world, whenever we create a space, by what we say and do, for the Lord’s fuller coming into our world.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

Luke presents Jesus in a very emotional state in today’s gospel reading, weeping because the city of Jerusalem did not receive him, and did not recognize that in Jesus God was visiting them. The city will now have to live with the consequences of rejecting Jesus. The tears of Jesus are the tears of a love that has been rejected. Jesus came to reveal and make present God’s hospitable love for all, but many rejected God’s messenger of good news. There is a sense in which Jesus, and God who sent him, was helpless before such rejection. All Jesus can do is weep at human intransigence. Jesus cannot force himself on people; when rejected, he can only move on. He has come to seek and to save the lost, but the lost, and that includes us all, have to be open and responsive to his searching love. He walks with us and wants to enter into communion with us, but, every so often, he needs us to say to him, in the words of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over’.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

Luke tends to play down the emotions of Jesus in his gospel. Yet, in this morning’s gospel he portrays Jesus weeping over the city of Jerusalem. He weeps because he knows that the city, at least those who rule there, will not recognize him as the visitor from God who brings God’s peace. Jesus will be put to death in the city as God’s rejected prophet, God’s rejected Son. Jesus is helpless before this ill-fated decision that the city will make. All he can do is weep. Earlier in Luke’s gospel Jesus had said of Jerusalem that he had desired to gather her children as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but they were not willing. There is a sense in which the Lord remains helpless before human unwillingness to respond to his longing for us. There is only so much he can do to enter into a loving relationship with us; at some point he will need our willingness, our openness. He needs our free response. Yet, the good news of the gospels is that he remains faithful to us; he waits patiently for our response. Even if it comes at the eleventh hour, he welcomes it. His tears do not make him bitter or close his heart to us; his tears are always tears of love, a faithful love that endures in the face of human resistance.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

The tears that we shed often speak volumes about the feelings that we have for someone. In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus is described as weeping over the city of Jerusalem. Jesus had a deep love for this city and its people. Earlier in Luke’s gospel he had said that he had wanted to gather its inhabitants to himself as a hen gathers her chicks under her wing. Yet, Jesus must have foreseen that the leaders within the city, the members of the Sanhedrin, would reject him. In fact they would go on to choose a rebel against Rome in his place, Barabbas. It was the choice for rebellion against Rome that would result in the destruction of the city about which Jesus weeps in the gospel reading. Jesus was powerless before the choice that the people of Jerusalem made, or its leaders made on their behalf. Our choices always have consequences for good or ill. The Lord wants us to choose what he would choose, to make our choices in accordance with his will for our lives. He weeps when we fail to do so. The gospel reading suggests that the Lord cannot force himself upon us. He seeks us out but we have to allow ourselves to be found. He offers us a way and provides the means for us to take that way but we have to be willing to take it. Yet, the gospels suggest that the Lord will not give us on us easily. His tears do not make him bitter or close his heart to us; his tears are always tears of love, a faithful love that endures in the face of human resistance.

And/Or

(v) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

At the beginning of his ministry, Jesus announced that God was powerfully reigning in and through his ministry, ‘the kingdom of God is at hand’. God’s life-giving power was at work through Jesus for the healing of the sick, for the forgiving of sinners, for the inclusion of the excluded and for the accepting of the rejected. Yet, today’s gospel reading reminds us that there were limits to this power of God working through Jesus. Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem because its people, especially its leaders, did not recognize the opportunity God was offering everyone in and through his ministry. For all his power, Jesus was powerless before their refusal to recognize that his coming was a visit from God. The power of Jesus was the power of love, the power of a divine love which is stronger than sin and death. All love, even divine love, must be freely received because it is in the nature of love to be a free gift. The tears of Jesus speak volumes about the capacity of human freedom to reject the gift of God’s unconditional love offered to us through his Son. The Lord’s tears could be shed for any of us because we can all fail to recognize the opportunity when God offers us. Yet, the good news, the gospel, is that our failure need never have the last word because God’s love revealed in Jesus is stronger than our failure and it endures in the face of it.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

One of the most distressing experiences in life is to be rejected by someone we love and care about. This is the kind of sadness that engulfs Jesus at the beginning of today’s gospel reading as he sheds tears over the city of Jerusalem. This city and its people always had a special place in God’s purpose. According to the Jewish Scriptures, it was the place where God had chosen to dwell. Jesus knew that the message of God’s kingdom, God’s reign of love, that he had preached throughout Galilee also had to be preached in Jerusalem, the city that was closest to God’s heart and, therefore, to Jesus’ heart. Yet, unlike Galilee, where Jesus’ message and ministry were often well received, Jerusalem proved to be impervious to his message. It would live up to its darker reputation as a city that kills God’s prophets. The powerful people of the city were soon to reject Jesus in the most violent way. God was visiting the city in love through Jesus and this love was rejected. An opportunity for the city to experience the peace that comes from receiving God’s loving visit was lost, and the gospel reading suggests that this broke Jesus’ heart. Jesus is helpless before people’s refusal to receive his love, God’s love. Jesus’ desire to be in a loving relationship with us is never in doubt, but his desire needs to find an echo in our hearts if it is to come to pass. He respects our freedom to reject his love and the peace it brings, but it continues to break his heart. Yet, he does not give up on us, just as he did not give up on Jerusalem. As risen Lord, the first place he instructed his followers to preach the gospel in was the city of Jerusalem, ‘beginning in Jerusalem’. The Lord continues to wait for our response. Indeed, he works for our response by sending the Holy Spirit in our lives to prompt us and move us.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

We have all shed tears at some time. Very often, we weep over those we love. We weep at the sickness and death of our loved ones. When we give our heart to someone in love, we know our heart will inevitably break. We accept the suffering that loving someone brings. The alternative is not to love anyone, which is the poorest form of life. Jesus was God’s love in human form. His love for others had a unique quality and the suffering which his love brought him also had a unique quality. Because he loved more than any human being could, he suffered more than any human being could, and that suffering often led him to weep bitter tears. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem. Jesus had earlier said that he had wanted to gather the people of Jerusalem to himself, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but they refused his loving outreach to them. The rejection of his loving visitation to them brought him great suffering, which led to his weeping bitter tears over the city. ‘If you had only understood on this day the message of peace’. Their rejection of Jesus’ love would have tragic consequences for the city. Jesus was often powerless before human rejection of his love. We may love others but we cannot force their love for us; we are powerless before the mystery of their freedom to accept or reject our love. The Lord’s love for us is not in doubt. What is in doubt is our willingness to receive his love and to respond to it. One of the most important questions Jesus asks in all four gospels is his question to Peter in John’s gospel, ‘Do you love me?’ It is a question addressed to each one of us personally. We are all invited to make our own Peter’s response to Jesus’ question on that occasion, ‘Lord, you know everything, you know that I love you’.

And/Or

(viii) Thursday, Thirty Third Week in Ordinary Time

There are two places in the four gospels where Jesus is portrayed as weeping, at the tomb of his friend Lazarus in the gospel of John and just before the enters the city of Jerusalem for the last time in the gospel of Luke, which is today’s gospel reading. His tears at the tomb of Lazarus express his sorrow at the death of a beloved friend and the devastating impact of Lazarus’ death on his sisters, Martha and Mary, who were also friends of Jesus. The tears of Jesus in today’s gospel reading express his sadness over the failure of a city to welcome him as the bringer of God’s peace. Both set of tears spring from love. We weep over those we love and care about. Jesus had a deep love for the city of Jerusalem and its inhabitants. Earlier in Luke’s gospel he had exclaimed, ‘How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!’ It is a very maternal, motherly, image that Jesus uses of himself. The tears of Jesus in today’s gospel reading are like the tears of a mother who has been rejected by her children. Jesus’ statement, ‘you were not willing’, reminds us that the Lord’s tremendous love for us needs some response from us. At some level, our will needs to be brought into line with his will, our desire needs to correspond in some way to his desire for us. The good news is that, even the smallest of openings, faith the size of a mustard seed, as Jesus once said, is all he needs for his loving purpose for our lives to come to pass.

------------------------------------------

Feast of The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Gospel (Except USA) Matthew 12:46-50 My mother and my brothers are anyone who does the will of my Father in heaven.

Jesus was speaking to the crowds when his mother and his brothers appeared; they were standing outside and were anxious to have a word with him. But to the man who told him this Jesus replied, ‘Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?’ And stretching out his hand towards his disciples he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers. Anyone who does the will of my Father in heaven, he is my brother and sister and mother.’

Gospel (USA) Matthew 12:46-50 Stretching out his hands toward his disciples, he said, Here are my mother and my brothers.

While Jesus was speaking to the crowds, his mother and his brothers appeared outside, wishing to speak with him. Someone told him, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside, asking to speak with you.” But he said in reply to the one who told him, “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?” And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Today’s feast commemorates the presentation of the child Mary in the Temple of Jerusalem by her parents. We seldom think of Mary as a child. All the images of Mary we are familiar with are either of Mary as an adult or of Mary in heavenly glory. Yet, when we are first introduced to Mary in the gospels at the moment of her annunciation, we should probably think of her as a very young woman, no more than a teenager. She must have grown up as a child in a very faith-filled home. Otherwise she would not have emerged as a woman of such strong and generous faith at the time of the annunciation. Today’s feast celebrates the fact that as a very young child Mary’s parents presented her to the Lord in the Temple, gave her over to the Lord’s purpose for her life. It was as if her parents were saying, ‘Lord here is our child. We know that she belongs to you more than she belongs to us’. Mary’s parents were recognizing that her relationship with the Lord was even more significant that her relationship with them. Today’s feast reminds us that the most important relationship in our lives is our relationship with the Lord. Every day we try to present ourselves to the Lord, offering ourselves to him. Every day we pray that God’s purpose for our lives would come to pass and that God’s will would be done in our lives. In the gospel reading Jesus declares that those who do the will of his Father, in whose lives God’s will is done, are his brothers and sisters and mother. It was above all Mary who did the will of Jesus’ heavenly Father. In the prayer that Jesus gave us to pray, the Lord’s Prayer, we pray, ‘Father in heaven, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven’. Heaven is that state where God’s kingdom has fully come, where God’s will is fully done. To the extent that we do the will of our heavenly Father here and now, something of heaven comes to earth. When we allow God’s purpose for our lives to shape us, as Mary did, then we create an opening for God’s kingdom to come among us.

And/Or

(ii) Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

The feast of Mary’s presentation in the temple in Jerusalem as a child celebrates an important truth about Mary: From the beginning of her life, she was dedicated to God, given over to God’s purposes. Because of her dedication to God from an early age, she was called by God to become a greater temple than the magnificent temple in Jerusalem. If the temple in Jerusalem was the house of God, the place where God was believed to be present in a special way, Mary became the house of the Lord in an even greater way, because she carried the Lord in her womb until she give birth to him. God came to dwell in her, through Jesus, because she was open to God’s presence from the earliest years of her life. She is the prime example of the group that Jesus refers to in this morning’s gospel reading as those ‘who do the will of my Father in heaven’. Today’s feast celebrates the fact that from her childhood Mary did the will of God, and was therefore ready to become the temple of God’s Son at the time of God’s choosing. We too are called to do the will of the Father in heaven so that we too can become temples of the Lord, people who carry the Lord’s presence to others, as Mary did. Writing to the church in Corinth, Paul says, ‘Do you not know that you are God’s temple?’ We ask Mary to pray for us now so that we may always do the will of the Father and so become temples of God as she was.

And/Or

(iii) Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Mary’s presentation was celebrated in Jerusalem in the sixth century. A church was built there in honour of this mystery. The Eastern Church was more interested in the feast, but it does appear in the West in the 11th century, and in the 16th century it became a feast of the universal Church. The feast stresses an important truth about Mary: From the beginning of her life, she was dedicated to God. She herself became a greater temple than any temple made by hands. God came to dwell in her in a marvellous manner and sanctified her in advance for her unique role in God's saving work. God came to dwell in her, through Jesus, because she was open to God’s presence from the earliest years of her life. She is the prime example of the group that Jesus refers to in this morning’s gospel reading, those ‘who do the will of my Father in heaven’. Today’s feast celebrates the fact that from her childhood Mary did the will of God, and was therefore ready to become the temple of God’s Son at the time of God’s choosing. We too are called to do the will of the Father in heaven and, thereby, to become temples of God, people who carry God’s presence to others. We ask Mary to pray for us now so that we may always be faithful to that calling. 

And/Or

(iv) Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Today we commemorate the presentation of the child Mary in the temple at Jerusalem. This feast celebrates the consecration of Mary’s life to the Lord. From the beginning of her life, she was dedicated to God by her parents, given over to God’s purposes for her life. According to the gospels of Matthew and Luke, in her teenage years, Mary was called by God to become a greater temple than the magnificent temple in Jerusalem in which she was presented as a child. The temple in Jerusalem was the house of God, the place where God was believed to be present in a special way. God wanted Mary to become the house of the Lord in an even greater way, because she was to carry the Lord in her womb, until she gave birth to him. God came to dwell in her, through Jesus, God’s Son. Because she was open to God’s presence from the earliest years of her life, she said ‘yes’ to this wonderful calling. She gave herself over to God’s will for her life. She is the prime example of the group that Jesus refers to in this morning’s gospel reading as those ‘who do the will of my Father in heaven’. Today’s feast celebrates the fact that from her childhood Mary had always done the will of God, and was therefore ready to become the temple of God’s Son at the time of God’s choosing. In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus declares that this true family are those who do the will of his Father in heaven. We look to Mary to show us what it means to say ‘yes’ to God’s call in our lives. Insofar as we can enter into Mary’s ‘yes’, we too will become temples of the Lord, like her. The Lord will be formed in us and we will offer him to the world by our lives, as she did.

(v) Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

When we hear the word ‘presentation’ in a religious context, we tend to think of the presentation of Jesus in the Temple of Jerusalem, the fourth joyful mystery of the Rosary. The church celebrates the feast of the presentation of Jesus on the 2nd of February. The church also celebrates the memorial of the presentation of Mary, on this day, 21st November. This memorial has been kept in the church since at least the eight century. It commemorates the consecration of Mary’s life to God. In the first reading today, God calls on the city of Jerusalem, the daughter of Zion, to sing and rejoice because he is coming to dwell in the midst of them. These are words that could easily be addressed to Mary. She too can sing and rejoice because the Lord came to dwell in the midst of her, in her womb. Indeed, according to Luke’s gospel, she did sing and rejoice in response to this good news, in her prayer that has come to be known as the Magnificat. We too can sing and rejoice that the Lord has come to dwell within Mary, because through the Lord’s dwelling within her, he has come to dwell in the midst of us all. It is through Mary that God became Emmanuel, God with us. The Lord was able to dwell within Mary because, in the words of the gospel reading, she was someone who did the will of God the Father in heaven. She was completely given over to doing God’s will, to allowing God to do his will in and through her. This is the aspect of Mary’s life we are celebrating today, her giving over of herself to God and to God’s purposes. Through Mary, God has come to dwell among us in the person of Jesus, now risen Lord. Mary shows us how to respond to that wonderful initiative of God towards us. Like her, we are to give ourselves over to doing God our Father’s will, as that will has been revealed to us by Jesus.

And/Or

(vi) Feast of The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

There is no scene in the gospels corresponding to today’s memorial. Yet, there is a presumption that Mary’s parents would have presented her to the Lord in the Temple of Jerusalem when she was a child. Christian tradition has understood that Mary’s presentation to the Lord by her parents symbolized the consecration of her life to the Lord. As her parents presented her to the Lord, Mary as an adult presented herself to the Lord, made herself available for God’s purpose, as expressed in her response to the angel Gabriel, ‘Let what you have said be done to me’. In a similar way, our parents presented us to the Lord on the day of our baptism. As we grow towards adulthood, we then confirm for ourselves what happened for us on the day of our baptism. Our confirmation is our personal confirming of our baptism, which we try to live out every day. Mary’s giving of herself over to God’s purpose for her life did not always come easy to her, because God’s ways are not our ways. In today’s gospel she and other members of her family approached where Jesus was teaching and stood outside anxious to have a word with him. However, rather than just going out to his mother, Jesus sent back word to her that he now had a new family. His disciples, those who did the will of God as Jesus revealed it, were now his brother and sister and mother. Mary had to learn to let go of her son to God’s purpose for his life. When we enter into a personal relationship with God, it is always God who does the leading and we who try to follow. God’s purposes are always greater and more mysterious than ours, and so there is always a letting go to God on our part. That doesn’t come easy to us, no more than it came easy to Mary, but if we allow God to have God’s way in our life, we can be assured that it will be the way of life for us and for all we influence.

And/Or

(vii) Feast of The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

This feast originated in the Eastern Church. It commemorates the presentation of Mary to God by her parents in the Temple of Jerusalem, when she was a child. It reflects the church’s understanding of Mary’s subsequent grace-filled life as wholly given over to God’s purpose. Today’s gospel reading suggests that there were times when she struggled to understand God’s purpose for her life, especially in relation to her son Jesus. She sets out from Nazareth with other members of Jesus’ family to Capernaum where Jesus was ministering. Perhaps, they wanted him to come home and rest. However, Mary subsequently discovered that this was not God’s purpose for Jesus or for her. Jesus sent word out to Mary and his relatives that they no longer had any claim on him because he was starting a new family of his disciples and from now on they would be his mother and brothers and sisters. There was much here for Mary to ponder. What she wanted for Jesus as a mother was not necessarily what God wanted for him as his heavenly Father. In that sense, Mary’s experience can be very close to our own. Like her, we may want to give ourselves over to God’s purpose, we may want to do God’s will, but, like her, we can struggle to discern what God’s purpose for our lives really is. We sometimes have to come to the painful recognition that what we want for ourselves and for others isn’t always what God wants. We can’t allow ourselves to become too sure of God’s desire for our lives or the lives of others. Like Mary, we have to keep ourselves open to where the Lord is leading us. Like her, we need to keep prayerfully pondering on our life experience, trusting in the Lord’s promise that those who seek will find.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? by u/Von_und_zu_

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? Witty prose from Jan. Ruddy of face, snowy of hair and thick of calf, the elder Spencers entered the cathedral like a shire farmer and his clan visiting a county fair to give the sugar beets a good old squeeze. \**And do you know what? I'm so very glad they were there for him. It's too sad to think of Harry flying over here, fretfully offsetting his carbon footprint, clutching his little box of medals, thrumming his fingers on his temples, his anxiety levels rising as the dog-bowl threat and the road less travelled rise up to meet him yet again. \**The Spencers don't have to forgive the Sussexes or accommodate their peeved intransigence or just seethe and suck it up. For Prince Harry has no beef with his Uncle Charles, nor has he ever hoisted his sauceboat of hot sulk to pour the usual grievance gravy over lovely Aunt Jane.He hasn't accused either of them, or anyone in their immediate family, of being racists, bullies, sneaks, liars and downright stinking rotters. He hasn't trashed them or betrayed them in books, podcasts or on television interviews watched by millions around the world. He hasn't caused reputational damage to their family, like he has elsewhere, ahem.He even thanked Earl Spencer and Lady Jane in the acknowledgments section of his autobiography, Spare — an honour accorded to absolutely no one in his inner blood circle.So their support was nice, and so was the small, cheering crowd of blimps who turned up for him, too. Not everyone hates Prince Harry for smearing his family — and by extension the entire country — as a racist backwater full of repressive thickos unable to see the bigger picture or wake up and smell the roses, like him and his sainted wife.Speaking of which, such a shame that the Duchess of Sussex was not at Harry's side this week, patting him like a puppy as per, holding his hand, sharing in the dim glow of this rare show of public popularity.Certainly, it is not like Meghan to miss a full on, super-swank opportunity like this; she's usually all over Invictus ceremonies like a regimental mascot on parade. It brings out her inner drum majorette, it gives her a sham regal sheen — so why the unexplained absence?Spencers or no Spencers, the Duchess hasn't got a proper excuse for avoiding the UK this week and the truth is that she doesn't even need one any more. The cavalry has been and gone, the dust has settled and we all know where we stand.Next stop, Nigeria. And I simply cannot wait for that.https://ift.tt/n6WN8AD post link: https://ift.tt/PbJBNfV author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: May 10, 2024 at 04:38AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[honeydukesheroine]

Go With Grace 🌧️

For @corneliaavenue-ao3 and @severalsunlitdaylights!

Folklore: my tears ricochet

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace, Because when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

Deathly Hallows angst with a sunny Half Blood Prince ending:

She knew he’d waited there for her, a safe enough distance away that he wouldn’t be discovered.  Ginny marched past him, each footfall an act of violence, heading straight into the dark chasm of Hogwarts’ halls. Warmth from the sinking sun had long since been extinguished, it deserting her too.  “You’ve got to stop challenging them like that,” Neville said for the fiftieth time. The ache lingered longer each time, bone deep, like being outside in a freezing rain. He thought she was being intransigent. Difficult for no reason. Reckless.  “And what? Roll over like a Plimpy and take it?” She tried to outpace him, but he caught up with her easily. “There’s a time and place, Ginny,” he said, sounding weary, yet desperate. “And getting tortured for mocking Alecto’s grammatical errors is not one of them.” “She wrote ‘Muggles cause displeases incurable by magic,’ Neville, disPLEASES… it was what she wrote just as much as the meaning behind it.”  “Still.” They’d reached the Fat Lady’s corridor. She stopped and faced him to say quietly, “It’s what he would do. It’s what he did. Against Umbridge.” “That was different.” “How?” She demanded in a whisper. For she was tired too. Tired of being contested. Of compromising under their fool’s tyranny.  It was after curfew. If they were caught in the halls, the Carrows would gladly inflict another punishment, yet Neville’s sympathetic expression hit just as hard. — Ginny threw her bag on the grass, and collapsed to the ground beside it. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hexed her, she’s just going to go squealing to McGonagall.”  “Bright side, if you get detention, maybe you can do it with me,” Harry said, casting an Imperturbable Charm around their cluster of trees before spreading out beside her.  “I doubt Snape will leave us alone that long.”  Harry laughed. He tilted his head back, looking flushed, and loosened his tie. Even after these last few weeks, his smiles lingered longer than before, like his face was building muscle memory.  She crawled over her bag and laid on her side too, facing him.  As with many other “firsts” in their relationship, she studied him - his eyes, his hands, his lips - for reassurance. And her first retaliatory hex seemed as important a milestone as any. He pushed her hair back, fingers combing through, until he was cradling her head in his hand.  And for the first time since lunch, she kissed him. Hooking her heel behind his knee, she pressed closer to him, basking in the comfort of him pressing back. “You’re tough…” he said against her lips a few minutes later, still smiling. “And brave… I like that about you.”

Usually she didn’t put much stock in words, but these ones she would hold close.

[minervas-hand]

Ineffable May Day 6: Apology

Day 6 for @blairamok's Ineffable May 2024

AO3 link here

[S2 Ep.1. Aziraphale sits in the bookshop after their fight over Gabriel.]

Aziraphale made himself tea in the vain hope it would calm him. 

Usually the first sip would wash down the worst of any anxiousness, give him clarity to tackle whatever the problem might be. Even intransigent customers. But it did very little against the sinking pit inside, like a black hole had suddenly manifested inside his corporation.

He left. He left. 

He left me here, alone. 

The bookshop's walls seemed to tighten ever so slightly around him, beams and columns emitting comfort. He assayed the thinnest watery smile, which quickly collapsed under its own weight. Millennia of practice, pasting on a bright countenance for any situation no matter the reality. But right now, he was powerless to do any more than stare.

He shuffled out to the desk, to sort random paperwork through his fingers. Normal. That's the ticket. Everything will be back to normal, if one behaves normally.

The black hole continued, unabated. The daylight waned, slowly. 

At twilight he felt the whisper of demonic energy passing the bookshop's boundaries before he heard the door. His eyes shot to the demon striding in.

The spike of joy battled the black hole, but its gravity kept him in his chair, and he made himself look busy over the desk. He could feel the consternation in Crowley's gaze but he refused to look.

A harrumph, and then the bell dinged. "I'm baaack." 

He looked over as coolly as he could manage, then his eyes turned back firmly on the paper in his hand. "Yes-s. I can see that." Kept looking at his papers like they were very important. 

Heard the groan. "You want a big, 'I think I said the wrong thing' sort of an apology, or can we take that as said."

Over their years, how many things, too many things, taken as said. But he had said. I'm asking you to help me.

The now-retreating black hole left a shadow, an echo. You left me, you left me alone. 

He kept his gaze on his work. "Quite like the apology, actually."

A pause. "You were right." Pulled out of him with a long breath. 

Now Aziraphale turned, but couldn't quite banish the shadow. "Not good enough. I want a proper apology."

Crowley shot back - "No."

He wasn't letting this go. "With the little dance." 

"I don't do the dance."

He let the anger flare to the surface, felt his lip curl. "I did the 'I was wrong dance' in 1650, 1793, 1941-" His hand flicked out the enumeration. 

"- Fine!" 

Still glowering, he stood. Adjusted his waistcoat. Folded his hands together. Tilted his head, expectant.

Crowley glared his reluctance. Then his sinuous shape went twirling round his long legs. 

"You were right, you were right. I was wrong, you were right." He popped the 't' at the end and glared, teeth bared. Balanced for a moment in a long, low curtsy, arms held out in captivating grace.

Aziraphale stamped down the savage singing in his blood. Millennia of practice, in not letting his expression show exactly how much joy this beloved demon brought. Or, other feelings. It was as much their game as their prison. 

Crowley straightened up and asked "Okay?" Sardonic lilt trying to hide everything else. Not quite succeeding. 

Are we okay?

The shadow was muted to a whisper, dying. "Very nice." 

I forgive you. 

[chaosandcrimson]

no way is that CLAIRE WAVERLEY.. they're a 37-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being PETTY & EMBITTERED but there are some people who have seen them being EXPRESSIVE & DETERMINED. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of a life-long love of the performing arts, an ingrained resentment of entitlement, and the clacking sound of an old-school typewriter, but that could just be because they’re considered the SELF-MADE WOMAN around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

I move through the world with the heartbroken My longings stay unspoken And I may never open up the way I did for you And all of those best laid plans You said I needed a brave man Then proceeded to play him until I believed it too

OVERVIEW

Name: Claire Abigail Waverley

Nickname(s): N/A

DOB: November 5, 2087

Age: 37

FC: Holliday Grainger

Height: 5'1"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Theatre Producer / Playwright

Relationship Status: Single (Closed)

[+] expressive, determined, realistic [–] petty, embittered, intransigent

BIOGRAPHY

Claire is originally from the United Kingdom. She was born into a working-class family in a village near Manchester, and for the first 18 years of her life, going into the city was pretty much as far from her country hamlet as she got.

She was bright, studious, and disciplined, and her diligence was rewarded when she received an academic scholarship to study at Oxford University—making her the first person in her family to attend any form of higher education.

Once there, she struggled to be accepted by her wealthier peers due to her obvious working-class background. She didn't dress like them, she didn't speak like them, and because her scholarship only covered tuition and housing, she had to work a part-time job at a pub to make ends meet. She quickly developed an intense distaste for entitlement and a pretty sizeable chip on her shoulder.

She did manage to make a handful of good friends there—primarily by getting involved in the local theatre scene. She briefly dipped her toes into acting, but eventually found that she much preferred to work behind the scenes. It was during her time at Oxford that she wrote and produced her first play.

After graduating with a joint honours in History and English Literature, she moved to London with a couple of friends from university who were all looking to start careers in the West End. Claire started working as a production assistant, adding a handful of successful musical theatre productions to her resume in the almost five years that she lived there, while still pursuing writing on the side.

She made the move from London to New York when she was offered a job with a producer who was based there. She was still new to the city when she met Zeke Marrow and ended up falling head over heels for Broadway's golden boy. She had no idea what he saw in her, nor did she understand how she even caught his eye in the first place, but somehow they ended up together.

For the next few years, she experienced what it was like to be in a relationship with someone significantly more famous and successful than she was. Zeke was loving and supportive, and their relationship worked really well out of the public eye, but even if she tried to ignore it, it started getting to her that she was always seen and mentioned in relation to him and not for her own merits.

It took her a while to realise that she had subconsciously started neglecting her own aspirations in favour of supporting him, and it took her even longer to work up the courage to voice her dissatisfaction with that; but once she did, Zeke was nothing but encouraging of her focusing on her own career and goals.

As her star rose, the imbalance in their relationship slowly started shifting in her favour. Her name was being attached to bigger projects, people in the industry were talking about her without mentioning who she was dating, and when the musical that she had written with a friend in London was bound for Broadway after a successful West End run, she was faced with a dilemma.

She had a boyfriend who was a talented singer and actor, but after spending years being referred to as "Zeke Marrow's girlfriend" by everyone, there was a part of her that was afraid of how it would look if she put him in her show. And perhaps there was also a part of her that was a little petty when she eventually told him that she had no intention of involving him in the production.

After that, things between them got increasingly tense and they started arguing a lot more often. It didn't help that when she did cast the male lead, the actor in question started spending a lot of time with Claire, fuelling rumours that they were having an affair. The worst part? There were a significant amount of people who wanted it to be true because they thought that they were cute together.

It was not long after Zeke got into an actual physical altercation with the man that he suddenly broke things off with her and left the city—leaving Claire completely stunned and heartbroken without any real explanation.

It has now been a few months, and after wrapping up work on the production in New York, Claire has finally made her way to DFW in order to track his ass down and demand answers. She feels a little bit like a crazy person following her ex to his hometown to win him back, but... Love makes people a little crazy.

MISC

She still has her Mancunian English accent.

[mariacallous]

I'm going to preface the text of this article by saying that while I understand where the experts are coming from and what they're saying, DOGE and Musk and the Republicans were never, ever going to do that because they don't want to make Washington and the government work better. They fundamentally want to destroy the machinery and structure of state to operate and rule unopposed and unfettered. They were never going to genuinely shake up the bureaucracy and systems for the better.

And now this is where we're at.

When news first broke about Elon Musk’s tech takeover of the United States government, a number of people who had spent years trying to transform federal IT practices were surprisingly hopeful. Maybe, they dreamed, Elon Musk and his team at the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) would provide a long-needed jolt to an intransigent and antediluvian bureaucracy.

“It’s beyond debate that a more aggressive approach was necessary if we were ever going to make any progress in our lifetimes,” says Mikey Dickerson, who was the founding administrator of the United States Digital Service, which has now been refashioned into Musk’s US DOGE Service. (He left in 2017, before Trump was inaugurated the first time.) Dickerson says the executive order that Trump issued on day one of his second term, which established DOGE as a temporary organization within the government, was actually something he would have liked to see in Obama’s founding charter for the agency. He particularly liked the paragraph that forced agencies to give USDS teams access to systems and records. “That wouldn’t have been a magic bullet, but it would have created a strong presumption that they needed to cooperate,” he says. “We didn't really have that, so it was pretty much optional whether anybody wanted to work with us.”

Some of the outgoing leaders of the government tech team, who were both proud of their accomplishments and frustrated by their inability to truly transform the opaque mess of federal IT, shared similar hopes. Outgoing USDS director Mina Hsiang called DOGE’s power “a tremendous opportunity.” Former federal chief information officer Clare Martorana expressed excitement that the order would force agencies to share budget data with DOGE, seeing it as an opportunity to pull back the shroud and finally figure out where these agencies hide waste. This information could inform wise decisions on what needs cutting, with the North Star being value to the American people. “I’m trying very hard to be optimistic about it,” she told me.

Before the inauguration, Jennifer Pahlka, former deputy chief technology officer under Obama and one of the USDS founders, wrote an essay called “Bringing Elon to a Knife Fight,” which summed up the feeling: “A lot of the government tech community … don’t see DOGE as their savior, but they are feeling vindicated after years of shouting into the void.”

If any of those former officials really believed that Musk was going to run with the opportunity to constructively reform the government, those fantasies have now been shattered. Musk and DOGE brought in a team of young techies and experienced executives who could have seized the moment to focus on making government work better. But to date they have used their access and power to indiscriminately drain the federal workforce and defund programs for ideological reasons, seemingly without giving even casual thought to the consequences. Yes, Musk professes to be a champion of the people against the bureaucratic state: “If the bureaucracy is in charge, then what meaning does democracy actually have?” he asked during a bizarre Oval Office appearance this week while Trump looked on and Musk’s 4-year-old son X fidgeted. But the actions actually taken by DOGE don’t sync with this sentiment, especially when the moves seem to contravene measures passed by Congress and signed into law. That’s not terribly democratic. “I think government is a good thing, and it needed massive transformation, far more quickly than anyone in political leadership had any appetite for,” Pahlka tells me. “Since we didn't do it, this seems to be what we're getting.”

Ann Lewis, who until late last year headed the Technology Transformation Services, an agency devoted to using modern tech to make government accessible to its citizens, also tried at first to see the DOGE takeover in a positive light. It didn’t take long for that light to dim. “The model of bringing in private-sector people who have a fresh perspective and skills and who want to help is a great idea,” she tells me. “But we’re not seeing people from the private sector with lots of experience who want to understand how everything works.”

It’s overstating the case to describe Pahlka, Dickerson, and Lewis as disillusioned, because it was obvious all along that Musk’s dreams didn’t involve things like single sign-on for government services, or direct tax filing, or creating a universal feedback loop so agencies could better serve their constituents. These are all examples of the kinds of efficiencies that serve people no matter where they stand politically. “I don’t believe for a second that they’re taking seriously the idea of making government more efficient,” says Dickerson. “If you were trying to do that, then you would start with the big programs, not these little things around the edges like USAID. There’s like 12 people outside Washington who could have told you what that agency was three weeks ago. And why would you need access to the Treasury payment system? No one thought there was anything wrong with the Treasury payment system. That’s for some other purpose.”

To be fair, Musk does make a case for read-only access to the Treasury system: It can help to identify fraud and waste. (The case for DOGE’s youth squad to have the ability to change the system is something else.) During the Oval Office appearance, he told horror stories of federal employees possibly enriching themselves with tens of millions of dollars. But he hasn’t provided evidence and doesn’t seem to be referring cases for prosecution. And defining waste sometimes depends on who’s assessing the claim. A number of his charges about supposedly illegal expenditures from USAID have turned out to be misrepresentations of reasonable grants, some of which weren’t made by that agency at all! Yet he called USAID “a criminal organization” and said it was “time for it to die.” Considering that Musk rails against the bureaucracy for wielding unelected power, that’s an odd justification from an unelected official negating the will of elected representatives. (A federal judge has temporarily blocked a decision to put thousands of agency workers on leave.) DOGE did not respond to a request for comment from WIRED.

One goal Musk doesn’t hide is cutting the federal workforce to the bone—even if it means that critical talent goes out the door. Lewis told me she heard from friends at USDS and people she hired at TTS about their interactions with DOGE people. “These are people with decades of experience, like an AI executive from Netflix, or an early Microsoft engineer,” she says. “They were in 15-minute interviews with DOGE staff, who are almost entirely in their twenties, white, male, and inexperienced. They were asking people who used to be on the level of their former boss’s boss’s boss, ‘What are your skills? Why do you think your projects are important? And who do you think we should fire?’ When these senior engineers answered the questions and told the DOGE staffers about things like software architecture and product management and system monitoring and production system scaling, the 20-year-olds hadn't heard of these things, because they haven't had that experience in their own tech careers yet. So the experience was humiliating, and I think intended to drive people out.”

Minutes before my conversation with Lewis this week, DOGE began attempting to fire people at TTS. “There are plenty of arguments for smaller government, but cutting people with no thought or care to what skills they have?” she asks. “That’s taking a machete to something as opposed to making surgical cuts that try and improve the functioning of the government.”

For those who spent a good chunk of their lives pushing for reform, and ultimately concluded that only radical measures could tame the bureaucratic beast, Elon Musk’s youth crusade represents a heartbreaking squandering of a generational opportunity. When Dickerson recruited for USDS, he would say to young techies, “Only come here if you want the opportunity to work on the most important problems in the country. I guarantee you if you come here for that, you’re going to get it. If you come here for anything else, I promise you nothing.”

It’s hard to determine what Musk’s junior minions are thinking of their work. (If you are one of them, please ping me at stevenlevy.72 on Signal. I promise to listen.) They may well believe that they are purging evil from a deep-state conspiracy that deserves to die. But as a matter of fact, they are contributing to efforts to shut down Head Start programs, halting initiatives to monitor potential global pandemics in Africa, and creating the conditions to restore indefensible late fees on credit cards. By the time they’re done, the rest of us might be pining for the good old sclerotic bureaucracy.

Time Travel

In 2016 I interviewed Mikey Dickerson and his second-in-command Haley Van Dyck about the progress of the US Digital Service. Among other topics, we discussed dealing with entrenched bureaucracy,

Steven Levy: Besides the technical challenges, what are the biggest obstacles? Do you encounter foes dedicated to the status quo?

Haley Van Dyck: The biggest foe is generally risk aversion. People in government are trained to not do things differently, because there’s often really bad consequences when you try something differently and it fails. We run up against this all the time.

Mikey Dickerson: I wish there were bad guys with top hats and handlebar mustaches, because if there was some supervillain behind a humongously dysfunctional project, all we would have to do is identify that person and take them out and everything would get better. That’s not the problem. The problem is just all of the things that inevitably happen when you try to coordinate 60,000 people in the VA to do the same thing at the same time. Even when somebody looks like they’re being a big pain, it’s just a function of their position in the bureaucracy and their role. Their interest is almost always wanting the same thing that we want, which is that they want the veterans to get a better experience, they want the disability claims to be adjudicated faster, but to them that doesn’t mean the same thing necessarily that it means to the person next to them.

[frodothefair]

Lothíriel Queen, what advice would you give to a man marrying someone from another culture/country?

👑 Lothíriel's Birthday Q and A 👑

"Advice?"

She pauses, and sniffs a laugh.

"I could give advice, certainly, but will he follow it? Men are rather intransigent creatures, in my admittedly limited experience. But even so, you asked for advice, so I will give it.

"First, be absolutely sure that you seek a woman's affection because you esteem her for her heart, mind, and other amiable qualities, and not on account of some imagined vision of what women from her country are like. I have seen people do the latter entirely too often.

"Second, do your utmost to remain humble, make no assumptions, and expect there will be misunderstandings at first. One's own culture is like water to a fish -- we hardly fathom how much it rules communication, perception, and the expression of one's sentiments. (1) But when we encounter a person from another culture, all of our assumptions are laid bare, and we must relearn what we thought we knew about language, facial expressions, and what people hold in high esteem, or don't. To marry a person of another culture is not for those who do not know their own heart, and have no interest in understanding the hearts of others.

"And finally, I can scarcely believe I have to say this, but say it I must. Do not, for the love of all that is good, belittle or make sport of your beloved's country, especially not within her earshot. Éomer King has never done this -- if he had, I would have returned to Dol Amroth as fast as I could get a horse saddled -- but I have, unfortunately, heard of several such transgressions among the husbands of my friends who also married abroad." (2)

"Does that help?"

She raises an eyebrow, a winsome smile paying on her lips.

(1) Here, she is channelling David Foster Wallace in his well-known 2005 commencement speak at Kenyon College: "There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says 'Morning, boys. How’s the water?' And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes 'What the hell is water?' "

(2) This bit is based on my own experience, as my mother was once married to a foreigner, and he actually did this. I mean, common sense, do you have it, man?

[nulfaga]

For Israel, the reemergence of the Palestinian national movement as a force in the Middle East and increasingly on the global stage constituted a great irony: its victory in 1967 had helped to precipitate even more intransigent Palestinian resistance. This constituted a sharp reversal of one of Israel’s great successes of the 1948–1967 period, in which the very issue of Palestinian nationhood had almost been fully eclipsed in both arenas. The return of the Palestinians, whose disappearance would have signified a final victory for the Zionist project, was a most unwelcome apparition for Israel’s leaders, as unwelcome as the return of any indigenous population would be for a settler-colonial enterprise that believed it had dispensed with them. The comforting idea that “the old will die and the young will forget”—a remark attributed to David Ben-Gurion, probably mistakenly—expresses one of the deepest aspirations of Israeli leaders after 1948. It was not to be.

While the Palestinian resurgence posed little or no threat to Israel in strategic terms (although the attacks by militant groups did create serious security problems), it constituted an entirely different kind of challenge on the discursive level, one that was existential. The ultimate success of the Zionist project as hard-line Zionists defined it depended in large measure on the replacement of Palestine by Israel. For them, if Palestine existed, Israel could not. Israel was in consequence obliged to focus its powerful propaganda machine on a new target, while still having to counter the efforts of the Arab states. Since from the Zionist vantage point the name Palestine and the very existence of the Palestinians constituted a mortal threat to Israel, the task was to connect these terms indelibly, if they were mentioned at all, with terrorism and hatred, rather than with a forgotten but just cause. For many years, this theme was the core of a remarkably successful public relations offensive, especially in the United States.

—from The Hundred Years' War on Palestine, Rashid Khālidi